I'm Back, and I've moved!

If anyone's still out there, I've decided to start blogging again...and I've started a new blog here.

Pop on over and check it out.

*Sigh*

I'm not in the best of moods. Just in a funk, I suppose. Haven't really been posting much lately.

I'll get better. I've just kinda been missing Ex lately. It's hard seeing him with someone new. I gave him three years of my life and had a baby with him, after all.

And I get kicked to the curb in return.

Fuck it.

I always had myself classified as one of those, "I don't need no stinkin' man." types. Turns out that yea, maybe I was a bit overconfident in that respect. Not that I NEED a man, per say. Just that I really do like having one around.

Cuddling is nice. Having someone to watch scary movies with is nice. (Because me? I'm a total chicken shit, and I will have to sleep with the lights on if I watch anything alone. Because when I saw Blair Witch Project and went to bed that night, my warped brain totally SAW a hand coming over the edge of the bed to grab me and, omigod, now I'm traumatized.)

Anyway.

I miss him. I've been fighting it but I do indeed miss his sorry ass.

This gets better, right?


P.S. My plants are growing like mad. This makes me slightly happier. Can't wait for flowers to bloom!

Self Pity Bonanza

Today I'm going to whine.

Because yea, guess what I'm doing today? I'm sitting at home. While all my friends go to the beach. And I wanna go to the motherfuckin' beach.

But I can't, as I have no one to watch Little One, and what would I do with a four month old at the beach?

You know, I'm only 22. I still want to DO stuff. I am not really at the point in my life where I am perfectly content sitting at home all day changing diapers and wiping up drool. I dearly love my daughter, of course. And I love spending time with her and watching her goofy grins and watching her try her damndest to sit up and then getting her mad face when she can't.

But still.

That's ALL I DO.

I get out of the house to go grocery shopping. Or to check the mail. Or to go buy diapers.

Step back! I'm crazy and out of control! Put me on motherfuckin' Mommies Gone Wild!

I don't even really like the beach here. The water's a nasty browny-grey color and there's seaweed everywhere and I don't really like how itchy saltwater makes me feel, but that's not the point. The point is, everyone else is going, and when they call to invite me, it's all, "Oh, yea. I guess you don't have a babysitter, huh? That sucks. Well gotta go. Have fun playing peek a boo."

You know?

I know I should be grateful to have my daughter and count my blessings because so many women can't even have kids and so forth. And I am. I really really am.

I just wish I could have maybe a teensy tiny bit of a life, too.

And it's not like I have a husband who can be all, "Oh go take a bath honey, I'll watch her" or "Go out with your friends, we'll be ok for a little bit." (I know, You're probably all laughing hysterically at the idea of a husband that actually does that kinda thing, but this is my fantasy life, kay?) Because my husband? He ran off with some little tramp.

I really don't mean to sound like an ungrateful bitch, it's just some days I sit there making faces at my kiddo and somewhere in the back of my head I'm thinking, Is this all I'm going to do for the rest of my life? Ever? Sit here and make faces and wipe up formula?

I dunno. It's just the 24/7 baby thing with no one around to help or even have an adult conversation with is just kinda getting to me.

*sigh*

I'll be better tomorrow, I promise.

Woot! They Live!

My Morning Glories are growing! Having never had plants before I'm kinda surprised at how giddy I feel seeing those little leaves pop out of the dirt. Soon I shall be one of those people whose porches look like someone transplanted the Amazon outside their front door. You half expect to see a monkey pop out at any second. Yay for me.

Also the dates on this (borrowed) digital camera are not right. And I have no clue how to fix it. Oh well.

I got tagged for a meme by this lady.

The gist, I believe, is that you link to five bloggers you've never linked to before.

So, in no particular order:

1. Boobs, Injuries and Dr. Pepper

2. Attack Of The Redneck Mommy

3. random mommy. limited cleverness.

4. Joy Unexpected

5. Irreverent Antisocial Intellectual


There we go. Since I amaze one and all with my laziness I tag EVERYONE! I hereby declare this a meme free for all. Have at it.

