More Passive Aggressive Crap From Mr. B

 

I used to have 2 beautiful Rottweiler dogs. Their names were Lady and Harley. Lady died of old age on November 18, 2009. She was 13 years old, which is ancient for a Rottweiler. Harley died suddenly and somewhat mysteriously on August 24, 2010. He was only 9 years old and very healthy. Both dogs are buried in our backyard.

When Harley was a young dog, he’d love to try to escape from our backyard (which is fully fenced). I purchased a large dog enclosure for him to play safely in when I was inside. I only had to use it the first year because he settled down as he got older.

After Harley died, Mr. B wanted to cut down the kennel and throw it away. He had already chopped up the dog house before Harley’s body was even cold! I didn’t want to get rid of the kennel because it’s nice and I definitely want to get another dog. Of course, Mr. B said, “No more dogs EVER.” 

An argument began. His point, “Why keep a dog pen when we don’t have a dog and you aren’t getting another one?” My point, “I want another dog and there is no reason not to keep it for now.” After all, our yard is large and there is nothing back there. No vegetable garden, no swimming pool. Space isn’t an issue. After a while, he stopped saying anything about it.

Today is Labor Day. It’s cool and cloudy. I love it when it starts to feel like Autumn is coming. I decided to go outside and sit in the yard for a while. When I go into the yard, I see this nice sight:

Mr.B has decided that if I won’t let the dog kennel be removed, he will destroy it instead by throwing a large heavy ladder on top of it. The top of it is all collapsed and ruined now. Is there no end to his passive aggressive bull crap? He just loves to play these games.

How would he like it if I did this crap to his belongings? It’s just never going to end with Mr. B. I have to figure out an escape plan soon.

 

 

 

Jeepers Creepers, Where’d You Get That Crime Scene Car?

 

A lesson for girls about relationships: Never marry a man who believes it is better to save money than make money. I'm not talking about a frugal person who is saving for a goal. I'm talking about men who are recklessly cheap. A recklessly cheap man is usually only cheap with his wife and children. Being cheap with his family allows him to spend more money on his own needs. He can also work less hours and enjoy more television.

My youngest child, Jason, is planning on getting his driver's license soon. He's already passed his test for a New York State Learner's Permit. Soon, I'll be trying to help him find a safe car to drive. He has almost $2500 saved in his bank account from his birthday, holiday and allowance money. He’s been saving for a car for three years.

Mr. B comes home and mentions that there is a very nice car available where he works. It was owned by an old lady (who hardly ever drove it, of course) and it only has 34,000 miles on it. He said it was an older car in good condition, but he didn't know the year. Mr. B’s boss owns the car now because the woman didn’t want to pay for any more repairs and told him to junk it. His boss, J, said that he wanted $500 for it. Right away, I was a little suspicious. Mr. B's boss is a real expert at maximizing profit. I had doubts that he'd sell a $2000 car for $500. Still, I felt that we had to investigate the car. I didn't want to let my suspicions cost my son a car that Mr. B proclaimed "the deal of the century." Mr. B said the car had passed its inspection, so I had a smidgeon of hope.

We drive to the shop and there sits the pitiful car, a 1996 Mazda Protégé. It was a tiny dark blue car with massive amounts of rust. It was in absolutely horrible condition. If there was ever a clunker that needed to be junked, it was this one. I almost wanted to scream out loud, but I wasn't up for a night of fighting with Mr. B. Mr. B was acting like the car was a rare jewel or something. Jason and I were stunned; we're literally standing there with our jaws hanging open, unable to speak. All we could do is stare at this abomination of a vehicle in stunned silence.

We get up close to the car and can see it's been in multiple collisions. The driver's side door is crushed in from being broad-sided. The front bumper has many yellow paint stains and deep gouges on it. There were dents and dings all over the car's body. The interior was covered with what appeared to be blood stains. When Jason asked Mr. B if they were blood spatters, he said, "No, it's makeup." Right. Mr. B thinks everyone else is stupid. I think this car may actually have been a bloody crime scene. If this beaten up and worn out car had only 34,000 miles on it, I'll be a monkey's uncle. I think it may have actually had 334,000 miles on it.

Mr. B, proud as a peacock, instructed Jason to sit in the car. Jason was apprehensive, but didn't want a beating. He got into the death car. Fortunately for us, Jason is very tall. His head was up to the car's ceiling. He was able to say truthfully, "This car is too small for me." Mr. B was disappointed. And why wouldn't he be? What father wouldn't be proud to see his only son driving around in a car like this? On the drive home, Mr. B lamented, "What a shame. You'll never be able to find a car deal like that again." Jesus, I hope not.

