Single parenting sucks. It sucks harder than a 2cent hooker trying to make rent. (or due to inflation, she may now be a 5cent hooker...) For example, on this day, I am off. The only day this week that I'm off (aside from Easter...which is a holiday and has no relaxing qualities) and can spend time with my baby bear doing fun exciting day time things. For some reason days off are a signal to her that she should act like a punk ALL DAY LONG and most definitely wake up at the ass crack of dawn.
In my head I envisioned us paying bills (yes...excitement around every corner!) and then maybe painting or coloring with sidewalk chalk and getting dyed by colored bubbles that don't actually wash out of much other than your skin. The vision was cut short when she decided that 10AM is an appropriate time to play drums. I then explain that during spring break the kids that aren't 7 and ready to take over the world as soon as the sun comes up are probably still asleep and maybe the drums should wait until everybody in the neighborhood is awake. This causes some kind of mental break down where my daughter has decided that she can revert back to toddlerism and act a damn fool. It also causes repressed memories to resurface. And I am reminded of how she did not have a birthday party at Chuck E. Cheese and did not get a Wii for Christmas. Oh...and that I hate her.
This is the most frustrating part of my life. Anytime that she begins her "You hate me because you will not shell out hundreds of dollars on *insert random expensive activity and/or contraption*" Because as all parents are aware, we want to spend hundreds of dollars on the things they want and give them the Veruca Salt (the character...not the band. Although Imperfect and Born Entertainer are fabulous songs that make me sway and act a fool while singing) lifestyle they'd dream of. We want to spend mass quantities of money putting them in activities and keeping them busy with things that will teach them life-lessons like team work and ambition and what-not. But the reality is life is costly. And when you work 20-30 hours a week for less than $10 an hour because you can't work past 3pm in order to maintain a healthy schedule for your child who has major issues when not on a schedule...and the so-called-father of your child can't pay child support because "it takes 2 incomes to run a household" (yes! This was stated to me!!! The single mother! Out of the mouths of assholes...) or he forgot or he didn't make it to the post office or *insert other bullshit excuse that would assist Lana Warlick in handing me his balls in a Crown Royal satchel* you can't accomplish these things. When it boils down to pay the electric bill in full or buy groceries and pay half the electric, things like birthdays and Christmas take a back seat. (I regularly thank the ruler of the universe that my daughter was born around tax time)
And the parent that is working their ass off at trying to make a life for them year round instead of just the 6 weeks a year that they are around takes the damaging remarks. Because the parent that isn't here is better. They don't ground you or make you do homework or clean your room. So they are fantastic! And until they have their own ankle biters running around, it will remain that way. And when the so-called-father can't talk to you because the future step-mother is a jealous old hag, it makes it hard to call and vent your frustrations to the person that deserves it. But one day...karma will bite them in the ass. And I will smile and fly away on my private jet to my island with Johnny, where we will re-enact the scene in Pirates with the rum...only there will most definitely be nudity...
PS: I do not blame the jealous old hag. I am quite attractive in comparisson and if given the choice to sleep with myself or a nearing-50-year-old-canadian-hippie, Masturbation will win!
PPS: Yes I am blogging on my time with the fruit of my loins, but she is taking a nap because she "is not tired and naps are for old people and babies"
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Guess What Your Shit Smells Like!?!?!?
Shit. Yes that's right folks. It's a rarity when your shit will smell like something other than dung. (Occasionally baby poo smells like ham...but being that anyone that is reading this is most likely NOT a baby...)
If you honestly feel that your shit is better than anyone else's, why not donate it to science, as I'm sure the world would be extremely interested in this fantastic dump that is unlike any other deuce dropped into the sewer system. (Or wherever else people are dropping the Browns off at nowadays...)
