I’ll be there for you – Not if I can help it.

After 10.5 months, I joined the workforce again.  It feels great to be a productive member of society again, but saying that negates what I did during the past 10.5 months.  I graduated college with my Associates degree.  I started my Bachelors program.  Most importantly, I reconnected with my children who were in desperate need of their mother.   My son’s violent tendencies are mostly gone – now he’s your typically six year old boy.  Their new babysitter told me that I have two of the best behaved children she has ever come into contact with, and she has over 30 years experience in day cares and foster care.

So, to all the haters who thought I made a poor choice to leave a good paying job, take note: sometimes the best thing you can do for your family is not to make them as comfortable as can be and buy them anything they want, especially young children.  Sometimes the best thing you can do for them is to leave a job where you never see them and give them yourself.  After all, what good would it do for society when my children become adults if they do not have the skills that a parent teaches?  Furthermore, I have taught my children at least two valuable lessons: family first, and how to appreciate the value of a dollar.  How many other kids under the age of 12 understand that?  They were always appreciative of what they got before, but now they fully understand and have developed a deeper appreciation.

John and I have finally pushed through a really rough patch.  I’m so glad that we’re finally at the other side of it.  It’s great to have the laughter and tenderness back in the relationship again.  Sometimes the walls between two people just need to be blown up [re: you need to have a huge fight where everything is laid on the table] so you can see where everyone truly stands.  I’m really glad that I have a man that will push me to the very limits of my capabilities but supports me when I fall.

Oh, here’s some fun drama, and it’s completely not related to my ex husband, for a change.

Last night my ex fiance emails me and tells me that he still loves me and blah blah blah.  I’ve heard this many times before (from a few ex boyfriends).  He even posted a video on facebook and dedicated it to me.  It was Bon Jovi’s “I’ll be There for You.” People should really stay away from technology when they’re drunk.  Just saying.

Anyhow, said ex fiance is trying to get a divorce.  Which is none of my concern; I really could care less.  Anyhow, the skank emailed me on facebook wanting to know if the ex fiance and I were together in 2005 and that I “owe it to her and her kids to tell the truth.”  Okay, the truth.  In 2005 I was very pregnant with my almost 6 year old son and faithful to my [then] husband.  I tell her so and that I want nothing to do with her or her husband’s situation.  She emails me back calling me a liar and saying that she had a letter I wrote him when we were together and it happens to be from a time they were together.

Well, that’s great.  But you didn’t ask me about 2006, bitch…and I didn’t know you two were together at the time, so don’t get pissed at me.  Get pissed at your husband who made the choice to lie to the both of us, because frankly, I don’t give a shit any longer.  As soon as I found out about his less-than-honest ways, I dropped his ass.  It’s not my fault that you held on even though you knew how he was and continued to crank out more of his children.  It’s not my fault that you continued to take him back after he kicked your ass.

[Three different times.]

And you know what?  I hardly ever think about the time that him and I were together.  The relationship was a lie and therefore it has no bearing on my life now, except to trust my instincts more.  I have been with John for almost three years and I am very happy with him.  Keep your man, or don’t, but leave me the fuck out of it.

I love watching people back-peddle.

Mama!

I swear to God my mom has a psychic connection to me.

My mom hardly ever calls me, simply because I stalk her lol.  Just kidding, it’s because I never give her chance to call; I call her about once a week or so.  Here I am lugging about five bags of groceries and trying to unlock the door while pushing back to hyper kids and she calls.

[Funny note - her ringtone is Stewie saying "Mom! Mommy! Mama!"]

She called to see if I had gotten a job yet, and to ask when she can come down to visit.

[She had to cancel her original plan to visit, but my stepdad is buying her a ticket here for her birthday.  Awww, I love my stepdad!]

She asked about a hundred questions and finally got to her point.  She wanted to know if I needed money.

[This lady is so amazing that it can be scary]

I’m not one to cry much over worries or little things.  I will let on that a few tears were shed earlier today about my rent money [the lack thereof] and how I was not sure how I was going to pay it.  Turned down a job at the prison because the whole world [it seems] was against me working there ($13.24 an hour.  I should have given the world double birds and laughed all the way to the bank).  I got hired on at Randstad, but they haven’t found me anything yet (it hasn’t even been a week, but I’m anxious).  Long story short, I’m trying to sell things that have been sitting around here to make the ends meet a little better, including my beloved complete collection of the Friends seasons (don’t laugh, I will kill you).

Several hours later, Mom told me that if I need it, she will send it.

Like I said, she has some weird psychic connection to me.

Oh, and I love her.  She’s the best mom ever.

Seriously.

 

 

A few thoughts on professionalism

Professionalism.  A seemingly simple concept that actually seems to confuse people or mean something completely different to them than what the word technically means.  For example, when one attends a job interview or orientation, one should play the role of professional and dress as such.

