Thursday, December 10, 2009

Fine then!




Okay, I love Christmas! Even though I am super pissed off and want to slap the taste out of the deadbeat ex's mouth, kick the crap outta my car, and slap the ex again...I love this time of year. Everything will work out. I'm blessed. I have my baby, a few family members, and friends. Some people don't even have that.

New posts are forthcoming... Can't wait to blog about the ex in Houston who made a strange and hilarious return, Rush, Glen and that damn Christmas sweater, Mr. Savage, and other negroes in the news!

No Virginia, there is no effing Santa Claus.


I was going to wait 'til I was shiny and happy to post, but screw it...

The title pretty much sums up how I’m feeling right now after receiving a $4,000 estimate to repair my car. Yep. Here I was feeling hopeful and happy, preparing to move out of my hometown (which I’m damn sure is the seventh circle of hell) and was looking forward to Christmas and… After spending all day crying in a Taco Bell/Pizza Hut parking lot strategizing, because clearly I’m not going to pay that much to fix this lemony piece of poo.

Yes, I took it to the dealer, yes I received a second opinion, and yes I realize that when the car chugs and dies in the middle of an intersection it’s not a safe thing. I also realize that my 1 hour commute with the baby is not as bad as others, even realize that the hour is just to reach the city limits, and does not include the drive into downtown, drop off at the day care and then the drive to work. Now try doing this with your child in cold weather. Fun times!

I also realize that if I am concerned about my daughter’s safety, I could leave her at a daycare in my hometown. I realize that if I remove her from her current spot(excellent and cheap as hell due to massive funding from the United Way) my cost of daycare would go up by at least $200, the quality would go down, and upon our return to Columbus she will be placed on a waiting list that she would not come off of until the 3rd grade which by then would be…stupid cos it’s daycare dammit, and the new daycare that she would have to go to would also be at least $200 more.

Rent a car you say? I’m on it. Allow me a few minutes to find the nearest tree.

Thursday, December 3, 2009

The News



Dumbass and Epic Fail As A Husband




Whore





Tsk Tsk





Fuck the death penalty; give him what he really deserves: Release into the general prison population. That colostomy bag will make a great accessory for his dress.






Let's discuss the dealth penalty again...

Thursday, November 12, 2009

No Rhyme or Reason

I'm having an episode of insomnia and caught a Drake tune on the radio. Made me think of when Li'l Aubrey took a tumble.

Thursday, October 22, 2009

Love



It's in the air isn't it? I think so. If you take a second you may smell something else...like ass. Yes, dear readers, blogs are open to the public. Sometimes you have people reading that perhaps you would prefer not to. For other bloggers who read this - you guys know exactly how I would know who checks out the site. : ) Shhh... don't tell them. It's all love, but dear exes and ex-friends could you at least contribute something to the discussion?

Just saying...

Tuesday, October 20, 2009

There are some things...




That really should not be said to another person. Clearly the decision to return home (my adopted home) has been a difficult one. I never wanted to go back to my hometown in the first place. I hate it there more than words can ever express. If you read the "Craptastic" post, it is clear there are some issues there. That being said, I have our local Area on Aging coming in to do an assessment tomorrow. My mother should be able to get meals delivered, transportation, and someone to come in and help her. She will also be able to obtain adaptive equipment. Is it enough? I don't think so. It is pretty well documented that I feel she needs 24/7 supervision. I will come home at least once a week to visit and make sure she is getting what she needs.

This week I had to stay out of town for two nights (that's a whole other post and quite funny, but not now). When I called my fam to let them know, no one offered assistance of any kind, but they did feel the need to have my mom spend the night. That decision told me two things. The first: It is clear they think she needed the supervision. The second: They think I need to be there with her at night. To both of those things I would say: Assisted living, assisted living, assisted living, oh, and assisted living. No one hears that though. Nope, everyone would rather we gamble for the 10 hours I am gone for the day and I come home and never leave.

The point of the post? Well, several people have given me the "you're a shitty daughter" look. And one said to me, "Oh, you're coming back, even though you know what will happen?" Yeah, people are entitled to their opinions. I just wish they would keep them to them-fucking-selves. Or, maybe I'll just keep it between me and my shrink. How 'bout that?

Tuesday, October 6, 2009

Random



Really random, so don't expect a lot outta this one. Just wandered over from reading a Twitter debate between Mr. I and PostB. Twas interesting. I remember being so pissed off at one of his posts I wanted to title a post "Jimi Izrael can kiss my ass" and go throw rotten fruit at him. He's actually a nice guy. Don't always agree with him, but I do not think he hates women.

More random...

The baby is going to the pumpkin patch and she is so excited, and cute in her happiness. Everyday she tells me, "I want Mommy to come too" and I smile. Because I know that in a few years she want won't me anywhere near her friends. Ah, the sweetness of being a mother. Now, if she would just let me comb her damn hair.

Which brings me to the next bit of random: Chris Rock and the hair film. Eh, not sure I want to go see it. Have a love hate relationship with my hair. On one hand, it's wash and wear. On the other hand, it's a bit of a floppy mess right now, and I'm lazy with it. I have never been one of those women who has a regular appointment at the beauty shop. Nope. Every once in a while. Mostly, I wash it, throw some oil in it and let it do what it does. Ok, that's all I got. My head hurts, I want chocolate, my baby, a novel, and some peace and quiet.

Random.

Sunday, October 4, 2009

Craptastic!

Today I had a moment where I experienced a surge of pure rage. Just wanted to slap that shit out of an entire list of people. First (as always) the triflin' ex who has his mamma call me to tell me what he is going to do and never does it. Still not a nickel in child support in one year. He continues to ignore the court order and his daughter who he can visit at day care any day of the week. Did I mention it's around the corner from his lair of shitty deadbeatness?

Members of my family (yep, I am writing this. Fucking deal) who are also triflin'. Those unhappy souls who always feel the need to get in a dig every time they see me and my child then wonder why I don't trip over myself to spend time with them. My dear brother (thank heaven we don't share the same genes)who lives in another country who informed me, after I reached out to him regarding my frustration with the other fam, situation with my mom, my health fears(scheduled biopsy etc.) that my feelings were "garbage" and that "if need be, he will come home to straighten my ass out so I can focus on what needs to be done."

I've said for three years now that we need to probate my Dad's estate, free my mom of her debt and she needs to be in assisted living and move to my city so I can oversee her care. Why? Because even if I live with her there are at least 9 hours out of the day where she is unsupervised and we have been very lucky that I have been here to call 911 when she goes into diabetic shock. My three year old has seen the inside of hospitals and my mom on the floor too many times. The fam? Nah, there is concern about the property, whether or not my mom will be happy, and what my motivations are. Assholes.