When we got home, Jason and I discussed Mr. B's depravity at great length. Jason said that if he had a choice between that Mazda and the Creeper's B Eating U vehicle from the horror movie, Jeepers Creepers, he'd definitely take the B Eating U vehicle. Jason couldn't believe that his father has so little regard for him that he thought this car would be appropriate. I told Jason that someday he'll be taking his oldest child car shopping and he'll have a good story to tell him or her. I guess this is one of these things that you'll look back on and laugh about eventually.

This was some seriously passive aggressive behavior. Mr. B wanted to let our son know that that this pathetic car was all he deserved. You'd think I would learn my lesson after 20 years of psycho behavior. Needless to say, we will not be looking at any more cars with Mr. B. I guess I don’t understand why a father wouldn’t want to see his only child driving a safe car.

Living With a Dangerous and Passive Aggressive Man

 

What exactly is a dangerous man? A man doesn’t have to engage in physical violence to be dangerous. A man is dangerous if he is harming your physical, emotional, spiritual or mental well-being. Long term emotional and verbal abuse can murder your soul. Verbal and mental abuse in marriage can suck the life right out of you. You will eventually become an empty husk; your spirit will be crushed by prolonged domestic abuse. If you don’t get out before this happens, you can look forward to years of therapy. You may think you love your man. You may think you can change him. But please take my advice: Don’t try to save your relationship if you are being treated cruelty; just RUN as fast as you can before it’s too late. Domestic abuse is hell on earth.

The husband (or wife) engages in passive-aggressive behavior in many abusive marriages. He will do little things to chip away at your sanity and well-being. A controlling husband can torment you in some very clever and non-obvious ways. He’ll have you questioning your own sanity by the time he’s through. Your health will fail and you’ll fall into a dark and hopeless depression. You’ll lose your will to live. You’ll need to be able to identify what passive aggressive behavior is.

Here are a few of the cunning ways that my husband, Mr. B, engages in passive-aggressive behavior:

1. The little things can cause a lot of psychological suffering and torture. Such as when Mr.B uses my toothbrush. When I wake up, my toothbrush is often laying on the counter and wet. Doesn’t he notice that it’s a pink toothbrush? Who does things like that? He also will take my pillows and blankets and use them himself so I don’t have any. He’ll delete my programs on the DVR to make room for more of his.

2. Purposely not carrying money or a cell phone with him so I cannot call him or ask him to pick up something

3.Never remembering my birthday or anniversary. When I confront him, he says, “You know I have a bad memory!” However, I notice that he usually remembers everything else.

4.Purposely doing dirty things that he knows will drive me crazy because I’m a germ phobic. Once I woke up and found a dead rodent in a trap on my kitchen counter. He had placed some traps in the back yard. While I stared at the dead rodent in horror, he happily exclaimed, “Look! I killed one! I brought it inside to show you!” Another time, his brother was in the hospital. The swine flu was going around.  When he came home, he didn’t change his clothes or even wash his hands. I said, “B, aren’t you going to wash your hands?” He said, “I’m supposed to wash my hands after I go to the hospital?” He refuses to engage in even the most basic hygiene. He’ll touch a garbage can covered with maggots or a dead animal and won’t wash his hands before he opens the refrigerator. If a pandemic ever goes around, I’ll be doomed.

5.If he knows I want something, he’ll make sure it never happens. Ten years ago, we took a trip to Las Vegas. I looked out the window, taking in the beauty of the Las Vegas strip. I said, “I can’t wait to come back.” Mr. B growled ominously, “You’ll never come back here.” And he made sure that I never did!

6.Mr. B has always used sex as a weapon. If he suspected I wanted sex that night, he’d make sure I didn’t get it. One night, early on in our relationship, I was frustrated by his lack of sexual attention and I snapped, “Fine, I’m not in the mood anymore anyway.” Mr. B, always eager to screw with me, leaned over and gave me a very passionate kiss. He said, “I could get you in the mood.”  He continued engaging me in foreplay until I was back in the mood. Then he rolled over and said, “Good night,” without following up with sexual relations. He slept like a baby that night knowing I was upset and sexually frustrated. Finally, right after he talked me into purchasing an expensive truck, the sex stopped forever. It’s been almost 8 years since we’ve had sex. With my other relationships, sex was never an issue or a bargaining chip. Before I met Mr. B, I just assumed that all men wanted sex all of the time. I didn’t even know that there was such a thing as a sexless marriage. I had a rude awakening.

I could go on and on, but I’ve heard that blog posts shouldn’t be too long. I’d probably never stop writing if I tried to catalog all of Mr. B’s crimes against me.

A year of this behavior would be hellish enough; can you imagine dealing with this type of craziness every day for 20 years? I hope that someone reads this and can save themselves from a marriage of domestic abuse. Please don’t spend all of your good years living with a monster who enjoys making your life a living hell.