Buzz Kill and Buttroys. The Beat Goes On

I've taken the major step of relocating my Match profile to Austin. Maybe it's the snow outside. Maybe it's the never-ending fight with Buzz Kill about his unfortunate tendency to forget that everything he does or doesn't do has an impact on Velvet and me.

This fight has been going on for almost nineteen years now - ever since we were in the middle of creating Velvet and I asked him if he'd put me on his health insurance. I had just quit my job in public relations to start teaching Mommy & Me art classes part time, so I no longer had health insurance through my job. Having a baby is an expensive proposition, and I wanted to make sure I was covered by his health insurance before I got pregnant - and if things continued in the direction they were going, I was going to be totally pregnant in about five minutes.

Buzz Kill declared that he had certainly taken care of the health insurance, and just as I thought, two weeks later I missed my period. Two weeks and one day later, I learned that Buzz Kill still hadn't put me on his health insurance. I knew it was a bad sign at the time. If the insurance was any indication of the way Buzz Kill was going to take care of his familial responsibilities, I was in deep doo doo. But Buzz Kill was very apologetic, and we had plenty of cash since it was the 80's. I figured that paying out of pocket wasn't a crisis considering that lots of couples spend thousands and thousands of dollars on fertility treatments.

Everything has turned out fine with Velvet - but the insurance incident was the first of a long, annoying list of half truths and bold faced lies that Buzz Kill has told about money. Buzz Kill was okay in almost every other way as far as husbands go. The money thing drove me crazy, though, since we were always getting sued because of his business, or the apartment went into foreclosure or the electricity was cut off. The weird thing with the utilities was that the minute I'd call Buzz Kill to say the lights were off, he'd call ConEd and they'd be back on in an hour. So why the hell didn't Buzz Kill just pay the dang bill in the first place? Why didn't I just pay the dang bills? Well, I couldn't pay the bills because Buzz Kill took all the mail down to his office and locked them in a drawer. I never had access to the bills. Sadly, Velvet and I were so accustomed to the bullshit with the bills that when we had the black out back in August of 2003 and the TV went off, young Velvet said, "Dammit, Dad didn't pay the bill again."

The only reason I filed for divorce from Buzz Kill is to protect the apartment. We'd still be married if that man could have shared financial responsibility with me. I don't think he had anything against me personally when it came to being partners. He had problems with Vagina Dentata, his mother and long term business partner. She's so intrusive that he has to be secretive to protect himself from her, and the marriage was collateral damage.

I won't deny it cut me to the core to realize that Buzz Kill was more committed to his own mishigas than to our marriage, but facts are facts. Like most everyone who has gone through a divorce, I was devastated. So devastated that I failed to notice That Narcissist was a big asshole when he started paying attention to me about a month after Buzz Kill moved out.

That's all ancient history. The residual anger, however, bubbled over last week when Buzz Kill was compelled to participate in filling out the FAFSA and CSS forms so that Velvet will get financial aid for college next year. Buzz Kill didn't like hearing that nobody cared about his finances anymore since Velvet lives with me. I did take the opportunity to holler at Buzz Kill about owing me $10,000 in back alimony. Actually, what happened was that Buzz Kill made some tacky remark about Velvet's friends being over on a school night (it was only 7:30 and his homework was done), and I told Buzz Kill that if he wanted his opinion to count for something in my house he could fork over my ten grand. Until then he could mind his own business. The conversation deteriorated from there.

All this Bull Shit with Buzz Kill is what prompted the thinking about justifiable homicide in Texas. I have to take a moment to thank Yellowdog Granny for coming up with the term, "Buttroy." I'm not sure anyone really knows what Buttroy means, but it's good to look at someone and say, "What a buttroy." In my mind, Buttroy is synonymous with Complete Dumbshit, and Buzz Kill is a Buttroy for sure.

Under the terms of the divorce, Buzz Kill will have to pay alimony and child support until 2012, but I'm getting it all up front when we sell the apartment next year.

Then I'm going to go to Texas, sit on my porch and drink a beer. I might even fire up the bong if Velvet hasn't swiped it again. I'm looking forward to that bright, shiny day when I can finally say: Menopausal Stoners World Headquarters in Austin, Texas. Menopausal Stoners World Headquarters on Central Park West is okay, but there is a fine tradition of having your world headquarters in Austin. Remember The Armadillo.

Armadillo World Headquarters by Sam Yeates copyright 2006

Like many outstanding elements of Austin culture, the Armadillo is long gone. Only the roof remains as a memento at Threadgill's on Riverside Dr. in Austin - I believe they're calling that place Threadgill's World Headquarters now. Last time I ate there, though, the chicken fried steak was not what it used to be. They had excellent chicken fried steak down the road at Shady Grove Cafe - which is on the site of a trailer park that had been there for as long as anyone can remember.

I believe that RV park is going to be condos if it's not already. Probably destroying the community with high rises - and hell, I may even buy one when I move back.

My profile has only been up an hour in Austin, and there's a new candidate for The Summer Boyfriend Reality Show. He's handsome, lives on the coast, has his own little airplane and an ocean going sail boat, and visits New York from time to time. Could be a buttroy, though.

And the Beat goes on . . .