2.28 – Digital Dating Diary (Entry1)

Real messages from real people showing really sad attempts…

“Your son is very handsome , your not so bad yourself, im a single dad, business owner, and looking for someone to hang with in the little free time I have, so if your interested in rich Italian guys message me back”

“-May your wings lift you to the top of the world”

“Yet, a true happiness calls through the shadows of my loneliness stirring my heart to take again another chance risking pain once again….oh how I must find pleasure in the pain.”

“Priceless, you’re priceless!! No dollar amount can buy the joy & happiness you bring. You are the first lady worthy of a king, my queen. The moment I set eyes on you, I knew I would fall. You make it better! lets chat sweetheart, i would love to get to know U”

“Damn Lil momma any way u dig white boys”

“I wanna know you”

“Hello how are you doing and what movies do you like seeing and things like to do for fun maybe bowling; dancing; mini golf; playing pool; darts or anything fun like that just asking………………..”

“Hey I’m Brandon. I read your profile and you cought my eye. What is the first thing you look for in a guy? How’s was your weekend?”

“Hi i probably have no chance but i thought id balls up and message u and tell u wow”

“Wuz up. How u doin? Thought mayb we can chat n talk a lil get to know eachother hit me up.dnt b a stranger get at me”

 

I might be a bitch for how critical I am. But I’m not hoping for some random guy. I’m not hoping for some fair weather connection, intimate encounter, or sugar daddy. I want to fall head over heels in love. And so I wait…and laugh in the meantime.

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2.19. What NOT To Say

The world of dating can be many things: intense, problematic, interesting, frustrating, exciting. It can also be humorous. Very, very humorous. One percent of the time, I’m shocked by the audacity of people and their one liners, egos, and use of poor grammar. The other ninety nine percent of the time…I’m laughing. It’s just that ridiculous. Without further ado, I present to you what NOT to say.

U iz gorgeous babe Love the use of “iz” in this one. 

U a model This one is SUPER original. 

…btw, i’m good in bed…  – I can’t make this shit up. 

But the most impressive of all has to be this one, left just as is for your laughing pleasure. 

u TRUELY are gorgeous.. jm going to ger straight to the point… im from Kansas City, but im in the military livinv in Ga. im getting ready to deploy to afghanistan in 5 weeks.. im only lookin for a wife potiential. u dont due friends though if the person is honestly going to live up to the true meaning of a friend… id accept.. but i want a wife…

He wants a wife…who knows how to spell since he is obviously incapable of doing so. And he’s going to Afghanistan…no wonder other countries think Americans are absolute morons. Please, dear sir, if you ever happen to read this and recognize your own words…don’t procreate. Seriously…don’t.

1.184 – Power Outages Suck

After a nine hour shift, I was so ready to head home. That was at 8pm. It is now almost 12:30am and I’ve been home less than fifteen minutes. Where did four hours go?

Bad luck ate them.

I drove to the sitters to pick up my son, who happened to be asleep. Awesome! We might actually get great rest tonight. The sitter informs me that my son had a lapse in his potty training and spent more time pissing on the floor than he did in the potty. Okay, piss happens. I’m off tomorrow…We’ll spend all day working on it.

My son wakes up. Okay, no biggie. He’ll fall asleep on the way home and all will be well.

He says he has to go potty and does. In the potty. YES! Life is good.

We drive home and there are no lights on in my area of the complex. WTF.

I take my son back to the sitters and ask if he can hang out there until I figure out when the power will be coming back on. (We had a storm this evening so I’m assuming that’s where the power went).

I return to my complex and spot my old neighbors. I lived across from them in a two bedroom in the next building before I downgraded. I’ve barely ever spoken to them much more than a hello. I did ask the wife if I could borrow her husband to move my couch when I was moving and she said “don’t you have a baby daddy?” Yeah, okay. I get the feeling she thinks everyone wants to screw her husband.

I walk over and ask if they know anything about the power coming back on soon. The wife is sitting on a step while the husband is standing in the street. He doesn’t say a word to me and the wife says…and I quote, “you just gonna come up over here like you didn’t see me. Gonna come up and talk to my husband like I ain’t out here.” Then she does this bitchy laugh.

I would address this to that woman but I doubt her ass can read so I’m just going to say this in a very general, non-judgmental voice: it is comical how pothead, low-life, nasty ass, ghetto mentality bitches ASSUME everyone is after their pothead, low-life, nasty ass, ghetto mentality assholes. Please save your insecurity and alcohol induced attitude for someone who gives a shit about you. I asked a simple ass question and I expect a simple ass answer. This is not Maury. I don’t need to know that he probably cheated on you with a cousin or that he has multiple texts from some girl name Rashonda on his phone. So please, just shut the fuck up and do the world a favor – smoke some weed laced with something lethal and die. Thank you.