Little One has topped 11 pounds! She gained 10 ounces in 1 week! So those docs can shove it up their you-know-what. She is just going to be dainty and that's all there is to it.

Plant Madness!

I got plants! Yay me. I know it's lame but there's not a single plant in this house and I felt it was high time I added some. Ivys are tough, right? Cause I'm plant retarded.

If you all promise not to have heart attacks I might post some pictures of my snakes next. They're pretty, I promise.

Anyway that's about it from me. Little One is finally packing on weight, yay for her!

I have actually begun speaking via myspace messages to Ex's chic. (She made the first move). He better watch out, we're going to start comparing notes and wind up kicking his ass. It's not really a friendship per say so much as a "Why's he doing this?!" kind of thing. I am, after all, the expert on his asshole ways. I think he's cheating on her. Kharma's a bitch, for sure.

Uhg, that's about it for me.

To Hell With Dial Up, Anyway

So I haven't been posting much. The battle dial up requires to do the simplest damn things just annoys me too much to struggle into my account most days.

Anyway, not too much going on here. Ex has started trying to turn this whole thing around on me by insisting that I have cheated on him with an old guy friend of mine that I've been friends with since eighth grade. Which I didn't. But I suppose it makes him feel better to try and turn things around on me so that he doesn't have to feel bad.

Whatever.

People with road rage need to, you know, not drive, because the crappy Honda Civic that tried to swerve back and forth in front of me and motioned for me to pull over so the four ghetto fabulous guys in it could get out and whip my ass or whatever, while my daughter is in the car, yea, they need to not be on the road. My meek little Chevy Malibu stomped their ass in my daring getaway, though. Let them take that back to cracktown and tell their homies. Uhg.

Anybody else have unfufilled dreams? When I was about to graduate, my friend and I were planning to take off across the country on a whirlwind tour of the national parks. I have a yearning to see nature and trees and smell fresh air so deep it almost pains me. I long to hike up a mountain and look out across a green valley and actually breath smog free air and listen to the sounds of nature without hearing cars and sirens and crap. Sadly, the trip didn't work out. What with one thing and another I ended up having to work full time to pay bills since SOMEONE *coughexcough* couldn't hold down a job, so I never got to take my road trip. I was staring at a RV the other day just daydreaming away about using the money from when I finally sell the house to buy one and just take off.

I know I can't.

But it's nice to dream, isn't it?

Anyone else have stuff they never got to do?

Back Again

Well I'm back!

I'm temporarily using crappy dial up *uhg* so it's amazingly irritating slogging through pages at the speed of smell-but at least I'm online again.

All is well here. Little One and I are doing fine, though we did have a scare when her new doctor found a heart murmer and we had to whisk her off to the cardiologist for testing, but nothing is wrong. Just a small, benign heart murmer, no holes or leaks or anything.

Other than that it's been the same old wildly boring life.

Really, I can't much think of anything to post about. I have a mild case of writer's block at the moment. Someone tag me for a meme or something, please!

All Is Well

Just thought I would let you guys know-all is well with the doctor fiasco. No one besides Old Fart is the least bit worried about my parenting, My doctor referred me to a different clinic that Little One will be going to from now on, gave them all another talking to, and all I have to do is let the social services lady know that I am, indeed, taking her to the doctor to be checked out.

No one's coming to do a visitation or taking my daughter.

If they had, you guys wouldn't be hearing from me anymore because I'd have killed them all Ninja style and run away to hide in the mountains, daughter in tow.

Amazingly enough my internet has stayed on all this time but they actually are gonna turn it off in the next day or two, so don't worry if I disappear for a bit. All is well.


Why does Blogger think internet needs to be capitalized? I refuse.

And you know what pisses me off? I had this dream last night about a guy I worked with at my old job. I had the biggest crush on him. He was so freaking hot...tall, blond, nice rock hard abs, and tattooed...just sexy as all hell....

.....

Wait, what were we talking about?

Oh, the dream. Right, right.

Anyway.

So I'm in the midst of this dream, and we're SO about to get it on, and then I just get up and walk off.

And then do you know what my dream self does? I go up to Ex (who's suddenly there) and have this whole talk about how I couldn't possibly do Hot Guy, because I'd never want to be with another guy, ever.