I want my mom to live. I want to have a life that does not involve waking up at an ungodly hour to still be late for work. I want to not have to drive on the highway with my child on rain and snow slicked roads, going through my work day stressed out when I make my four calls to my mom and she doesn't pick up once, picking up my daughter knowing that I return to my hometown that I hate for many reasons and cook, clean, catch up on my work, pretend to be happy. I want the degree that I earned to mean something, for my career to not be challenged by the exes lawyer who contacts my supervisors saying that I harassed him when I did the exact opposite and ignored his numerous attempts to contact me after I requested he stop. I want to not be so fucking irritated by listening to my mom constantly contradict me to my child, chastise her for every little thing, or when she's fine to order a ton of shit from QVC, re-arrange furniture, but refuses to do basic things to take care of herself or the house.

I want to do to some of my fam what I did to two of my friends a few months back - cut them loose and let it go. In the meantime, I have started to obtain services for my mom in the home. I cannot fight my brother (who threatened to lawyer up) or the rest of the idiot horde. Fuck it. I've got a daughter to raise and a life to live. When the rage returns, I will remember - and this too shall pass.

I just hope it passes sooner rather than later.

Saturday, September 26, 2009

Wednesday, September 23, 2009

Untitled



Yesterday, there was a gas leak at the daycare. Because it was still early in the morning, I found myself staring bleakly out of my car window with the baby in the back seat. Should I make the one hour commute home and try to go back to sleep or run errands a pay bills? As I was driving down the highway, I looked in the rear view mirror at the little one and thought of all the things I did not do with her over the weekend. There was no putting her on her bike outside, no movies, no trip to the park or library. Nothing. I completed a few things necessary, and watched TV in my sweats all weekend.

Looking at her in the mirror, I remembered her snuggling up to me Sunday and saying she wanted to have a “conversation” and how amusing it was. With her head in the crook of my elbow, asked me if I was happy. I lied and told her I was. She smiled and started to sing “The Wheels on the Bus” to me, and I joined in on the second chorus.

I decided to make up this weekend to her despite wanting to go home and hide under the covers. I took out just enough money that wouldn't hurt the budget and we went clothes and toy shopping, to the indoor playground, and had lunch. A few hours later, I was looking at her chocolate smeared face sleeping happily in the mirror on the way home.

Saturday, September 19, 2009

Just The Two of Us


As I sit here practicing the art of avoidance in a way that only those who don't want to deal with their shit can - I am remembering an earlier post. In that post I joked about how I need to leave here. My stay has been extended because there are important decisions regarding my mother that have to be made. Correction - I made the decision two years ago, and no one listened. Funny thing how people wait till things fall totally apart to take action. We've all done it - avoidance.

So, I busy myself with other projects so I don't have to take a good look at the current state of things. The only other time I have felt this way was the week of planning my father's funeral. The stay here has placed me in the extended presence of certain people I have worked hard to avoid. It started with mom becoming sick, my dad's death and the birth of my child. Those events set a chain of events in motion that led to this past week. My Dad is gone, my daughter (best thing that ever happened to me) is here, her father hasn't paid a cent in child support nor has he seen her in months. As I removed people from my life who were Stormy Weather friends, or hangers-on of my ex's (yep, I'm talking about you Ms. I'd rather be big fish in a small pond than a small fish...)or simply couldn't deal with my uppity attitude I felt stronger, yet sad.

Basically, what you've all been witnessing is the slow unraveling of my sense of security in the world and the spiraling into a depression. I'll be fine. I have a baby to take care of, so the necessary steps will be taken and it will get better. I reached out to someone in that unit this week and was shut down in a way that took my breath away due to the sheer unwarranted viciousness of the response.

In the meantime I realize that, while I have good friends, I do not have that unit that some of you are familiar with and rely on. Not really, not at all. I look at my daughter now and think: It's just you and me kid. And I'm okay with that.

Sunday, September 6, 2009

Why are Black Women So Pissed?



I've been standing back watching the shit storm brewing around Jimi Izrael and his recent The Root.com blog posts. As a black woman, I understand the reactions that are pouring forth, but he's one man. One woman tweeted that she would rather perform fellatio on all the white men in Ohio than date Jimi. Really sister? Cos, damn, that's a little disturbing not to mention totally unhygienic.

I grew up in a town, in a neighborhood that was very integrated. Integrated as in black and white. More precisely - black men with white women was/is a common phenomenon. Even more common was the "black women ain't shit, are evil bitches, etc." sentiment. Not only didn't I buy into the nothing but a black man hype - I found it amusing that the majority of black women still did.

See, I don't hate black men or even dislike them. My father (the best man ever) was black. And if I take a honest look at the men I've dated, the one's who were the kindest were black. Why am I not married to one of them? Timing.

I date men who WANT to date me, that I have things in common with, have fun with, can talk to, and I'm attracted to. This means I've dated the rainbow because I am open to it. I'm not going to go sit and cry in a corner cos a black man wants someone that does not look like me. And if that is his clear preference, what would I want with him anyway? And any black woman that buys into the all black men are dogs doctrine, therefore the white or any other race of man is your savior - you're in for a rude awakening.

Psst: Sisters - a word please?
Just like you've learned that not all black men have a large penis (sorry black men, I know ya'll cling to that stereotype like a damn life raft) different means different, not better. Men are men, people are people, and issues are still issues. Love who is going to love you.


Right now I have chosen to take myself out of the dating scene. I wouldn't dare present myself to someone right now as a potential mate. Until I work through my issue of wanting to find my throw rotten fruit at any stage my deadbeat trifling' ass ex is on...see what I mean?

Since moving home, I have hit up the local bakery (shout out to Schuler's!) way too damn often and when I needed to hit the gym. I know what I'm working with - I'm cute (shout out to me in all my cuteness) have a degree, and a relatively successful career with great benefits. What I do not have is stability or peace. That's a process that I'm in the middle of. Trying to work through the all of the death, illness, crazy, toxic mofos, anger, sadness, and disappointment by myself isn't working. I would consult Deepak if I was chillin' in LA, but I'm going to have to visit a local instead.

In the meantime, I'm going to pop some corn and continue watching this great debate.

Monday, August 24, 2009

Party Over

Pity party over. I came across this little gem as I was searching the net for really really sad crappy love songs to suit my mood. Please enjoy and laugh your ass off.



She tries guys, she really does...



^Don't worry kid - see below - there's hope for you yet!!!


Repeats

Like crappy Italian food (Fazoli's anyone?) sometimes stuff just keeps on coming back...Can you believe I almost made it to seven whole days without dumb shit rearing it's ugly little turd head in my life? I even had a little celebration on FB handing over my Drama Princess tiara and everything! So here's to the Ex who decided to ruin my tranquility.



Yeah, I'm having a pity party - so?

Wednesday, August 12, 2009

Glenn Beck = Warm Fuzzies

@3:17 Mr. Beck made me cry for my mommy and hide under my blanket...
@3:30 I came out and giggled myself senseless.