And in a side note to dookie, if you like to spread your business as much as you spread your legs, that's your issue. Don't spread other people's business. If somebody wants to know, tell them "Hey! I got a great idea! Go ask them!" Don't say "Well, her husband bought a hooker on eBay and then paid her to sit in a tub of Pepto and rub his feet with garlic! Isn't that crazy? But don't tell her I told you." Would you like the people you're talking about to tell everyone else your shit? No? OK.
And to go with that...if you don't want your business spread, don't tell the people that spread it. If you were previously unaware of their crop dusting abilities, you are now.
Do not drag other people into your bullshit either. If you would like to vent or ask for advice, by all means, do so. But do not expect us to play negotiator and step in. (If you decide to step in, don't drop somebody on their ass when they're leaning on you and then bullshit about why you turned your back to take the heat off yourself for being a shitty friend. Also, please see next line.)
Handle your shit. You are grown. If you can't handle a situation that you have gotten yourself into, please make a mental note to either learn to deal with it or to avoid said situation again. Don't take it out on people who really aren't involved and expect them to remedy the situation...I am not Jason Mraz. I do not have the remedy (although if Mr. Mraz would like to share his remedy, I'll more than gladly partake. I'll even try a veggie burger!).
THIS HAS BEEN A PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT!
If you honestly feel that your shit is better than anyone else's, why not donate it to science, as I'm sure the world would be extremely interested in this fantastic dump that is unlike any other deuce dropped into the sewer system. (Or wherever else people are dropping the Browns off at nowadays...)
And in a side note to dookie, if you like to spread your business as much as you spread your legs, that's your issue. Don't spread other people's business. If somebody wants to know, tell them "Hey! I got a great idea! Go ask them!" Don't say "Well, her husband bought a hooker on eBay and then paid her to sit in a tub of Pepto and rub his feet with garlic! Isn't that crazy? But don't tell her I told you." Would you like the people you're talking about to tell everyone else your shit? No? OK.
And to go with that...if you don't want your business spread, don't tell the people that spread it. If you were previously unaware of their crop dusting abilities, you are now.
Do not drag other people into your bullshit either. If you would like to vent or ask for advice, by all means, do so. But do not expect us to play negotiator and step in. (If you decide to step in, don't drop somebody on their ass when they're leaning on you and then bullshit about why you turned your back to take the heat off yourself for being a shitty friend. Also, please see next line.)
Handle your shit. You are grown. If you can't handle a situation that you have gotten yourself into, please make a mental note to either learn to deal with it or to avoid said situation again. Don't take it out on people who really aren't involved and expect them to remedy the situation...I am not Jason Mraz. I do not have the remedy (although if Mr. Mraz would like to share his remedy, I'll more than gladly partake. I'll even try a veggie burger!).
THIS HAS BEEN A PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT!
Monday, April 18, 2011
Dating...A Plethora of Excitement I AM NOT Prepared For!
I have a policy on dating (and I do mean casual dating...not serious pick-out-towels-and-wall-paper-naming-kids-dating) . Don't ask, don't tell. If you aren't witty enough to say "Are you seeing anyone else?" then I'm entirely too cunning to tell you. Maybe cunning isn't the word I want; I think I mean smart. I do this because there is no "nice" way to approach the subject. Exactly how do you tell someone "Hey! Yeah, dinner sounds great Thursday but Friday I plan to go scuba diving with Steve!" I think it's unnecessary.
At the same time, I am, in fact, witty enough to ask. My first questions are:
When asked, I will say "I am dating around." Details are unimportant, as we are not committed. If at some point we become committed, I will no longer be dating around. But while we are not in a relationship (or relationshit, for the only way to know which one you have is to play the hand) I feel that both parties are equally free to explore other realms of interest. (Note: if any of your realms of interest include feet, poop, or vomit, please keep me uninvolved) I do not enjoy relationshits, so I try to keep it honest.