HE EVEN RUINS MY DREAMS, THE SORRY ASS.

Uhg.

Talk About Jumping The Gun

So I spent most of last night researching this whole "failure to thrive" crap that the Old Asshat tried to pin on my daughter, and you know what?

She doesn't have any of the symptoms. Not ONE.

She isn't below the fifth fucking percentile in weight, she's at the 25th. Below average a bit, but nothing to warrant the crap he pulled.

She's right on target with her height and her mental and social development. She does everything a baby her age is supposed to do.

She's not unresponsive or excessively sleepy, she doesn't avoid eye contact. Nothing.

So basically an exam that should have led to a normal conversation about how we could get her to up her weight a bit led to accusations of neglect and threats of having CPS take my baby.

When I go back today I'm getting that fucker's name and I am filing a complaint. This shit is ridiculous.

Not to mention, hello, I'm not exactly big myself. I'm 5'3 and before I got pregnant I weighed about 100 pounds soaking wet. Pregnancy was the only thing that's ever made me gain weight my entire life. And I've already burned off 30 of the 50 pounds I gained without even fucking exercising. My mom was tiny when she was young, my aunt is tiny, her daughter is tiny, my sister is tiny. DOES ANYONE ELSE SEE A PATTERN HERE?

I swear I feel like I'm going to burst a blood vessel.

Anyway, in better news, I got reviewed by the ladies at So Many Blogs, So Little Time.

Nothing like an awesome review to boost your spirits.

Old Man River Needs To Retire

Holy lord, what a fucking day.

Little One had a doctor's appointment today. When they weighed her it turns out she is a bit below where she should be weight wise. So we go in for her physical exam.

Here's where it all goes downhill.

Right off the bat I notice the doctor is a bit, well, old. But I think to myself, hey, grandfatherly, and let it go.

He starts the exam. Checks her tummy, shines the little light in her eyes, looks in her mouth.

"How are her bowel movements?" he asks.

"Fine."

He again grabs the little light. Shines it in her eyes again. Checks her tummy again. Looks in her mouth again.

"And how are her bowel movements?"

Blink. "Um, they're fine."

He grabs the light AGAIN. Shines it in her eyes. AGAIN. Checks her tummy. AGAIN. Looks in her mouth. AGAIN.

"How are her bowel movements?"

I stare. "They're just FINE." I say loudly. Maybe Methuselah here didn't hear me the first two times.

And oh my god, he grabs the light A-FUCKING-GAIN. He proceeds to examine my daughter for the fourth fucking time in a row, going through the whole thing as if he hadn't just done it three god damn times. This is not a recheck. I realize this guy has got to be wavering in and out because he obviously doesn't remember doing it FIVE SECONDS AGO.

And then.

"How are her bowel movements?"

I'm not joking.

Finally he seems to be done with her so I dress her and snatch her up before he can have at her again. He then sits down at the desk. I huddle next to the wall, cradling my daughter, and stare at him. I'm already running through what I'm going to say to whatever mother fucker is in charge of this clinic. He ruffles through the paper and starts talking to the nurse, who was conveniently out of the room for the deja vu exam. He talks about how she hasn't gained any weight, at all, not one once, since her last visit. He sits and glares at me as I explain that that is not true, I had gone through this before and they had mistakenly written the wrong weight down at the first visit, then re-weighed her. Apparently it didn't get changed on paper because according to his records, she weighs exactly the same as she did before. I patiently go through the story again.

He glares at me and snaps, "Well, it doesn't matter, because she's still not where she needs to be."

He then turns to the nurse and tells her she needs to go get Sheila.

Sheila comes in. He proceeds to tell her the same bullshit about how she weighs the same as she did before, with me trying to interject the actual truth of the matter and him loudly talking over me.

And then.

"I think she needs to be seen at the Children's Medical Center Emergency Room."

"Emergency room?!" I say loudly. "What?!"

Sheila stares at him and starts to say how she really doesn't think that's necessary (since she has actually listened to what I've been trying to say all along, that it's their records that have gotten fucked up) and this mother fucker interrupts her to say this:

"And I think we need to bring CPS into this."