Personally, I wear a conservative shirt, black pants, and a black blazer.  You just cannot go wrong wearing black pants and blazers; this is a traditional color.

What does this mean to other people?

Well, to one woman I saw the other day at orientation it meant that she should wear a shirt so revealing that Dolly Parton would have been jealous of amount of knockers showing.

[De-ja vu, Christie's Caberet, Playboy, Hustler, and several random porn directors called - they have several openings for hoochies such as yourself].

We get it, you’re fat and have large tits.  Congratulations.  Now put them away, you are in a professional setting…and I do not mean the kind of professional setting that has stages and poles.

For another woman I saw, it meant wearing an off-white knit beret that did not match anything else she happened to be wearing.  She was also wearing hoops so large, that I was extremely tempted to see if my head could fit through them.  Not even kidding.

Another [obese] woman wore a dress.  Now that sounds professional, right?  Well, if you consider the fact that her dress showed all three tons of each thigh when she sat down professional, then yes.

[I swear there was a hint of cooch when she sat down, too.  And no, I am not a lesbian.  It is like a horrific traffic accident where you are compelled to look at the horrificness].

Now, I do not claim to be a fashion expert, or even one that gives a hoot about fashion, but damn.  I at least know what matches and what NOT to wear in a professional atmosphere.

Really, I should thank each of these women.  Their method of dress makes people like me look about one billion percent better.

So, thank you.

I mean, I am already awesome and have great qualities [and in the professional workforce too!] as well as the drive to advance myself in this world.  Women like you just add to my competitive edge.

Another ex husband rant: Letters that you never meant to send

Dear dipshit former husband:

Let’s get one thing straight once and for all:  I do not want you, I will never want you back, and I never, ever think about having you again.  Let your cow know this.

Here are the facts:

1. I left you.
2. I sued you for divorce (check the papers; you are the defendant, I am the plaintiff.  This means I sued you for the divorce, idiot).
3. My kindness in the divorce papers was not a warped way of trying to get you back.  There are much cheaper ways to attempt to get one back, and I usually play fair when it comes to money and my children’s well-being.
4. I am the one who went to court, faced the judge, and hand-delivered your certified copy.  This was also not an attempt to win you back.

Let’s get another few things straight.  I am not a money hungry bitch.  If I was, I would have let the state of Tennessee sue you for child support when I filed for assistance.  The fact that I spent a lot of time on the phone and going to the Child Support Office to ensure they did not take your money should prove this.

[This was also not an attempt to win you back, should the cow be confused].

I did not expect you to remain unchanged after our divorce, nor did I expect you to never move on.  Fuck, I am glad that you  moved on and found “happiness” with the cow.  [Many people who are close to you tell me that you are, in fact, unhappy, and it does kind of make my heart smile a bit.  Karma's a bitch, ain't it?]  However, I did expect that the very essence of yourself would not change, such as your character, morals, values, and beliefs.  You were once someone that I could say, “Well, we did not work out, but I am happy that he is the father of  my children because he treats them well and never puts anyone before them.”  I once trusted you to make decisions for our children that would be in their best interests.

[I forgot that you were always an idiot, but you used to be a well-intentioned idiot].

It’s very concerning that you put her child before ours.  I’m not saying show favoritism, but if he gets to have sheets on his fucking bed, so should my children.  If he gets to have basic necessities provided, so should my children.  You are damned lucky that I am able to bathe them and feed them on your weeks, otherwise you’d have a huge case of neglect on your ass, filed by the schools.

When I present concerns to you regarding the treatment of our children by the school, such as when they would not let our son eat his lunch after missing most of the lunch period to change his clothes due to an accident, you told me that it was tough shit and that they should not have to make exceptions for him.

[Once again, I forget that you might have been kicked in the head repeatedly as a child].

Actually, the school can get into a lot of trouble for not allowing him time to eat, despite the fact that he had a potty accident.  Give the kid a break, he’s not quite six yet and periodic accidents for boys his age are considered normal.  Just ask any pediatrician or school administrator.  You need to remember that he’s five, not twenty-five.

And what’s this shit about my children never being allowed out of their room when they are at your house?  Are you ashamed of the very same children you cried for out of joy at their births?  Are they somehow tainted because they are my children and not the cow’s?  I assure you, they are normal children who crave the attention of their father.  What’s this shit I hear you let them play in the backyard on a trampoline unsupervised with child sex offenders living in your neighborhood?  Oh, you didn’t know that I know?