Relationshits come in many forms. They don't usually start out as relationshits. They're typically relationships that take a turn for the worst and become relationshits by way of controlling, abusing, mistreating, and generally ass holish behavior. Everybody has had one and I feel it's a low blow to real relationships to continue to call them relationships. Call it what it is: relationshit. If your relationshit begins as a relationshit, you did not read this blog properly and need a reading comprehension assessment in order to move forward to any future blogs.
All of the above being said, The Injun was a short relationship and a quick relationshit. In an effort to prevent future relationshits, I have started dating. I believe that dating will shortly cause me to take 2 days off work in a row and hold myself up in my house cleaning and singing loudly while ignoring anything that has a penis. (Note: This is generally a bad sign and means that because I cannot afford a vacation I have decided that cleaning was needed.) Currently there are 5 men pursuing me (that I'm fully aware of). My phone never shuts the hell up and sometimes I turn the ringer off and pretend that the bill wasn't paid for an hour. I also have a horrible memory so I end up double booking. This has been completely accidental and I have escaped unscathed both times, but could possibly not be so lucky in the future.
There are some promising prospects. But I will be dragging this dating thing out as long as possible because I really don't want a relationshit right now. The only way to avoid relationshits: avoid relationships.
At the same time, I am, in fact, witty enough to ask. My first questions are:
- Do you have a girlfriend?
- Are you married?
- Are you seeing anyone?
- Are you a serial killer?
- Do you drink copious amounts of alcohol daily?
- Do you smoke pot more frequently than you wash your ass?
- Do you have a criminal record longer than my forearm?
When asked, I will say "I am dating around." Details are unimportant, as we are not committed. If at some point we become committed, I will no longer be dating around. But while we are not in a relationship (or relationshit, for the only way to know which one you have is to play the hand) I feel that both parties are equally free to explore other realms of interest. (Note: if any of your realms of interest include feet, poop, or vomit, please keep me uninvolved) I do not enjoy relationshits, so I try to keep it honest.
Relationshits come in many forms. They don't usually start out as relationshits. They're typically relationships that take a turn for the worst and become relationshits by way of controlling, abusing, mistreating, and generally ass holish behavior. Everybody has had one and I feel it's a low blow to real relationships to continue to call them relationships. Call it what it is: relationshit. If your relationshit begins as a relationshit, you did not read this blog properly and need a reading comprehension assessment in order to move forward to any future blogs.
All of the above being said, The Injun was a short relationship and a quick relationshit. In an effort to prevent future relationshits, I have started dating. I believe that dating will shortly cause me to take 2 days off work in a row and hold myself up in my house cleaning and singing loudly while ignoring anything that has a penis. (Note: This is generally a bad sign and means that because I cannot afford a vacation I have decided that cleaning was needed.) Currently there are 5 men pursuing me (that I'm fully aware of). My phone never shuts the hell up and sometimes I turn the ringer off and pretend that the bill wasn't paid for an hour. I also have a horrible memory so I end up double booking. This has been completely accidental and I have escaped unscathed both times, but could possibly not be so lucky in the future.
There are some promising prospects. But I will be dragging this dating thing out as long as possible because I really don't want a relationshit right now. The only way to avoid relationshits: avoid relationships.
Friday, April 8, 2011
Anybody Seen Goonies?
So back in the day, my boyfriend was Puerto Rican. (He was a giant ass...I do not say this because he was Puerto Rican. I say this because he was, in fact, an ass.) We fought horribly and I didn't take his shit. When he started a fight, something was getting broken and generally speaking it was something of his. Because I have the tendancy to be insane. Many people can confirm this...
Lately (like within the last 2 years) I have mellowed. I'm not sure why but it has happened and this is how I know:
One night (or morning more accurately as it was about 3am) my boyfriend called after a night out and what sounded like the equivalent of a case of beer. I asked how his night was and blah blah blah like ya do when ya hear from someone at such a time and don't have much to say (insane me would have said "are you out of your damn mind? Do you know what time it is?"). Somehow this conversation turned into a talk about my love for black men (which I don't really have...there are some very attractive black men- Lenny Kravitz, Blair Underwood- but I generally date white or brown boys). This stemming from the Puerto Rican Ass...as he was very dark complected. When I asked what this had to do with anything, I was informed I should shove a Baby Ruth up my "twat" so I could have all the chocolate I wanted in there.