Holy fucking shit, no you did not.

I stand. I'm so pissed off that I don't know whether I'm going to scream, cry, or punch him in his horrible old man face.

"That's IT!" I growl. I fix Sheila with a look. "I need to talk to someone. NOW. ALONE." I give Old Fuck my best glare. I'm so completely freaked out and mad that I'm shaking.

So we cross the hall, and guess what? Sheila's a social worker. Surprise, surprise. I sit down. I'm about thisclose to bursting into hysterical, terrified crying.

I tell her the story of the exam from hell. I tell her no way in hell is my child going back in the room, that if they are worried about my child's welfare I will go to another doctor, ANY doctor, but not him. She placates me, tells me about how she had the same problem with her child, and that they told her the same thing, and how she stared them in the face and told them that she worked for CPS, and why the hell would she be abusing her own child?

The nutritionist is called in too, the same one that went through the weighing ordeal with us last time, and thank god she remembers us and backs up what I've been saying.

My doctor that I went to (who is a senior member of the nursing staff there) also comes swooping in at this point to inform them that she will vouch for me personally and write a letter to anyone who wants one informing them of the fact. She fixes the social worker and the nutritionist with an icy glare and repeats what she said, just for emphasis. They tell her that they are not concerned about my parenting in the least and that all they are concerned about is getting Little One up to par weight wise. She snorts, gives me a hug, tells me to call her if I need ANYTHING (insert another icy glare at the two) and swoops out.

So now I get to write down the time and amount of every feeding until she goes back to the doctor on Monday.

I am still so mad I am shaking. Letting a fucking senile old man examine my daughter and then threatening to call CPS because his doddering old man brain can't focus on one thing at a time? What the fuck? WHAT THE FUCK?

I just don't know what to say about today. I'm done.

Mission Impossible

Well, I finally did it.

Today, I tried to fit into my pre-pregnancy jeans.

I was hopeful at first. Everyone I see comments on how I lost my pregnancy weight so fast. So I figured hey, it's been two months. Time to break out the old wardrobe. I can do this. Piece of cake.

So I lay them out on the bed and eyeball them. Never before had they looked so tiny.

Alright, I say to myself. Let's do this.

Feet go in. Pause. I grab the waist of those sons of bitchs and begin the shimmy dance.

You all know the shimmy dance, don't you? The side to side wiggle as you inch those bastards up your legs? You know.

I hit the thighs. Pause. Deep breath.

Shimmy, shimmy.

Pause.

What the hell?

SHIMMY SHIMMY SHIMMY.

I-shimmy-can-shimmy-do-shimmyshimmy-THIS!

Pant, pant.

Yank-shimmy-pull-yank-shimmyshimmyshimmy.

And they're up.

Ha! Victory is mine! screams the voice of Stewie Griffin in my brain.

Uh oh. I have to button these bastards, don't I?

Pause. Stare. Firmly grasp both sides and pull. Pull.

Pull, woman, pull! Suck it in! SUCK IT IN!

Pant, pant.

Faintly realize that your hips are just not the same size as they were and probably never will be again. One last futile tug.

Sigh. Admit defeat.

Shimmy dance in reverse.

Grumble to self as you put your Fatty McFatass sweatpants back on.

Plan depressing shopping trip tomorrow as you ponder the trauma of trying to figure out what the hell jeans size you wear now.

File this away in the "No one told me this part" portion of your brain.

Sigh.

I'd Like To Thank The Academy....

Woot! I got my first blog award! Bestowed upon me by the wonderful and gracious Cyndi.

Thank you, awesome lady! I'll try to control my giddiness so I can post the rules:


The directions I was given are these: 1. If, and only if, you get tagged, write a post with links to 5 blogs that make you think, 2. Link to this post so that people can easily find the exact origin of the meme, 3. Optional: Proudly display the 'Thinking Blogger Award' with a link to the post that you wrote.


My nominees are all wonderful women. They will make you think, make you ponder your own life, leave you nodding your head in agreement on a daily basis, and are just all around awesome chics. All are a daily read of mine (when I can get to the net) and all are well worth the time. Go! Read them!