All I really have to say to you at this point is this: just wait.  One day I will have enough against you to file for full custody.  Fuck with my kids, fuck with me, fuck around with the money you owe me, and I will not be so nice this time around.  Your ass (and what’s left of your balls, although I’m pretty sure the cow stole those) will be nailed to the wall paying me child support, and you will be lucky to have supervised visitation.  So, keep neglecting them when they are in your care.  Keep pushing them away.  Keep beating my son.  Keep turning down scheduled holidays.  Because guess what?  The courts take that shit into account when one files for modification of a parenting plan…not to mention that one day these kids will want nothing to do with you, your cow, and her calves.  I find it odd that they have both expressed several times to me that they wish they could live with me full-time and only see you “some weekends” when they used to run to you the second my car pulled in the driveway for custody switch.  Now when I tell them it’s time to get ready to go to your house, they ask me if they really have to go and fight with me about getting ready.  One cries, the other beats my walls.  The way they act speaks louder than anything your cow can scream in my presence.

Oh, and let’s not forget the fact that your cow screamed at me in front of my children.  My children did not hear a word that I said, but they heard every single thing fatty said.  The only thing they heard me say was that it was not a good idea to discuss such things in front of the children.  Guess what?  They hate her for what she did in front of them.  They hate her for speaking badly about me in front of them on several occasions, both to my face and behind my back. They hate her for getting them in trouble with you when her son is equally involved…but they’re the ones who get the belt, not him.

Trust me, she does not want to find me in a dark alley.  “Jehovah” won’t be able to stop me from teaching her a lesson.

So, despite the fact that I try my best not to hate people, I hate you and I really hate your cow, especially for the treatment of my children.

- Me

Just a bit o’rant

I am not a feminist by any means.  I think that the original goals of the feminist movement has been twisted and contorted and that feminists today are way off the mark.  Man-hating dykes.

But that does not mean that I am not for equal rights; however, I do not think equal rights means Affirmative Action…that is reverse discrimination against white men, which is just as unfair.

However, it does mean that I think women can do some of the jobs that traditionally went to men, including police officers, doctors, soldiers (more about that one momentarily), and correctional officers.

Female soldiers – I have read extensively about the debates on whether or not female soldiers/military personnel should be allowed to be on the front line.  Hell yeah I think they should ONLY if she meets the SAME EXACT qualifications a male soldier – not that watered down crap that they have.  Think about it.   If one of her team goes down during combat, you want her to be able to pull/carry him back to safety.  Not all women can do that (I know I can’t) and neither can all men.

I know that I would make a good police officer, and I know that I would make a good correctional officer.  Do I know the proper way to shoot someone at this moment if I had to?  No, but do all of the men when they apply for the job?  Not all of them.  That is why there are several weeks of training involved before putting one into those positions.  Can I drag a grown man across a battle field?  No, but I can certainly drag his ass across a concrete floor.  Can I, in my current state of (non) training, take care of myself should a situation arise?  Likely not, but that is what the five to eight weeks of training is for.

Furthermore, I know that as a woman working in a prison that I will encounter dickheads who will be nasty and say nasty things that no lady should ever hear.  (Who [besides my mom] said I was a lady?)  Believe it or not, I’ve heard it all before just walking down the streets of Buffalo and Nashville, and if I did not hear it there, I’m sure I heard it in a [pornographic] movie.

I am definitely book smart, and I know I’m not really all that street smart, but I do have common sense.  I would not put myself into a situation that I can easily be outsmarted and overpowered unless I had the tools to take care of myself…and if I had the tools to take care of myself, then I guess I wouldn’t really be overpowered or outsmarted unless I was careless.

/rant

You Come on Like a Blood-Stained Hurricane

I’ve got nothing of real importance to say tonight.

The father of my children is still a lying douche bag who won’t pay me the money he owes me.  He [stupidly] thinks that I would lose a child support case.

Let’s think about that one.  I have no income, and [don't judge I don't have the patience to deal with criticism] my children are on TennCare (TN’s Medicaid) and we are recipients of food stamps; I also qualify for TANF but refused it.  The state already tried to go after him for child support, and I [retardedly] told them not to do it; they decided to drop me from TennCare but provide the kids with coverage.  He, on the other hand, makes about $3000 each month. Suddenly he thinks I just want to rake in his money and have a “big pay day.”  Such a damn idiot.  The amount he would have to pay me in child support would only cover rent and electricity.

I tried explaining the logic of the situation to him.  $780 a month until the kids are 18 or $140 one time?

Any how.  We already knew he wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed.  He’s a tool, alright, but not the sharpest.

Slight change of topic.  Apparently two out of the three of my siblings say that my sperm donor father changed and now recognizes what he did to us as kids…however, my brother (the awesome brother that I get along with very well) told me that he’s still doing what he did to us to our stepsister and half brother.

Recognizing one made mistakes is a step.  He did that years ago (why they act like this is new is beyond me).