WHAT?? Did you say that out loud???? I heard it come out of his mouth and kinda giggled...surely he was joking as no sane man would say that to a crazy person. Turns out that an insane man would.
So this became a favorite joke and we ("we" being my equally insane friends and I) regularly make Baby Ruth jokes...and would eat them in front of said insane man, smiling because the best jokes are the ones that nobody else gets. What makes it even better is that he never remembered stating this...
At least I remember the crazy shit I do!
Lately (like within the last 2 years) I have mellowed. I'm not sure why but it has happened and this is how I know:
One night (or morning more accurately as it was about 3am) my boyfriend called after a night out and what sounded like the equivalent of a case of beer. I asked how his night was and blah blah blah like ya do when ya hear from someone at such a time and don't have much to say (insane me would have said "are you out of your damn mind? Do you know what time it is?"). Somehow this conversation turned into a talk about my love for black men (which I don't really have...there are some very attractive black men- Lenny Kravitz, Blair Underwood- but I generally date white or brown boys). This stemming from the Puerto Rican Ass...as he was very dark complected. When I asked what this had to do with anything, I was informed I should shove a Baby Ruth up my "twat" so I could have all the chocolate I wanted in there.
WHAT?? Did you say that out loud???? I heard it come out of his mouth and kinda giggled...surely he was joking as no sane man would say that to a crazy person. Turns out that an insane man would.
So this became a favorite joke and we ("we" being my equally insane friends and I) regularly make Baby Ruth jokes...and would eat them in front of said insane man, smiling because the best jokes are the ones that nobody else gets. What makes it even better is that he never remembered stating this...
At least I remember the crazy shit I do!
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Call The Po-Po Ho!!!!
What is it about me that makes men insane? I am aware that I'm not incredibly unattractive...but I'm positive there isn't a woman alive that's looks make a man insane! I'm not amazing in bed and I'm not a horrid bitch (ok...well I guess that's debatable depending on the boyfriend but...). But somehow they mostly end up being criminally insane...or just fucking nuts.
Newest one to pop up? The Injun. (I do realize that I have skipped a whole hell of a lot but I'll back track...this just really needed to be noted cuz it's grating on my nerves!) Last year when Fingers and I broke up (Fingers = ex. That's all that's important about him to this tale) I began seeing this boy. Long hair, tattoos, HUGE arms and chest...ya know. He was overly sweet and overly attentive which Fingers was not. And I enjoyed this even though I'm not good with the clingy type. UNTIL...
He blew up on me because I wouldn't sleep with him...then again blew up on me when (months later) Fingers and I had gotten back together...and I don't handle fighting well. I'm a talker not a fighter!
We begin seeing each other again when Fingers rolls out again (So I like to stay in familiar territory...is that so wrong?) and he is amazing! Sweet, nice, supportive, looks amazing without a shirt...until we commit. And then he suddenly has demands and a really bad attitude.
After being chased down the highway at high speeds, forced to pull over and "talk" with him (which was really a talk with the cops that were called about the domestic dispute that had errupted in a parking lot full of people which is a great tale for another time), you would think that this signified a problem...ok. It did. And I got it. But he was also pretty fuckin scary. So I felt a little more comfortable keeping him calm and sane until I planned my attack.
His attack wasn't very well thought out...which meant that mine didn't have to be at all. It was a little more instinctive. See, one night he had called and asked about hanging out. I said nope...not on this night. He felt it was a good idea to get drunk at a mexican restaurant (which is understandable on Wed nights when it's half priced margaritas! Not on a Thurs...) then to call and pick a fight because I wouldn't let him spend the night (after informing me that I am his girlfriend whether I like it or not and he will be my boyfriend whether I want it to be that way or not). After hanging up (see previous statement about "...not a fighter") and throwing my jammas on, I recieve random drunken texts that make no sense and several phone calls...followed by a loud VROOM!