Saturday, August 8, 2009

Attack of the Angry Parent

Normally I am not one to step in while someone is disciplining their child - unless it is a clear case of abuse. Today, at the grocery store, a middle-aged white woman came through the doors with five bi-racial children under the age of ten. She immediately began yelling at them, jerked one out of his stroller and placed him in the middle of the cart. When the oldest one didn't move fast enough for her, she pushed the cart at him as if to it him with it. This child was at eye level with the cart and had he not jerked his head - the handle would have caught him in the face. When she went to do it again - I stepped in, got between her and the child and quietly explained to her to knock it off. She said nothing, but the children looked relieved. During this whole episode, people were commenting loudly about her behavior, but NO ONE stepped in. People commented on her race on the children's race as if it mattered, but NO ONE intervened.




I don't know the real story behind what happened in this video, but...damn. Every parent has had that moment where their little angel has not only gotten on their last nerve, but jumped on it, shredded it, and waved it around saying, "I dare ya to smack me!" Yeah, we've all had that moment where we checked ourselves, and walked away. No one is perfect, spanking and/or yelling, take your pick - most people have had that moment that you wish you could take back.

Question for most people is: who decides when that line between discipline and abuse has been crossed. You say: Children Services. I say: Get the hell outta here. Due to my profession I am what is known as a mandatory reporter. Now, I'm going to be careful here because thanks to random friendings on FB, the door to my blog was opened before I had blocked certain people from viewing it. That said, there have been times where cases were NOT opened and it left me SMH. The neglect and/or abuse was so obvious a blind person could have reported having seen the shit and still given an accurate account. Nothing was done. Not a damn thing. What do you do? Keep reporting it. Don't let it go because a child's life may depend on it.

The lady in the video? Maybe she was just having a bad day as her defenders say. Or maybe this video is the best thing that ever happened to this kid. Too many people laugh at this and other crazy shit on YouTube like it's funny or part of one's culture. Bullshit. Yes, black people, I am talking to you. Then you wonder why are community is in the hot ass mess that it's in. Oh, but isn't it funny? No plantation Negroes who write that being hit with a belt, switch, extension cord did them a lot of good - it is not.



h/t Undercover Black Man

Thursday, July 30, 2009

The Weather Report: Part 3





Recently, someone that I have grown to like and respect very much gave me her two cents on this subject. She stated that talking things out always makes her feel better because at least things were out in the open. She is the type of person who wants to work on things, try to make them better before throwing in the towel, or at least reach an understanding. A few weeks ago I would have agreed. My Facebook status currently reads that I am tired of explaining myself.

For years I instead of just doing what was best for me, I would try to get people to understand me. A more honest way of putting it: I was afraid of pissing people off. Don't get me wrong - I'll argue a point to death, but I still wanted your acceptance - you to like me. Now? Not so much.

I was pretty carefree and was able to do and buy most things I wanted for a long time. I worked hard, had fun, and the future was bright as hell - then my parents fell ill, and my father died. Finances and my mom's well-being pushed everything aside. My daughter was born. My grandmother died. I ended my relationship (with the help of the po-po) and my mom got sick again. Some of the people I met during this period only knew me in these situations.

What happens when you make the decision to stop being miserable? In the case of SWF's they tend to show their true colors (asses) and it ain't pretty. Recently, I embarked on two projects that focus my creative energy that had damn near shriveled up and died. The excitement level was high, the energy was boundless, and the ideas were pouring in. The support from the SWF? contingent? Let's just say that posting personal on Craigslist for a one-legged dwarf who loves long walks on the beach would have given me a better response.

What I received was a complete lack of interest, questions as to why I was acting "out of it" and several stabs. My friend, JTC, is fond of saying that when people are unhappy, they like to take stabs at one another. Sometimes it may feel like a plastic butter knife, and other times? Well, it feels as if someone to a rusty ass dagger and plunged it in and twisted the shit. Strange how those stabs started getting sharper as I started making moves to improve things for my daughter and I. The point to all of this is that your friends want what's best for you - always. Friends do not use you to make themselves feel better. Friends do not desire to take you down a peg if they think you are rising too high.

The friend I at the beginning of this post asked me if still think people were basically good. She had such an earnest look on her face when she was speaking...I looked at her and lied. I don't have the faith in people that I used to. For the most part, after taking a step back and shedding my Pollyanaesqe worldview, I find people to be self-serving as hell. To that end, my reactions now reflect what I see.

Today, I had an email exchange with someone that ended in me explaining myself (habits die hard okay?) and while on my drive home even though I felt sad, angry, and tired - I realized something. My reactions are just that - mine. My decisions, worldview, actions, and feelings for too long have been dominated by worry about how others would perceive them. No more.

I don't have to tell you why I no longer wish to interact with you if it is going to be draining, annoying or time consuming. And more importantly - are you listening Fam and anyone else reading this? If you have ever for one second put me down to build yourself up, told me or anyone else to "get over it" when you haven't dealt with your own shit which causes you to lash out - understand this: Not for one more day, hour, or second do you get any part of me. I count myself among those I am obligated to. Obligation does not equal enslavement. I will not give up my life so that you may live yours with your foot on my neck.

To my two ex friends: Go in peace, but go. To the father of my child: Someday I hope you have a relationship with your daughter, I will not hinder that. You still are financially responsible and to date have failed to produce a cent in almost a year. Pay your child-support or go to jail. To Satan disguised as the Ex's manager who reads this blog: The city prosecutor thinks you're an idiot, dishonest and would like you to pay for wasting their time. Good luck with that. Next time you sashay into court(apparently this is your weapon of choice for intimidation) don't send me an email beforehand detailing the crazy that inhabits the shell your soul should reside in, but does not.

This may come off as a rant, and that's okay. It was necessary and I feel much better.

Saturday, July 25, 2009

The Weather Report: Part 2



Is closure necessary when ending a friendship? One commenter and several friends think that you should never walk away without discussing the reasons for doing so. Let's examine two different situations and how you think you would react.

Situation 1: You're driving down the road when another driver is forced to swerve into your lane. Your car is banged up, but otherwise you are fine.
Situation 2: You're standing on the sidewalk chatting with someone from work. A friend walks up to you and slaps you in the face.

What's your reaction? Personally, only the first situation calls for discussion, exchange of information and understanding. The other situation? Someone deliberately went out of their way to hurt you. Does it matter if they had a bad day, a bad year? That mofo just slapped you. Do you really want to sit down over a latte and work out your feelings? Didn't think so.

Misery loves company. Stormy Weather friends are not the same as "Ride or Die Friends" although that mistake is very easy to make. Trust me. Are Fair Weather and SWF's friends really friends at all? No. A true friend remains so in every circumstance - not just when it fulfills their needs. Let's be clear: the needs being met are not yours, and you are not engaged in a friendship. Self-service is the name of the game here. Sometimes it takes a brick (hell, an entire high-rise) to fall on one's head to see the truth. I spent years in a one of these despite every other friend, God, and my mamma telling me to let it go. I eventually walked away, but not without some craziness on her part. I wonder why I didn't notice the signs before.