1. Memoirs Of A Dysfunctional Housewife


2. Dancing Through


3. Motherhood Uncensored


4. A Girl And A Boy


5. Mommies Are People, Too

Rant-O-Rama

Nothing like browsing through Craig's List for about an hour to make you want to BITCH your head off. Some days, I don't feel like making the effort to be nice. I get sick and tired of telling everyone that I'm doing ok. Today was one of those days where I woke up with my bitch switch (ha ha ha, I rhyme) flipped on high.

To the lady who SPEARED MY CHILD:

Yes, I know she had to have her shots. But this ain't the fuckin' Olympics and it is not the javelin throw. All that was missing was a running start. Soup up your technique a bit, yea? Because if you give her a shot that way again, I'll give into my mommy urge and punch you in your over sized nose.

To Ex's Whore:

What on God's green earth makes you think I want to be friends with you?! Hello, we tried that, and you FUCKED AROUND WITH MY HUSBAND. I do believe that takes you out of the potential friend runnings. No, I do not want to be civil, either. I do not want to lay eyes on your stupid slut face ever again, because I may well remove it. No, my child cannot come visit you. In your sad, strange, pathetic little world, this may fulfill your fantasies of you and Ex being a family, but I do not want my daughter in your presence. Grow up. I hate you. I am not a Buddhist and I lack Zen, but I do hold grudges. For-ev-er. That's the way it will be, and if you really are dumb enough to come to my house in an effort to "work things out", I will give you precisely five seconds to vacate the area, and then I will proceed to take you apart. I wouldn't risk it if I were you. And by the way, he doesn't give a shit about you. Sorry about that. Wait, no I'm not. It's called karma, bitch.

To Ex:

What is the matter with your brain? You do NOT love me. That was made abundantly clear. Getting cold feet now that you have ruined any chance we had of making it, are you? Well, too damn bad. I was the best thing that ever happened to you, and you fucked me over. I will never trust you again. I do not want to be with you. Thinking of you and what you did makes me ill. I am sorry that you didn't realize how much I meant to you when we were still together, when there was time to fix what was wrong, but that is not my fault. I spent three years giving you second chances. That time is over. Stop doing this so I can move on with my life.

To Ex's Male Friends:

Jesus, why am I suddenly such a prime piece of ass?! What makes you think I want to date/sleep with you now that I'm single? Leave me alone! You are not suddenly irresistible to me now that he is out of the picture! Argh! No I will not do you to get revenge on him! What kind of friends are you anyway?



Wow, I feel better. Cleansed, really. Some days, you just have to be a bitch. The only good part of today was when I watched Anchorman and laughed like a loon whenever Will Ferrel goes, "Why don't you go back to your home on Whore Island!" That man is a laugh riot.

Well, I thought it was funny.

This Is Why I Hate Cats.

Today was just great. What with my house nearly burning down and all.

I went out to go grocery shopping earlier, taking Little One with me. My grandmother was still here at the house. So I go, get the shopping done, swing by and check the mail, and then head home. On the way up the stairs I thought to myself, "Something smells like burning."

Sure enough I open the front door and smoke billows out at me. My grandmother is sitting on the couch, oblivious.

"What the hell is burning?!" I shriek.
"Burning? Nothing's burning." says Grandma.

So I bundle Little One out onto the patio and go rampaging around the house. Stove? No. Toaster? No. Microwave? Nope. Cigarette burning on the floor? Don't see one.

Finally I get to my room and spot the source of the problem. Turns out while I was gone that damn idiot of a cat had decided it would be fun to play with the heat light on top of my snake's cage. He had knocked it off onto the floor. Now these lights aren't like regular light bulbs. They get HOT. You know how hot those halogen lights they use in shops or for fishing get? Comparable to that. And the motherfucker's sitting right on the floor.

So, I kick it away, run into the kitchen and fill up a pitcher with water, run back down the hall, douse the smoldering ruin of carpet, and survey the damage. It had burned a hole six inches across through the carpet, the padding, and was charring the wood underneath. How on God's green earth the floor didn't burst into flames I'll never know. I suspect it would have if I'd been gone any longer.