And all I can think is "I know this mother f*cker is NOT at my house!" Yeah...he was. And so being that I'm a SANE person with RATIONAL thoughts I assume that when I don't answer my phone or door, he will admit defeat, hang his head, and retreat back to his damn TeePee! NO! He will not! He will, however, jump the 6 foot privacy fence and stand by my bedroom window repeatedly calling me. He will also attempt to get in the french doors (dead bolted!) and then use his ID to get in through the garage door (after getting a drink from the water hose because breaking and entering works up a thirst)...enter my room with blood pouring down his leg and arm...and act like this is totally normal and natural. His response to "I called the cops" will be "If you had called them they'd be here by now" and then he'll sob incessantly while hugging my legs and saying "I love you! Why are you scared of me?" and then tell the cops he lives here and I'm "trippin".
I'm going to open a mental hospital...that way I know where my exes are and what they're doing. And when I'm sleeping...they will all wear straight jackets.
Newest one to pop up? The Injun. (I do realize that I have skipped a whole hell of a lot but I'll back track...this just really needed to be noted cuz it's grating on my nerves!) Last year when Fingers and I broke up (Fingers = ex. That's all that's important about him to this tale) I began seeing this boy. Long hair, tattoos, HUGE arms and chest...ya know. He was overly sweet and overly attentive which Fingers was not. And I enjoyed this even though I'm not good with the clingy type. UNTIL...
He blew up on me because I wouldn't sleep with him...then again blew up on me when (months later) Fingers and I had gotten back together...and I don't handle fighting well. I'm a talker not a fighter!
We begin seeing each other again when Fingers rolls out again (So I like to stay in familiar territory...is that so wrong?) and he is amazing! Sweet, nice, supportive, looks amazing without a shirt...until we commit. And then he suddenly has demands and a really bad attitude.
After being chased down the highway at high speeds, forced to pull over and "talk" with him (which was really a talk with the cops that were called about the domestic dispute that had errupted in a parking lot full of people which is a great tale for another time), you would think that this signified a problem...ok. It did. And I got it. But he was also pretty fuckin scary. So I felt a little more comfortable keeping him calm and sane until I planned my attack.
His attack wasn't very well thought out...which meant that mine didn't have to be at all. It was a little more instinctive. See, one night he had called and asked about hanging out. I said nope...not on this night. He felt it was a good idea to get drunk at a mexican restaurant (which is understandable on Wed nights when it's half priced margaritas! Not on a Thurs...) then to call and pick a fight because I wouldn't let him spend the night (after informing me that I am his girlfriend whether I like it or not and he will be my boyfriend whether I want it to be that way or not). After hanging up (see previous statement about "...not a fighter") and throwing my jammas on, I recieve random drunken texts that make no sense and several phone calls...followed by a loud VROOM!
And all I can think is "I know this mother f*cker is NOT at my house!" Yeah...he was. And so being that I'm a SANE person with RATIONAL thoughts I assume that when I don't answer my phone or door, he will admit defeat, hang his head, and retreat back to his damn TeePee! NO! He will not! He will, however, jump the 6 foot privacy fence and stand by my bedroom window repeatedly calling me. He will also attempt to get in the french doors (dead bolted!) and then use his ID to get in through the garage door (after getting a drink from the water hose because breaking and entering works up a thirst)...enter my room with blood pouring down his leg and arm...and act like this is totally normal and natural. His response to "I called the cops" will be "If you had called them they'd be here by now" and then he'll sob incessantly while hugging my legs and saying "I love you! Why are you scared of me?" and then tell the cops he lives here and I'm "trippin".
I'm going to open a mental hospital...that way I know where my exes are and what they're doing. And when I'm sleeping...they will all wear straight jackets.
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