Thursday, July 23, 2009

The Weather Report: Part 1



Is it ever okay to end a friendship without discussing it with the other person? In recent weeks I have defriended someone on in real life and Facebook - without discussing it with them. Some of you may feel that the ending of any relationship deserves a chance to be redeemed or at the very least some sort of closure should be sought. One of my friends feels very strongly that I should talk to the person and work things out. I'd rather not.

Have you ever had what you consider a perfectly normal response to something only to have it dissected and criticized? In my last post I wrote about taking a self-inventory and how life is viewed as a series of actions and reactions. I asked what makes a reaction negative or positive and who gets to decide which category said reaction falls under.

Some of my friends would tell you I am too emotional, patient and forgiving. Other friends would say I can be rather cold, snippy, and a tad self-absorbed. Most people are a combination of all of those things at one time or another. My current attitude can be read as: don't be an ass and I won't treat you like one. Some people are not reacting very well to this.


Most of you have heard of and understand what a fair-weather friend is. There is a polar opposite to this type of friend, and it’s not the friend remains steadfast when times are hard. I'm talking about the stormy-weather friend.
The stormy-weather friend is down for you when things are a hot-ass-mess. Is your significant other acting a fool? Boss getting on your last nerve? Babysitter a no-show, Car broke down? No food in the fridge? No heat?

Super friend is here to save the day! This friend provides you with encouragement when you’re ready to chuck it all and sit in a corner and stare at the cobwebs – for weeks. Sounds great doesn't it? Right about now you may be wondering what the problem is with a friend like this. Hell, you may be wishing you had more like friends like this. Trust me you don’t. Because the stormy-weather friend will mess with your psyche in ways the fair one can’t even touch.

Remember both friends of both the fair and stormy variety are consistent only during a storm or if the sun is shining – rarely both. What happens when the storm subsides? What happens when your boo boo and feelings have been patched up? Crisis over. Friendship goes back to normal right? Dead wrong in the case of the stormy-weather friend. Any ideas as to why this may be the case?

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

Time Out


That title surely conjures up the image of a toddler sitting in a chair sobbing with their little lips poked out. The funny thing about that particular disciplinary method is that it works for adults too. I haven't blogged in over a week because anything I posted wouldn't have been nice. So, I sat myself the hell down and did a lot of thinking. Family, friendship, anger, and letting things go are the things that have occupied my thoughts this past week.

I still haven't come close to working it all out, but I've reached a few conclusions about the person I am. Not the person I used to be, strive to be, want to be, or hope to be - the person I am today. Too many people present their best selves to the world, but never take the time to do a self-inventory. Why? Because they may not like what they find, and herein lies the problem.

Most of us have heard the saying, "Life is 10% of what happens to you and 90% of how you react to it." What if your reactions aren't so great? What if you feel the person who came up with the quote is an idiot who had nothing better to do than come up with a holier than thou quote designed to make the less enlightened feel bad about themselves? I'm kidding, but hopefully you get the point. For instance, is the so-called high road always the one you should take? Who does it benefit and why? Who decides which action qualifies as negative or positive?
The next few posts will take a look at some of the conclusions I've reached regarding these questions.

Stay tuned.

Sunday, July 12, 2009

A little levity please



*UPDATE* The James Franco video was pulled - enjoy this instead.

This has been a rough week for most of us. If it was not a rough week for you, keep it to yourself, and bask in the glory of your drama free life. For the rest of us: Please enjoy the video, and don't forget to join the "Save Blanket Jackson" Facebook group!

Thursday, July 9, 2009

I'm with Kurt



8 weeks. This is my deadline to get the hell outta my hometown and return to the place I (sorta) love. The return was necessary, but the escape is vital.

~Someday, some other worthy girl will steal my drama queen tiara~

Monday, July 6, 2009

McNair & Co.



After having read one hagiography too many today while cruising the internet/blogosphere, I kind of let loose on Max Reddick's site today. My reaction had more to do with certain news outlets and sites salivating over his girlfriend's supposed beauty than anything Mr. Reddick wrote.

I looked up images of McNair's wife, and I gotta tell you, he was an idiot. I know hero's have feet of clay, they're human, susceptible to all sorts of fuckppery - blah, blah, and blah. Okay. Whatever. Can we just call what happened what it was: murder. This was not a love story. He picked her up at a Dave & Buster's after asking for her number. There are children who now fatherless because daddy couldn't keep it in his pants. Could have all been prevented. See there's this new procedure called D-I-V-O-R-C-E.

McNair did not shoot himself four times in the chest, shoot is mistress in the head, and hide the gun under her body. Now, if he was able to do all that - he's a bad mofo. People, come the eff on! This man had a gorgeous wife, and four children. He cheated on his wife with a just out of her teens waitress, and everyone is like, "Well, it could be murder-suicide, maybe that's what happened, but we don't know. Maybe she realized that he lied to her, or he and his wife were having problems, yet he decided to work on his marriage. Whatever happened, can we call it what it is?

Friday, July 3, 2009

Sperm meets Egg




When does parenthood begin? Does it begin at the moment of conception? When you give birth to a child? Sign a birth certificate? I was all prepared NOT post about Michael Jackson (figured two was enough) when I read my 88th post in the blogosphere on the paternity of his children. There has been a shitload of snark directed at the biological beginnings Michael Jackson's children.


I could write a long winded post about phenotypes, race as a social construct as opposed to a biological one, or how racially mixed, bi-racial, multi-ethnic individuals may vary in appearance. h/t UBM. I could point out how several of my family members are like the old saying "light, bright and damned near white" with two black parents.
And after I've set forth data culled from Google, The Encyclopedia Britannica, H-NET, Jstor, and posted pics of my little cousin - we could exchange some ideas on what the hell was really going on with Mr. Jackson. We could discuss his father's alleged verbal abuse that is reported to have involved tearing down Michael's African-American features. We would perhaps attempt to dissect the possible layers of generational internalized racism and self-hatred that led him to want to look like a white woman.

We could. You can. I won't.

Michael Jackson is dead. There are three children who just lost the only parent they have ever known. Does it matter who the biological parents were? Even when it comes to custody and the state's favoring of bio-parents, (especially if they are recovering crack addicts) it does not always follow that the bio-parents will regain custody. The children will most likely be able to state who they wish to care for them. I highly doubt the two eldest will elect the woman who essentially acted as an Easy Bake Oven, took the money and ran.

As an adoptee, I have had to learn not to be offended when people ask, "Do you know your real parents?" Our society has been slow to learn that sperm and egg does not magically produce - parents. If my parents had died before I had reached the age of 18, there would not have been a massive search for the bio-parents. I would have been placed with an extended family member.