And grandma didn't realize anything was wrong.

This is why she lives with me know. This isn't the first fire incident she's had. She's been known to leave pots of food burning to death on the stove and light ashtrays on fire when putting out a cigarette on the paper towel she inexplicably had in it.

So, I've spent the last three hours sitting outside with the kiddo while the house airs out. And it smells like motherfucking burned carpet in my room now. And I have a huge, charred hole in the floor that I do not know how to explain to the apartment manager. And the cat wisely refuses to emerge from beneath the bed because he knows I have it in for him.

What a life.

I Was A Teenage Idiot

Oh, my. The memories this post brings back.

I think I might have mentioned somewhere before that I went through a phase for about a year when I was teenager where I was drunk or stoned pretty much any time I wasn't in school. I had a group of friends that I had started hanging out with that, while good friends, weren't exactly the best influence. Now I was never really one to cave into peer pressure, it's just that being around it all the time made me curious. So I fell into the same habits they did.

Getting stoned? Sure. BAD experiences. First time I did it, I stumbled around feeling nauseous and as though I was going to die for 2 hours before eating three toast sandwiches (just toast...nothing else. No butter, no nothing.) and a bowl of potato salad and falling asleep after shrieking at my then-boyfriend NOT TO TOUCH ME EVER AGAIN OR I'D DIE. Another time (having not learned from my first experience, evidently) my friend and I managed, WITHOUT EITHER OF US KNOWING, to get hold of weed that had been laced with CRYSTAL METH. I shit you not. I was totally out of it for 12 fuckin' hours, during which I nearly put my eye out when I broke a string on my guitar after trying to play Stairway To Heaven (because , you know, I was a guitar MASTER suddenly) squinted at the radio for half an hour trying to figure out why all the music was playing too fast, and annoyed the large group of friends who were babysitting us both by repeatedly asking when this shit would wear off. About nine million times a minute.

After that, I quit smoking. I was a bit reckless but not a complete idiot.

But drinking? Yea. Drinking was still fair game. I'm sure I don't remember most of the very dumbest things I did while drunk, as I got the black out experience more than once. There is nothing quite so embarrassing as waking up in your bed and hearing stories about how your friends had to carry you home and clean up vomit from various places. The first time I kissed Ex? Yea, I was blacked out. Can't remember it to save my life. As a matter of fact I woke up the next day wondering why I suddenly had a crush on him. I suppose I should have realized this boded ill for the rest of the relationship, but alas, I did not. Another time I decided I just HAD to walk home and sleep in my own bed (at 3 AM, when everyone else was asleep) so I set off. I do not remember anything about walking home, but when I woke up the next day I was in my bed, covered in mud and with a hole in my shirt. Turns out I somehow managed to cross a six lane highway, scale a six foot board fence, fall into a ditch and most amazingly of all, get home without being arrested.

Luckily for me I was always around a group of friends who took care of me if they had to and watched out for me. They interfered more than once on my behalf with scuzzy boyfriends trying to take advantage of my inebriated state. For that I am very thankful.

Whenever I look back at all this I cringe. Oh, how I cringe. The times I should have gotten arrested or hospitalized defy the imagination. I cannot believe how dumb I was. And considering my parents were dead and I lived with my grandmother, who was blissfully clueless to all this and let me come and go as I pleased...I'm honestly amazed I didn't come to more harm.

Thankfully I had a streak of common sense just big enough to prevent myself from going totally over the edge. And eventually I realized I was wasting my time and acting like an idiot, and I got a job and quit doing quite as many stupid things.

And now I have a daughter. And while her teenage days are still a comfortable distance away, I still get nervous. Because when it comes down to it, it is the kid that has to make their own decisions. Unless I keep her locked away in a closet, odds are she will run into some of the same situations I did. And while I can impart to her my suggestions and thoughts and advice and rules, in the end it's up to her. If she wants to do something, she'll find a way to do it. I'm not naive enough to think she won't. Teenagers are devious that way. I just hope she inherits less of my teen recklessness and a bit more of my common sense and self preservation.