I wait another 30 minutes in my car only to see the electric people drive by my complex. Okay, this blows and I’m hungry.

I go and pick up my son and decide we’re going to IHOP for some pancakes. I type IHOP into my GPS to see if there is any location closer than the one 20 minutes away. It says there is one 12 minutes from my house. SWEET!

I follow the directions and get a feeling. This doesn’t look like it’s leading me to a place where an IHOP would be. There are houses everywhere.

I almost hit a dead possum (thankfully I didn’t, and according to my GPS, I’m around the corner from the great IHOP.

DO YOU KNOW WHERE THE GPS TOOK ME? DO YOU? DO YOU????!!!!???

International House of Prayer Housing! A FUCKING HOUSING PLACE FOR THE IHOP PEOPLE! NOT PANCAKE HOUSE STAFF!! The people who pray at this Kansas based church thingy. I’m not going to call it a cult. But they have taken over the GPS systems. I want pancakes and they took me to their den of prayer. I’m just saying – that’ some cult shit right there!

Needless to say, by this point, I want to cry, scream, and punch someone in the throat. But I also want pancakes.

I waste another 14 minutes backtracking and then make the 20 minute journey to the REAL IHOP! I don’t even get pancakes. My son gets mac and cheese only to decide that he wants to eat pickles and only pickles.

We eat. I waste 20.00 I don’t really have to spare and we head home. So here I am. 4 hours after getting out of work. I’m tired, annoyed, and moody. My son is wide awake. I don’t work tomorrow.

I’m not leaving the house. I’m not answering the phone. I’m avoiding life at all costs. My son and I will be hibernating. Because I said so.

I now return you to your regularly scheduled program – already in progress.

1.166 – Pool Rant

I took my son to the pool today. We enjoyed the sun, the warmth, the water, some snacks and bonding time. But there was definitely plenty to not enjoy. So here’s my letter to the dumbass’ of the pool.

Dear JerkFace Parents: When you pick up your yearly pool pass, you sign a contract that specifically says: NO ALCOHOL AT THE POOL. Why the hell are you morons carrying around bottles of Budweiser? You trashy alcoholics couldn’t wait until AFTER you take your kids to the pool to get wasted? Couldn’t hold off your typical display of neglect as you chug at the booze while your child dives into two feet of water? Seriously? I hate your face and I hope you die.

Dear Children of The Above JerkFace Parents: I pity you since you were born to inbred future DUI cases BUT I’m not your momma. You are not allowed to take my sons toys for your own pleasure just because your parents didn’t bring anything for you to play with. This is a pool. Play with the fucking water. And the next time you snatch something from my son, I will pick you up, take you to a very dark corner and explicitly explain how Santa Claus ass rapes the Easter Bunny until you shit yourself into a coma.

Dear Teenage Girls: If you cannot afford a bathing suit – feel free to stay home. I do not wish to see dental floss covering your bits. And if you’re going to wear dental floss: SHAVE. Pubic hair is not sexy at the pool. Invest in a Bic and save everyone the horror of seeing your nappy carpet-crotch.

Dear Teenage Boys: Stop doing back flips into the pool to impress the girls in dental floss. They are not impressed now and they will not be impressed when you crack your face open. I’m just saying.

Dear Clouds: You are evil. Do not wait until I get into the water to cover up the sun. This causes me to be cold. And I don’t like being cold. So cut that shit out. I’m not kidding.

Dear Bugs: DIE.

Yep, that’s it. I’m not going to say Happy Memorial Day because I think we need to remember those who have fallen for our freedom EVERY DAY. Making a BBQ and getting wasted sure as shit doesn’t equate to a thank you for the sacrifices so many soldiers have made. Whether you believe in war or not; someone has died for your freedoms. Don’t take that for granted.

1.150 – The Case of The Missing Keys

My son is pretty damned awesome. He also makes me have frantic moments of mommy brain. If you’ve ever had a child, you know what this is. You forget where everything is, you’re always late, you can’t keep track of anything AT ALL. My life is like a Where’s Waldo puzzle except I don’t even know what the hell I’m looking for half the time.

Today was definitely one of those days.

So, I’m getting ready for work and I’ve got the little guy all set and ready to go. Except for the fact that I can’t find the keys. I need the keys to lock my door and to start my car…they are kinda crucial to my day beginning.

Mind you, I’m in the middle of moving so the majority of my stuff is on the floor or in boxes. I recall my son holding the keys last night before we went over to the new apartment but he didn’t take them with us. So that negates the possibility of them being in the new spot.