To those who would say Michael Jackson was not the father of these children: I, and the millions of other adoptees who were loved, protected, and cared for by our "real" parents - respectfully ask you to STFU.

Monday, June 29, 2009

H.A.M.



Is it just me or did is seem like it took a second for Mr. Jackson to remind himself that Michael was his SON. He couldn't just speak from the heart and say he loved him and he's devastated? No, this proud FATHER had to mention his new record label. Nice Joe. Real frickin' nice. To think that when I receive a phone call from my child's daycare in the middle of the day my heart almost stops... Even thinking about the loss of my child is almost too much for me. Normally I don't judge how other folks deal with grief, but damn. Really?

Friday, June 26, 2009

The Loss of Innocence




Yesterday, I mourned the loss of innocence. Over the weekend I had thought about writing a post on the early eighties. Those are the years I look back on with an overwhelming sense of peace and nostalgia. I remember shadowing my big brother, always being underfoot, and my father trying to fit half of the neighborhood kids in our van so we could go fishing. There were always street football and baseball games in the summer and the boys would attempt to break dance, ride skateboards and their BMX bikes. I laugh when I think of my father always burning something and hiding the pan in the snow from my mom, or recall cutting my dolls hair punk-rock style and streaking what was left with Mom's best fingernail polish. The ass-whipping that followed - not so funny. Those were my halcyon days and Michael provided the soundtrack.

It's hard to express how much he meant to me during those days - he was everything to me as a kid. Most of my chore money was spent on his music, posters, stickers etc. I even loved Weird Al's "Eat It" because it was connected to MJ (funny as hell too). Would fall asleep listening to the worn out tape of "The Jackson Five's Greatest Hits." I grew up, but I was still a fan. As Michael grew older, the world watched as he (and we) stripped away his innocence. The little boy who sang "Ben" was nowhere to be found in this strange man-child who emerged and ultimately hid away in seclusion only to resurface more unrecognizable than before.

Yesterday, I was revisiting the idea of an 80's post and remembering those days when crazy happened. Again. Despite the life drama with the ex that is sometimes discussed here, I have treid to maintain my belief in the inherent goodness of most people. So nothing prepared me for level of pure unwarranted evil (post forthcoming)that came my way as I prepared for the long commute home. As I walked downtown and tried not to cry in front of the baby - the phone call came. Michael was dead. For a moment, I couldn't breathe or think. As it sank in, I thought of his children and his family and the grief they must now endure. And then I realized that a major touchstone to my happiest days in past was gone. And so was any sense of innocence I once had.

Yesterday, we drove home and listened to his music and the stream of newscasts. The baby she asked me, "Who is Michael Jackson?" I told her someone mommy used to love and cranked up the music.

Monday, June 22, 2009

What the Le Leche League Doesn't Tell You



I have a problem. Thankfully it does not involve the ex. Nope. This situation requires much more patience and diplomacy.

This weekend, I was unceremoniously awakened by a sharp painful pinch. Understand, gentle readers, that I was in the middle of an orgasmic dream. There I was with an entire afternoon to myself, sipping a tall mocha at an independent bookstore...hot eh? Prepared to squish whatever it was - I sat up (causing even more pain) and there, howling in protest, was my problem: the toddler.

"Gimmie back my boobies mommy!"

She is three. I breastfed her until she was two. She was weaned and doing well - then we came home to my mother's house. She has had two relapses since our return. Once during "Operation Night Night" where she was learning to sleep in a room alone, and this one. I have explained to her that there is no milk in there. Milk all gone. We buy milk at the store. "But I waaanitt, I tell Nama and Ms. L (try explaining that to a daycare teacher who thinks once they've sprouted one tooth it should be all over) on you!"

I showed her the teeth marks, explained that I was wounded and boobies were out of commission forever. The pitiful wounded look on my face satisfied her - for now. Her pediatrician informed that she has been advising more mothers on this situation recently as breastfeeding has seen a rise in popularity. Her advice: firmness and patience.

My boobies are losing both.

Thursday, June 18, 2009

Wednesday, June 17, 2009

Plantation Negroes Running Amok!

Sending someone a not so nice email from work is a bad bad thing. Bad. I called my ex boyfriend's manager (see The Misrepresented Negro post) a plantation negro. In my defense, it was one line in a rather lengthy email regarding his actions before, during, and after my pursuit of child support. This person has made it clear that he thinks of me as a baby mamma who should have never had my child. I informed him that his client was in default of the support order and he replied that he didn't think he rated a conversation with me. My response was that he didn't "rate" back then due to his tracking down people at work, numerous calls and emails regarding the return of a magazine to my ex (seriously) when said ex had not visited his child or assisted financially in six months. I informed him this was plantation negro behavior. Mean. Bad.

His response: He fired off an email stating that he was actually going after my ex for money owed to him. He then critiqued my "victim mentality" and blathered on about the three major religions, Karma, and how being mean to him was going to come back and haunt me. He also opined that my ex must have been "good enough for me for at least one night." Um...Okay...

My favorite line from his email: Good luck on getting your money. Your interests oppose mine. In short, I plan to get my money before you get yours.
Nice eh? Translation : Screw yo baby! I gettin' paid fo' you.


And then he hopped on his broomstick, made his way to my job, and with quivering indignation and my email in hand demanded to speak to a supervisor regarding an employee who is harassing him. In short - he acted like a victim. My toddler does less crying when she gets a boo boo. Damn dude. Who does that?

I have lost my father, grandmother, home, had the father of my child put his hands on me when I was pregnant, his mother condemn me for being selfish and leaving, fought for almost a year to even obtain child support, been called all kinds of whores, bitches and treated like shit, and guess what? I fought back. I planned in advance an left. I take responsibility for my choices and actions. Life is hard, and I may fuck up at times, cry, get angry and be sad. Humans do that sort of shit. Most days I still smile and make jokes. Into every life a little rain must fall.

So guess what beeyotch? I work through my shit. I write. I have a beautiful baby and people who love me. And I'm still here - with my career intact.

I am not a victim.

You Mr. Manager: Still a plantation negro.

*If the following video offends you - go obtain a cursory knowledge of black history and get back to me.

Monday, June 15, 2009

The Kid's Alright: Part I

This beautifully written post at blackink's site reminded me of how time passes us by a little too quickly...

This weekend I attended my eighteenth year high school reunion - the prequel to our official twentieth reunion. As I was viewing everyone through a drug induced haze (Claritin-D Non-drowsy my ass), one thought kept reverberating in my mind: Where did the time go?

During the last two years of high school I could not wait to get out of my hometown. Eighteen years later I find myself feeling the exact same way. I returned home last November with my daughter to live with my mother. Leaving my friends and the city that I now consider home was difficult, but it seemed like the wise thing to do.