The fact of the matter is that he still drinks [alcoholism is funny that way], he’s still an asshole, he’s still an insensitive prick who screamed at my [then] three year old daughter for NOTHING, and he’s still the man that kicked my out his home and disowned me.

Twice.

Take a Stand

One of my dearest friends just posted on facebook how she just realized that she didn’t care about politics or presidents “because in 29 years [of]” her “life hasn’t changed depending on who is in office.”

That kind of ignorance is worse than being a liberal taking up a side and fighting with Republicans and Conservatives the other side.  It plain pisses me off.

Jesus.  Find out what you’re about and what you believe.  Educate yourself, then take a stand.

It’s idiots who “don’t care” and don’t voice their opinion via casting a vote that are truly dangerous to our nation, perhaps more so than socialist agendas. What happens when people do not cast a vote is that their [our] freedoms are slowly eroded away “and their lives haven’t changed much” until one day they wake up and wonder why we have such limited freedoms.

On another note, I wish Ronnie could come back from the grave and lead our nation again.

Be ashamed!

It seems that I have some silent stalkers appreciators on this blog in the past month.  Well, welcome, feel free to comment or silently stalk appreciate.

A few weeks ago, there was some drama with my ex husband, his cow warden wife, and me.  They ganged up on me.  No, not the fun kind of three-way.  It seems the only thing that shuts him and her up is if child support is mentioned (we were fighting about money they owe me for stuff I had to pay for the kids for school/child care).  Dumb asses.  Don’t they realize that child support, should I decide to file for it, would cost them $800 a month (I already did the worksheet cause dummy told me how much he makes) and it would make much more (financial) sense to just pay me the $140 and not fuck with me?

Long story short, his wife was called a fat cow.  Blame it on my outspoken Northern upbringing, if you will, or the fact that I have a hot temper when pushed, or the fact that I do not really know how the words spewed out of my mouth so fast.  Not to mention that the cow tried to scold me like a little child about the insensitivity of calling someone fat when they are because “there might be health problems.”

(Yeah, it’s called stop shoveling food in your face, get off of your ass and do something.  My kids tell me [unprovoked!!!] way more about what happens there than you realize, Chubs).

Fast forward to today when I dropped the kids off at his massive mother in law’s house.

Oh, she knew.

Let’s just say it was fun awkward.

I just love how the kids are completely oblivious to this though.  All they know is that the cow their stepmother yelled at their mom (since she did it in front of them).

And how does this not work in my favor?

Idiots.

Siblings. Love em?

I get so sick of two of my three siblings treating me like a fucking second class citizen. Fucking tired of their holier than thou attitudes. Well, they can go fuck themselves. Last I checked, I am an adult. If I don’t want to go see my grandparents, I fucking won’t go see my grandparents. Please to God stop acting like you’re doing me a favor by coming out to Mom’s house to see my children and me when we’re actually home.   Please also remember that I am your sister; you aren’t supposed to tell me to take care of John, you are supposed to tell John to take care of me or you will dismember him and feed him to the dogs.

Fucking priorities/loyalties?

And no, I won’t fucking go to see the fucking sperm donor they like to call Dad, and I certainly do not want to make peace with him or see if he’s actually changed for the millionth time. If they want to go pretend like our entire childhood did not happen, that’s fine by me. However, do not judge me if I cannot forget what he did to me as a child and what he did to my daughter.

Whatever it is they hold against me, either they need to tell me so we can air it out, or they need to learn to fucking let it go.

Because we all know that somewhere down the line these two douches will eventually call me up crying about something…and they will be expecting me to help them out.

And I probably won’t this time around.

But it’s not like anyone reads my shit any way.

Thank God for my kids

I’m a college graduate now.  I am the proud [as the school mails it] holder of an Associate’s of Arts in Criminal Justice…a degree with which I cannot do anything but say that I graduated from college.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m proud of myself for going to college and becoming the first woman in my family to hold a degree, and I knew/planned all along to continue on to get my Bachelor’s degree.  It would just be awesome to actually be able to do something with the degree I have now other than become a correction officer [can you imagine me as a correction officer?].

The shitty thing about my graduation is that my mother wasn’t [couldn't be] there.  I’m not mad, just sad that she couldn’t actually be there as I walked across the stage.  John was awesome, as always, and took care of the kids [for two hours by himself downtown] while recording the whole ceremony for my mom

However, the looks on my kids’ faces when I finally caught their eye more than made up for any sadness and frustration I may have felt.  I did not know how proud my kids were of me until that moment; and it’s moments as such that bring things into focus for me.  No matter how down I feel about myself and any decisions I have made or how slow the progress can be, there are still two little people who look up to me and consider me to be their “super hero” (Christian’s words) and see me as amazing.

Now let’s see if I can live up to their expectations