So I call my boss and tell her “my son hid my keys, I will be there as soon as I find them.” I’m thinking, this is going to take me…at most…10 more minutes. I was SERIOUSLY wrong. After 30 minutes, I have scoured the living room, dining room, kitchen, bedrooms, and bathrooms. After an hour, I have checked the new apartment, the car, the refrigerator, the dishwasher, the sinks, even the toilets.

I’m in full blown panic mode. I call my boss back. I want her to know that I’m seriously trying here. I didn’t plan on being late, damn it, I can’t lose hours at work, I’m seriously stressed out, dear God why is this happening to me? My son walks up while I’m on the phone and I look at him and tell him he is a bad child. I know he’s not but in that moment, I’m convinced he might just be out to get me. Hell, the boys peed in my eye…He’s holding a grudge about something.

I keep looking, texting my sister as if this will somehow solve my problems. She tells me to check the couch. Did that. Finally, I’m getting down to my sons level, asking in a shaky voice “dear child, where did you put the keys? Show mommy where the keys are, okay? Can you do that for mommy?”

“Keys,” he says.

YES!

He runs into the next room and I follow. Yes! He’s going to show me where he hid them. He stops, turns toward me and puts his hands up. “I don’t know.” I am full blown crying. I’m imagining losing my job, being poorer than I already am, having a nervous breakdown and drowning myself in a pool of WTF. All the while, my precious child wants to know if we can play with cars. NO, NO WE CANNOT PLAY WITH CARS. What we can do is find the keys so mommy can drive the real car so you can go to daycare and I can go make money to buy a damn key locator!!!!!!!

My sister texts me: Did you check the trash?

I’m already on the first bag. I call my sons father to see if he has a spare Jeep key. Not that it will do me any good today but hell, I’m trying to figure out how I’m going to get to work on Friday now. Because today is looking like a lost cause. I hang up with him and go back to trash picking.

Yesterdays food, something I cannot identify, soiled diapers, is that oil, wtf is that on my hand? I would never have made it as a trash collector. I can wipe my sons ass, I can clean up blood and vomit. I cannot pick trash.

I’ve about lost all hope until the bottom of the third bag. EEYORE! That’s my Eeyore key chain. HOLY FUCKNUGGETS! MY KEYS! MY KEYS! PRAISE BABY JESUS IN A PINK FRILLY TUTU!!! THOSE ARE MY FUCKING KEYS!

And then I start crying again. I call my boss and try to hold it together as I tell her I found my keys BUT I have to take a shower because now I smell like shit.

I was two hours late to work.

In hindsight, it was funny. In the moment, it sucked donkey balls. I know it’s my fault for leaving the keys in range of my curious two year old. He’s not a bad kid. I’m just a dim-witted mom trying to move. I still think I need to buy a key locator thingymabob.

And the next time this happens, because of course it will, I’m checking the trash FIRST.

1.99 – Do You Have FAFS?

FAFS, also known as Fake Ass Friend Syndrome, is a debilitating condition, which can wreak havoc in every aspect of your life. However, this condition is treatable. In order to solve your problem, you must first identify your symptoms.

You have Fake Ass Friend Syndrome if:

  • You always says “I’m going to call you back,” and never do because you’re watching television, playing online games, filing your nails, watching Youtube videos, updating your Facebook status.
  • You drop off the face of the earth when your friend has a major illness, new birth, death in the family, major accomplishment.
  • You repeatedly schedule times to schedule a time to meet up with your friend but never successfully schedule a scheduled time.
  • You don’t show up to a friends baby shower/birthday/major event but post updates from a bar via Facebook or Twitter.
  • You apologize for your lack of friendship – only to repeat your asshole behavior.
  • You use other friends as an excuse as to why you’re a bad friend.
  • You bring up the length of time you’ve known  a person when confronted with your FAFS symptoms.
  • You only call your friends when you need money.
  • You only call your friends when things are bad.
  • You ask strangers “will you be my friend?”
  • You show new friends your bank statements.
  • You distance yourself from your friend when you’re around a potentially cooler crowd.
  • You continuously degrade one mutual ex-friend so you never look as bad.
  • You consider the friendship over every single time your friend doesn’t agree with you.
  • You refer to your friend as your fat friend, the skinny bitch, the dark one, the pasty chick.
  • You put forth zero effort but expect to be BFF’s.

If you or someone you know is suffering from FAFS, please get help. If it’s you – lock yourself in a room and throw away the key. Don’t ever come out – because you suck balls. Big hairy, saggy balls. This will help everyone you’ve annoyed. You cant be annoying if you’re out of sight – out of mind.  If it’s a friend – run! RUN FOR THE HILLS. You might think this is abandonment. It’s not. Those who suffer from FAFS must hit rock bottom in order to realize just how crappy they are acting. The only way to really do that is to sit in a room and have that moment when they realize…I’m alone.