After the break-up/flight/removal of ex by the PoPo, my family and I had a series of discussions. The rationale behind the return went like this: Temporary, it's only temporary! It will give you a break from all of the chaos and stress! You'll be able to recuperate from the nuclear bomb that was just lobbed onto your finances! You can commute without giving up your career, the baby's daycare! Most importantly, it will give you a chance to help out your mom! So, I moved home.

Big mistake.

There is nothing inherently wrong with my hometown (once you get past it's dying industrial townness, fuckall to do, pervasive use of scrunchies, hair gel, and general ass backwardness). Kidding... I actually have a lot of fond memories of this place. Unfortunately, most of these memories involve my father who died a few years ago. Being here in this house without him is difficult. Seeing my daughter and realizing that she will never have memories of him makes it even more so.

I have helped my mom in some ways, but she has helped me a lot more. Patience is not learned til it is tried, and lord knows we have tried one another's. As my time here draws to a close, I have been taking a serious inventory of myself (based on reunion pics, my ass is entirely too large) and the direction my life is headed. Like Mr. Cooke sang, "A Change is Gonna Come." But, first I will be taking a look back at the roads I probably shouldn't have travelled. Hindsight is a bitch.


Too be continued...

Thursday, June 11, 2009

Since I am not at the concert tonight...

I'm going to have my own private jam session. Enjoy.



Scuse me while I go get a drink.



Ok, I got my apple juice. Closing my eyes - envisioning myself in the front row.



I'm not mad that I am at home. Really.

Sunday, June 7, 2009

No Bitchazzness Allowed

The following statements were made by two single mothers at my daughter's daycare center:
"I came up here an saw him playn' with Barbies. When we got home he was being all whiny and shit. I started shoving on him and told his ass he betta stop all that cryn' shit. I ain't raising no lil punk ass."

"Boy get your ass in the car and cut out all that damn crying!"


The children referenced in the above statements are three and four years old.

Certainly, some women feel they have man up their little boys. Daddy ain't around to teach them to be men so it's up to mom to ensure her male offspring does not become soft or *gasp* gay. I will address the ridiculousness of the previous statement in another post. Lord knows playing with a doll might lead a young boy to decide he likes penis instead of vagina...


This is nonsense. Life and parenting will teach a child what he needs to know. A child comes to his mother to kiss his boo boos, defend him when necessary, and send him back into to the world with love and confidence. Terrorizing a toddler by telling him to not act like a "punk ass" is setting him on the path to a misogynistic bullying existence that will most likely end up with him sitting in a court room awaiting sentencing.

While it's fine to write all of this on my blog - there has to be some way to discuss this with these women. Realistically, is there a way to talk about this with them?

Saturday, May 30, 2009

Black Men & White Women




*Disclaimer*
I know the fool in the video is not representative of all black men who are in relationships with white women.
I acknowledge that there are many interracial relationships that are not based upon ingrained Mandingo and Missy Anne stereotypes.
Ok!? Now read the damn post before you send me some funky comment...

Never ever say (aloud) that a black man ONLY dates white women - even if it's true! One of my black female co-workers has a crush on a guy. He has stated and it has been noted that he has a clear preference for women of the whiter shade of pale. After witnessing her flirting with him rather overtly, I gave her the heads up. Unfortunately, he was around the corner and my "quiet voice" wasn't quite up to par.

HUGE mistake...

I received five emails from him that day telling me about myself. He informed me that I didn't know him and better keep his name out of my mouth. At first I was amused, but I apologized if I had offended him. Finally, I just let him know that I could care less who he dates, sleeps with, holds hands with or whatever. Jeez...You would have thought I called his mamma a hooker!

Personally, I've dated the entire rainbow and have no ill will towards black men who do not date black women. Why? Because we wouldn't have anything in common and I don't want to spend time defending myself against some Sapphire stereotype. Life is too short. Growing up in my town I witnessed the majority of young black men at my school show a clear preference for white girls. I learned very quickly if I was to have any self-esteem after the eleventh grade expanding my dating horizons was a must. Despite the serious backlash I received from family, friends, and aforementioned young black men - I decided I had the right to be happy.



My co- worker: He still doesn't date black women.

Monday, May 25, 2009

TCB?

The outrage was real!!!



Unfortunately, so is this crazy ass story posted on Avery Tooley's site.

Thursday, May 21, 2009

Dating an Ex?

If you don't have a lot of time or patience - skip to 2:50 in...




Alright, catch your breath and continue reading. No, that is not an actual ex of mine, or my child's dad. However, it's a great intro to the WTF moments I have been having with an ex. And this is precisely why I haven't shown him this site. Sorry Mr. X, but some things just need to be dissected, discussed and posted on my blog.

For the past two months I have been reconnecting with someone I used to date. A brief history: The relationship ended on a rather unpleasant note - He pissed me off and I didn't speak to him again. Interestingly enough, he remembers things quite differently. Something about me being at fault... I know, right? We had a bit of a falling out over that issue about a week into this, but we have moved past it. Okay, that's a damn lie, but we are stubbornly choosing not to examine this too closely right now.

He lives in another state and will be in town for a visit early next month. As much as I am looking forward to seeing him, there are a few minor details that need to be worked out. Lately, he has become overly familiar. He's recalling certain *moments* in detail and being extra flirty. I really think this has something to do with me telling him he used to be very closed off from me. Now he's going out of his way to prove he is open - waaay too open. He addressed me as Ms. **** (I can't even write the name, makes me cringe and feel all icky inside) in an email. No pet names. And, really dude, no pet names of a sexual nature.

Yes, he has seen me naked. Yes, he has seen me when I am sick, snotty and my hair looks like Lisa Bonet stuck her finger in a light socket. However, if you add a baby and zero time spent in my presence during the last decade - a little getting to know you again time is in order.

When thinking of dating an ex, should you attempt to regain the level of intimacy you once shared right away? Can you start over and "date" and ex?

Tuesday, May 19, 2009

Saturday, May 16, 2009

The Misrepresented Negro

*Update* 7/7/09
Just posted blog on FB. Removed part of post due to privacy concerns. This odd media age does make it hard to clown folks does it not?


Despite his manager's suck ass intro - he's talented.

This post regarding former basketball player and jazz musician Wayman Tisdale on Undercover Black Man's spot made me think of about legacies - public and private.

Far too much of my day was spent avoiding the complete BS that was being shoveled by the manager of my ex. As phone calls and other acts of douchebaggery were taking place, my friends and I all had the same reaction: WTF? Why would a member of several organizations that were designed to mentor young black men, a man that sits on the boards of several prominent organizations, engage in this kind of behavior? There is an interesting dichotomy when I look at this person's public persona and his private actions. His continual interference (see April's post regarding child support) has been an interesting to say the least.

My ex has seen several of his mentors die alone. There were very few people to to truly mourn them because of the lives they had led i.e., wives and children they had screwed over. Yes, there were nice write-ups in the papers regarding their artistic endeavors... However, as they aged and death came closer, what mattered to them was most was what they no longer had.