And my luck, because lord knows I must have had quite a bit of it.

A Bit Of All Right

So, anyway, I'm doing better. SOMEDAY I will quit boring you all with my endless mopings about being dumped. I am still a little stressed, of course. But it's getting better.

In other news I had SO MUCH FUN on my weekend off, I spent it with my two best friends and we got drunk and talked. And talked. And talked. We analyzed music, discussed why James Hetfield from Metallica should never have gone sober, why guys like lesbians, psychoanalyzed the weirdness that is my friend's brain, discussed why I am so much better off without Ex and what a whore his new chic is, swapped very strange sex facts ( a guy will ejaculate roughly three gallons of sperm in a lifetime...blech ) and reminisced about our wild, carefree teenage days and how we've all grown up(Sort of). All in all it was exactly what the doctor ordered, and despite my mental breakdown in the last post it really helped lift my spirits.

The only bad moment was when I puked (blame it on malt liquor, I should stick to the hard stuff) and it was RED, and OMG, I thought I was HEMORRHAGING, but then realized that the Captain Morgans I'd been drinking all night was red. Ahem.

Also had a rather disturbing moment earlier this week when I opened the refrigerator to find a dirty diaper next to the milk. WHAT? The only thing I can imagine is that my 86 year old grandmother (who is blind as a bat) thought it was some sort of food thing and put it in there. I didn't ask. I can safely say that it was the first time I've ever had to relocate a refrigerated diaper.

Is it NORMAL for a almost two month old to have perfected her glare already? Because some of the looks she gives me when she's crying are positively bone-chilling. I fear she has inherited her father's temper. God help us all.

And you guys! Still reading even though my lack of posts has been horrid. Lacking the internet it's not feasible for me to be able to post everyday, but I'll try to get one or two a week up, if possible. And when I get everything caught up bill wise I'll be back to normal. So thanks for hanging in there! And I saw I was tagged for a couple of memes but alas I don't have the time to get to them just now. I promise I will do them eventually.

A Bit Overwhelmed

Sometimes, it's all a bit much to handle.

I'm reaching the point where I've recovered enough to start thinking about finding a job, and how I'm going to have to find a day care for little one. How I'm going to have to find a smaller apartment because I can't afford this one alone. How I'm going to have to face this all on my own.
It scares me.

Everyone seems to think I am such a strong person and that I can do this but I don't FEEL strong. I feel helpless and panicked. I feel like everything is weighing me down and slowly smothering me. When I look ahead at the rest of my life, the only bright spot in it is my daughter. The rest of it seems like an endless line of bill paying, working a job I hate, and struggling.

I just don't know how to deal with it all.

Some days I just want to curl up in a ball and cover my head with a blanket and cry.

They May Take Our Lives, But They'll Never Take Our Freedom!!

Sorry. I've been watching Braveheart. God, I love a Scottish accent. Yum.

Anyway, mommy's going out this weekend! Ex's parents are watching little one for the weekend so that I can go out and de-stress. And it just so happens to be St. Paddy's day Saturday too.

Fake Irish accents anyone?

Anyway, I plan to get sloshed and not think about a damn thing but having fun.

FYI, like I said before, this may be my last posting for a while, since the Internet's gone any day now. Don't lose faith, loyal readers, I shall return. In the meantime I'll try to get to the library once or twice.

Digging Up The Past

Most people that I know do not know how my mother died.

A lot of people that I know do not even know that my parents are dead.

Whenever anyone asks, I usually just kind of skirt the question, or say something about how we don't get along.

I don't really know why this is. I guess it is because I don't want their pity, or to hear the ever present "I'm so sorry." I don't want to see the look they would give me if I told them that my father died of a heart attack when I was seven, and that my mother killed herself when I was sixteen.

She had left me and my little sister at home one day to go to work, and never came home that night. Or the next. Or the next. Apparently, she was done with us, and decided to stay at a boyfriend's house in the town that she worked at, rather than come home to her kids. Two months went by. I heard from her once, when she called to say she was coming by to pick something up. (I was living with my grandmother by now, and my little sister was living with my aunt in the same town where my mom was working) On the day she was supposed to come by, I made sure I was gone. I was angry with her for not coming home, for not calling, even on my birthday. So I left.

