Tuesday, August 25, 2009

All about the EFF!

I recently relived my first single mom survival story for a fellow blogger. I told her about how my husband left, and one day later, I watched the weather report in horror as an ice storm made its way to our area. I knew that I had firewood, although it was in the yard and wet from the rain. I told her about how I took off work early that day, picked up J and then went home, spending the next 2 hours hauling firewood by myself in the ice rain. I don't know what that selfish bastard was thinking, but my daughter would be safe and warm, period.

Many of my friends have commented on what an incredibly huge fucktard Tha Ex was for leaving me in that situation. (yes, I said fucktard. More on that in a moment.) I could be angry at him for being so selfish, but if you’re at the point that you’re willing to walk out on your family, what’s just a little more icing on your cake, right? You might as well leave them high and dry too. (well, not so dry, but you get the point.) One thing that I take pride on is learning from my experiences. What I learned from that experience is this- I CAN. Yes, by myself. I learned that I can be successfully independent, and out of that, my mantra was born. “FUCK YOU, I CAN DO IT MYSELF! I DON’T NEED YOU!”

The past 8 months have taught me that the power of the F word is UH-MAY-ZING. There is truly nothing that satisfies me more in my time of anger and frustration than pulling out the good ol’ F-word, or any variation thereof. (Such as fucktard, fucker, fuckin’ A, fuckity fuck, or, when little ears are around and you must edit out of necessity, you can substitute with “FAAAARKLE!!!”) It’s all part of letting it out. It’s like a fart (another F word. Coincidence? I think not.) Anyway, as I was saying, it's like a fart. You have to let it out, or eventually, you will literally explode.

Monday, August 10, 2009

Tray tables in their upright and locked position, reality will be landing shortly.

There are times when the reality of being a single parent comes crashing down with a devastating weight. Yesterday was one of those times. The [old] boyfriend got his first experience in “showing up” for J when we went to watch her program for VBS. After she was done with her part, the parents went up to the stage to collect the little ones, then back to sit down for the rest of the program. I got J, we sat down, and about that time she catches a glimpse of her dad. For the next 10 minutes, I had to argue and wrestle with her because she wanted to go back and see her dad, although she should have been sitting still watching the rest of the program.

Rewinding just a bit, J was with her dad this weekend. I got a call at about 10:30 a.m. Sunday that she was ready to come home. I was at The [old] boyfriend’s, so it was no big deal to walk up the street and get her. I arrive, and she is wearing jeans (when it was 90 degrees outside) and tennis shoes with no socks. I get her back to Josh’s and ask her what she’s had for breakfast. The answer is nothing. It was 11:00 a.m. and she hadn’t eaten anything all day. Later that day it was time to get her cleaned up for the program and I asked her if she had a bath this weekend. Nope. No bath, and hadn’t brushed her teeth all weekend. Basic necessities that are not being met, yet he did take her to the racetrack where he exposed her to yet another random girl, and this one even painted my child’s fingernails and toenails green. Awesome. So she’s filthy and hungry, but she got a mani/pedi out of the deal.

So back to the evening. J’s dad does as little as possible for her, yet she gets one look at him and begs to be with him. I take care of her 99% of the time and make sure her basic needs are being met, and she remains focused on missing her dad. Needless to say, The [old] boyfriend got a bit frustrated at the situation. We talked about it later and he says that he knows what’s coming- the day when J realizes that her dad is a total shit, and it’s going to break her heart and I’ll be left there to pick up the pieces. I listened to what he said, and my heart broke a little more with every word. Not because he was saying it, but because it’s all stuff that I’ve already thought about, and hearing someone outside of the situation say it made it real. I felt that all-too-familiar knot come back in my chest, and his words began to fade as my voice became louder in my head, with one word. ALONE. I’ll pick up the pieces of her heart, and I’ll do it alone. I rarely cry anymore, but as I drove home that evening, a few tears managed to escape. I felt overwhelmed yet again. I never asked for this, but it’s my reality. I didn’t choose it, and I don’t know why any man in his right mind would want to be a part of this.

Friday, August 7, 2009

Fuck you Friday

I have had pretty much the same commute to work for 4 years now. It gets to a point where you recognize some of the cars that roll with you every day. You tend to know who is going to cut you off, who will let you in, and who you can roll with when traffic clears up enough to give you a straight shot to the next bottleneck. One of the vehicles I have come to recognize is an SUV from the Pulaski County Sheriff’s office. He’s a dick. Fo’ real. I don’t know what makes him think he can police the entire rush hour mob on his way to work, but that shithead sure does try. This morning, he was in the lane beside me and I was in front of another SUV. We were rolling about 68 in a 60. He comes up beside me and “boops” his siren! YES! On the interstate. He knows enough to know he can’t pull me over (I mean, he’s not even a patrol car! He’s like, a detective or something. I don’t think he even has a radar) but he still has something big enough up his ass to where he thinks he needs to be my daddy. He does the same thing to the SUV behind me. After another mile or so, the other SUV ends up beside me. The driver gets my attention and points at the sheriff’s vehicle and raises his hands in the air, as if to say, “did he just BOOP at us? O-M-G! What a fucker!” I nod my head back, mouthing the words “Ye-us! I know!!” We laugh, and roll on. So, consider this Fuck You Friday, Sheriff. You and your booping can kiss my ass.