Thursday, May 14, 2009

On Fatherhood

Today I was on another site where someone supposedly made the statement that they "hoped someone would die of kidney failure" and it shook me. I let it go because I couldn't find the original comment and it wasn't the forum for me to go off on someone. My father died of kidney failure. My father meant the world to me and he is the reason why I am so passionate about the issue of absentee fathers in the black community.

When I hear the terms "baby mamma" and "baby daddies" I am saddened. Despite the circumstances in which a child was conceived, there are children who need to be parented. Time after time I have heard, "Black men ain't shit" or how they do not take care of their children. Although it is an issue - I know better. My father and mother adopted me at nine months old. While my father wasn't perfect, he was the most important person in my world and not once did I doubt his love for me. My grandfather was fifty when he married my grandmother who was much younger. They had five children and he worked to support all of them. He lived to see three of his children graduate from college.


Today was the first time in almost six months my daughter had a visit from her father. I want her to know the best of him, not the worst that was my experience. I play his music for her and show her videos of him so that she can be proud of him. What can I say when she wants to know where he is? I tell her that he loves her. I do not make promises for him to her. As she grows older, he will reveal himself to her without any interference from me. Our issues are not hers.

My father died on March 11, 2005. My daughter was born on March 9, 2006. I wish she could have known him.

Wednesday, May 13, 2009

I killed Bambi



I blame McDonald's for this...

My toddler is in love with the Kidz Bop cd's that are now included in the Happy Meal. Her absolute favorite is the "The Purple One" that we must listen to during our fifty-five minute commute. Today, I made the mistake of putting in "The Yellow One" which immediately drew her wrath. I'm driving down the highway listening to her howling, when I notice something in the middle of the road. Swearing, I swerve just in time to avoid the newly dead deer in the middle of the damn road. After a few seconds of trying to erase the image of steaming bloody road kill from my mind - I try to explain why I yelled at her.

It went like this:

"Mommy is sorry for yelling at you. Mommy was scared and trying not to hit something in the road and needed to concentrate."

"Whad you hit mommy?"

"Nothing honey, there was a deer in the road and -"

"You hit a deer?"

"No, mommy did not hit a deer, it was already hit and -"

"Did the deer get blood?"

"Um, yes, but listen honey the deer was -"

"Is the deer okay?"

"Well, see, the deer is sort of... okay, the deer is in heaven."

"The deer got dead?" "You killed the deer dead!"

"No, the deer was already gone and -"

"Mommy killed the deer like Bambi."

Monday, May 11, 2009

Directions



Lately I've been a little perturbed to say the least. Pretty sure I was headed down the road to a moderate depression. But, thanks to the effortless idiocy of some, I was forced to look in the rear view mirror and change directions.

Made a sharp U-turn onto RUFKM? Blvd.
Rolled a stop sign on the corner of Attorney Ave. and Lawyer Ln.
Came to a full stop lest I receive a ticket.
Started car, drove at a leisurely pace til I reached exit EF U.
Will continue driving til I reach destination.
I'll let you know when I arrive.

Saturday, May 9, 2009

On Child Support and Domestic Violence

Bloggers must always be cognizant of the possibility that anyone can access what they post. Children, family, current and future employers, significant others etc., can all someday read what we have written. With this in mind, I choose to continue to post real events and their very real consequences. Most people tell stories from the beginning. You, dear reader, have the good luck to stumble upon what hopefully be the end of this particular period in my life.

Today I received an order of child support. The occasion was marked with the usual fear, anger, and uncertainty that I have grown familiar with. There was the calm before the storm: The smiles and knowing whispers with the advisor. The careful controlled and concentrated effort at ignoring my presence. And then, down came the rain... The mask slipped, the facade crumbled, and security was called to escort the obligee out of the building.

My five year order of protection grants me two things - An underwhelming sense of protection and loads of unwelcome advice from others. My personal fave: "If someone wants to get to you, ain't no piece of paper will stop them." Thanks for that. Child support and protection orders are not infallible. Aside from the obvious reasons for obtaining such orders, most people fail to recognize accountability as motivating factor. Personally, it was what led me to today's hearing.

No longer will I have to beg plead and chase down money for my child. I may never see a dime, but the state I reside in holds him responsible in ways I cannot. I may end up being physically harmed, but the list of suspects is narrowed considerably. God willing, I will be able to someday look at my daughter and tell her: First, that I wanted provide a two-parent home. Second, leaving was the only way to obtain safety and peace of mind so that I could parent her. Third, that I made every effort to foster a relationship between her and her father in a safe environment. Fourth, that I obtained the financial support that is rightfully hers.
And last, that I did my best.

Thursday, May 7, 2009

Sick and Tired

That is my current mood. It's been two days off of work due to illness, but there has been no rest. Saturday is the child support hearing and so far, his mother and manager have called me this week. I've nothing to say to them and truly wish they would just have the decency to bugger off for the remainder of the week. I've been rather pissy lately. Overwhelmed at work and unable to concentrate for even short periods of time while at home. I have a lot to write about, but the desire is outweighed by the need to hack up some more sickness and crawl back to bed.

Fun times!

Thursday, April 30, 2009

Bad Mommy

For the past two weeks, I have been facing down one of the greatest challenges of my adult life: Getting my toddler to go to sleep all by herself. No mommy next to her, and certainly no booby (TMI - get used to it). She's already been weaned. She still attempts to use my breasts as her pacifiers at night.

In the beginning, I looked at this as a milestone. A one week trial period that would put assuredly put her on the path to independence and give me much needed free time. I read several articles from my collection of parenting books. And consulted other parents who assured me that it would be a rough few days, but soon she would be sleeping soundly without me. I even had a cutesy name for her little journey to becoming a big girl: Operation Night Night.

Two weeks later... "Operation Night Night" has become: Operation Take Your Little Ass to Bed Before I Lose My ISH! Such are the sentiments of a sleep deprived mom. Oh, and Dr. Sears, Spock, and the frickn' Baby Whisperer can all kiss my ass.

Tonight is the first night she has fallen asleep before eleven. I gave in and let her have her booby just to get her to go to sleep. Yeah, I know...

Sunday, April 26, 2009

There are no words...



Seriously folks - should we laugh or be really really sad? Personally, I'm upset with myself for spending almost twenty minutes of my life watching this...

Saturday, April 25, 2009

Perez Hilton take a bow



I have question about the Miss USA controversy: Why is everyone up in arms about this woman's answer? Yes, I know for those who are proponents of gay marriage her answer was offensive, intolerant, yadda, yadda frick'n yadda. Before anyone jumps down my throat with a barrage of nastiness, insults or before anyone agrees with me without knowing where I'm coming from - consider this: Would you have preferred that she lied? Would you have preferred that she had given, what is unfortunately being called, a "politically correct" answer? What the hell does "politically correct" mean anyway? For many on the right it is on par with using the term "liberal" as a slur. Describing someone or their position as such is often used as a way to stop a cogent argument from someone they disagree with dead in it's tracks rather than debate actual facts.