I never saw her again.

About two weeks after that, right before Christmas, my aunt called to tell me my mother had died. She wouldn't tell me how on the phone. She said she needed to tell me face to face.

The night before, my mom had called my aunt around 1 in the morning, telling her she needed to come get my sister (who was staying with her for the night). She wouldn't say why. When my aunt went over to the house, there was no answer. The door was unlocked, so my aunt walked in. She found my mom. My mother had put a shotgun in her mouth.

My little sister (3 at the time) was asleep in another room, thankfully. She hadn't woken up. I am very grateful for that.

To this day, we're not sure why she did it. there was no note, no warning. She had seemed fine earlier that day. She'd always had a drinking problem, so we suspect she was drunk, upset about something, and decided to take her life rather than try to get help.

My mom had tried to kill herself once before that, when I was 13. She downed a bottle of sleeping pills and half a bottle of wine and went to bed. Somehow, she woke up, and I realized something was wrong when she came stumbling into the living room, incoherent, and tried to make a phone call with my sister's sippy cup. I called 911, she went to the hospital and had her stomach pumped, all was well. She seemed to be fine afterwards. Everything went back to normal.

Looking back, I realize someone should have made her get help. But no one did.

I'm spilling all this I guess because today I realized that it's about time to let God back into my life, and I wanted to give a little background on why He hasn't been in it for a long time. I lost what little faith I had when my mom died. But this morning, when I went to check the mail, I had one of those hokey church letters. You know the kind, where they ask you to return a card or something similar so that the church can pray for you and help Jesus into your life. For some reason, instead of throwing it out, I did it. Some small voice inside me just told me it was something I should do. So I wrote down what I needed prayers for, which right now is money, and sent it off. I am barely scraping by this month, so close that I probably won't be blogging for a couple of weeks, as we need lights and a car more than the Internet. My cell phone got turned off yesterday, leaving me no way to call anyone for anything since we don't have a house phone.

Except earlier today my cell phone came back on.

I did not pay the bill. Ex did not pay the bill. No one paid it. But it is on and paid for nonetheless.

I know some would say big deal, so your cell phone is on. But how often do you hear about bills paying themselves? Maybe I am reading too much into this, but that coupled with the fact that I just sent off a letter to a church this morning after years of being ambivalent at best about God, maybe it is something.

Maybe Someone is trying to tell me He's there to help me. That I'm not as alone as I've been feeling.

I'd like to think so.

No Need For Violence

So I was thinking about it today, and I realized something.

For the past week I have thought a lot about hunting his little bitch down and beating the crap out of her for the crap she pulled. But then I figured something out.

She's a fucking kid.

I told you she was 18, right? Well, there are 18 year olds that are adults and there are 18 year olds that, well, aren't. She is the latter of the two. I see how she talks to him in her messages ("Baby you're so hott. I love you!" ) She is still very much in a high school relationship frame of mind. She doesn't know what it is to have a grown up relationship with grown up problems. She still lives with mommy and daddy and has all her stuff paid for. She doesn't even have a job.

And I figure one day, down the road, she will get married, settle down, and have a family, and then she will look back on this and wonder what the hell she thought she was doing. She will think about how she would feel if some little tart was to come along and do the same thing to her.
Right now, she doesn't realize that. She is very much a spoiled brat, so she sees something she wants and goes for it, no thought to the consequences or how her actions affect others.

So why should I kick her ass? It might make me feel better, no doubt about that, but my point still won't be made. She is too young and immature to realize what she has done. Beating the snot out of her won't solve that, and will probably just get me thrown in jail.

So I guess I'll just let it go and let her learn her own lessons. Much as I wish I could just clock her in the face, there's just no point to it. Let her play her games and have her fun.

Unless she tries to start something with me.

In which case it's on.

I might be older and wiser, but I'm not a martyr.

And by the way; everyone calm down. I'm not gonna get back with him. I'm allowed a moment of weakness, aren't I? I'm just still adjusting to all this, that's all.