Let's put it this way: If you feel the need to use derogatory language when discussing a particular group of people - then go on ahead. Seriously! Hey, as an African-American woman, I would much rather you be upfront with your unsavory opinions about me than keep it in the closet. Why? Because I know exactly who I'm dealing with and can act accordingly. Don Imus was real with it and got slapped down. For what? Jesse Jackson was real with it and got reprimanded. Why? Don't apologize. You said it, you meant it, now stand up and defend yourself. Don't hire a publicist, go to rehab and hold prayer meetings. Put that shit out on Front St. and allow the public to decide if you deserve to keep your job, place in the public eye or a GP beatdown.

Back to Miss USA... I have not a single issue with gay marriage. Do I agree with it? Yep. Have an issue with those who don't? Nope. Not really. Why? Because you have the right to your opinion, a right to vote how you see fit, and we can go at it when it's time to cast a ballot. I may disagree with you, think you are dead wrong, have no respect for your opinion, but guess what? It is your right to have that opinion and stand up for it. For supporters of insert your cause), you cannot say you want to live in a tolerant (another word used way too often, but that's another post)world, then display an egregious amount of intolerance when the opinion voiced does not line up with your own.

So, Ms. Prejean (Runner-Up for MISS USA) go ahead and hold your head up, take your bow - we'll see you on Fox News with your new show and on the lecture circuit and at2010 Palin for President rallies. And Mr. Hilton - thank you for continuing to rant against her and extending her 15 minutes of fame.

That's my take. What say you?

Wednesday, April 22, 2009

You might act white, but you ain't white.

And those unfortunate choice of words were the beginning of the end of a promising relationship. I could post a rant about Negroes confusing whiteness with rightness, and rave about the "The Soul Patrol" policing the black community for signs of random acts of selling out by readin' and writtin', but this brilliant quote will address that:

“If you can control a man’s thinking, you don’t have to worry about his actions. If you can determine what a man thinks you do not have worry about what he will do. If you can make a man believe that he is inferior, you don’t have to compel him to seek an inferior status, he will do so without being told and if you can make a man believe that he is justly an outcast, you don’t have to order him to the back door, he will go to the back door on his own and if there is no back door, the very nature of the man will demand that you build one.”
-Carter G. Woodson

I would rather address the issue of my disasters in the dating department. The fool who uttered these words seemed like a nice enough guy. What went wrong? I should have known something was up when he started to tell me about myself - after knowing me all of two weeks. It started with a little criticism here and there. As months went by those little "observations" grew into full on dissertations of who I am as a person and why I had dated certain people. According to the sage one: I have dated white guys because they are passive, I needed a man who always agrees with me and my friends are a bunch of enablers. In other words: I'm a total asshole.

The last straw came when he criticized me for planning a trip to the park with my daughter. To be fair to my self and it's esteem - the last aforementioned acts of random prickness happened in 48 hours. One the day of our parting he told me it was too windy for the baby, too cold, I was too old to go to the park, and insinuated I am a bad mother. I promptly told him to f**k off. He hung up on me. I sent an email (via phone) and left a voice mail informing him that we simply were not compatible and wished him well.

And then I took the baby to the park.

Monday, April 20, 2009

This makes me feel better

Kinda Blue...

I'm feeling a little melancholy tonight. Could be the rain that has been falling all day and the dark sky, but I'm certain that it is more than that. The upcoming child support hearing has me feeling a little on edge. Why it had to go this far, be this ugly is beyond me. Ok, that's a lie. I suppose I always knew it would go this far. My ex seems incapable of handling things like an adult and considering what's in the best interest of our child. Sad, but I tried so hard after I left him to make him be a good father and be active in the baby's life.

What's that saying about leading a horse to water? How many women are portrayed as gold diggers when they are requesting something that should easily be given? Do men have any idea what it takes to raise a child alone?

Saturday, April 18, 2009

Please Baby Baby Please

After nine months of calm requests, pleading, angry remonstrations, a bounced check (his) for $400 at the daycare, and detective work worthy of "The Wire" - it arrived: The letter containing the date for an administrative hearing for child support.

His manager (he is a musician) was shocked and alarmed by my actions. Didn't I realize that I was effectively sentencing him to jail!? Didn't I realize that this was my fault for having a child with him in the first place. Surely, I must have known that he was irresponsible! Can't we agree just agree to settle this outside of court? Court systems in the U.S. are biased against black men! The manager then went on to tell me the story of his friend Sean and how I needed to be more compassionate so this would not happen to my ex. And then he emailed this:


*Names and places have been changed to protect the triflin*

Mr. X requests a negotiated settlement in-lieu of court
ordered child support. He asks that you accept the following terms:

1) A halt to the court proceedings scheduled with X County related to child support.

2) One hundred dollars per month in child support paid

3) Visitation at childcare center

Mr. X requests that the monthly
payments begin May 25, 2009. If these terms are agreeable please indicate so by
your own writing, your signature, and the date of your signature.

Respectfully Yours,
X

Lest, this post be taken as yet another bash against black men, I should make it clear that I personally had and know many great fathers. I believe that no matter the marital status of the parents, children benefit greatly from having a relationship with their father.

There are those that that try to infantilize black men and "Sapphirize" black women when it comes to the issue of child support: Jimi Izrael this means you!!! Mr. Izrael wrote an article about Sean Levert (yes, the manager's friend) and his tragic death. Unfortunately, this article was yet another diatribe against "baby's mommas" and their gold digging aspirations. To be fair, he does state that he takes issue with parents who won't pay child support, but supports those who can't pay the amount awarded. Having read other articles of his that have a decidedly misogynistic bent to them - I take this with a large chunk of salt.

One comment ranted that single moms need to stop being lazy. Mr. Man, you try working 40+ hours per week, paying for rent, utilities, food, gas, car payment, car insurance, car maintenance, student loan, daycare, health care, clothes and god forbid - a Happy Meal. Spare me the "welfare queen" stories.

Mr. Izrael, you can keep the pacifer -I'll take the child support.

An Introduction of Sorts

I am in my thirties, black or African American (take your pick, but let's not argue about it) and mommy to one beautiful, bright and very strong willed three year old. Of late, things have been chaotic, intensely frustrating, sometimes mundane and dreary, but also strangely rewarding. Currently single, I have been spending the last month hopscotching over the toads in the pond to get to the prince.

No - the prince has not arrived yet.

I've been told that I think too much, analyze things to death, like to argue, am difficult, kind, emotional, obstinate, compassionate, too patient and impatient. Writing about motherhood, singledom, womanhood, the melting pot that is our country, politics and literature is my release.

Enjoy.