FAFS sucks. Period.

1.98 – More Randoms

Apparently, the muse has taken a road trip and forgotten to take me along. I mind as well bang my head against a wall, because it’s about as useless as trying to randomly think up something to write. I’ve gotten some great suggestions including a feature on my upcoming vacation to NYC. That is something I will definitely work on…when I’m actually in NYC. But for now…I’m just the girl without a dragon tattoo and without anything interesting to say.

So here are my randoms:

If you are 16, I don’t want to know about your sexual exploits. Hell, if you’re 30, I’m not interested. But 16…well, that shit just sounds creepy. I was 16 and I did my dirt. But I wasn’t putting myself on blast either.

If you know I don’t like you – don’t make it your mission to make me like you. That will, in turn, make me like you even less. My friendship is not a trophy – not something to be won. It either happens, or it doesn’t. In this case, it won’t. So put the checklist away because nothing about that is genuine. And therefore – friendship is not an option.

I hate the fact that when I write something out, it never sounds as funny as when I say it. Maybe it’s my facial expressions, my emphasis on certain words…I don’t know. But I find that when I write something…it’s flat. But when I tell the exact same thing to someone…they crack up. WTF.

Garbage disposals are not strainers. WTF is this one leaking? Seriously…I mean, come on.  I’m definitely on someones shit list.

Gay people are not handbags. You can’t take them to every fun event because they look good on your arm. I’m just saying.

My son is on the “I’m going to pull my diaper down” kick. This is great. Almost time for potty-training. Except when he’s shit in his diaper. Then, it’s not so great. It’s shit on my carpet and that is just not cool. That’s…well…shitty. They need a cleaner called shit-be-gone. I would buy it.

Can someone start a website called Beautiful On A Budget. And by budget, I DO NOT mean 100 bucks for jeans and 50 bucks for a shirt. I mean, momma got bills to pay and a mouth to feed and really wants to still look cute despite only having 30 bucks to my name. If it exists…um…let me know. I can manage being poor, hell, I’ve done it my whole life. I’m just tired of looking the part.

FYI: Half ass compliments are worse than no compliment at all. See the above random. Thank you.

I know I’ve said this before but I can’t say it enough: Little girls who shop at Victoria Secret creep me out! It’s gross, it’s weird, it’s wrong. You don’t even have hair on your body..not because you naired it, waxed it, bicced it…because it hasn’t grown in yet. STOP IT!

People who say I have it easy because I have a boy. Um…no. I have it just as hard. I have to do double duty to teach my son not to fall for the girls in the above random. I’ve got to train him to pay attention to the things those girls parents chose to ignore.

That’s it. For now.

1.95 – FTN…Just Because

It’s been awhile since I’ve done a genuine FTN post. I’ve slipped away from the FTN mantra far too much. It seemed like the right thing to do – trying to be all soft and shit, vulnerable, likable. I’m not sure how I feel about the results. In turn, I’m thinking my soft side…laughable…and my FTN mentality have to get hitched so I can be the best of both worlds…for my own world. And now, onto the FTN moments.

  • The above paragraph. That was just stupid. But I’m sharing it anyway. FTN!
  • People who don’t keep their end of a bargain. If I’ve done my part, you might want to do yours before this smiley happy chick takes her smiley happy ass on a smiley happy walk. FTN!
  • People who say, “I have to call you back, the game is on,” when you are both discussing a serious topic. It wasn’t that serious for you, now was it? Remind me to not answer when you decide you have the time to call back. Hope your team loses. FTN!
  • People who make dumb fucking comments when you say something 100% serious. I’m happy that my misery can bring joy to your corrupted little heart. I’m also wishing you a slow and miserable death entailing a corkscrew, your nubby manhood and a very dark alley. FTN!
  • People who tote gay guys around like they are handbags. THEY ARE NOT ACCESSORIES! They are people! What is your major malfunction? FTN!
  • Anti-religious people who go up to religious people and say stupid shit like this: “I’m sorry.” “Why are you sorry?” “Because you love Jesus.” You’re just a complete jackass. I’m so not religious, so anti-organized religion and even I wouldn’t say some dumb shit like that. You are the reason people off faith have a panic attack every time someone of little/no faith walks into a room. I hate your face. FTN!
  • People who put shit like this on their Facebook: “I’m so tired of doing so much for other people and no one does for me.” Um…did you forget all of the money people lent you to help you out and you have yet to pay ANYONE back? Got to love that selective memory. FTN!
  • People who get snippy with me when I have no control over a situation. I’m asked to go left. Don’t be mad that I’m not going right. Be mad at someone else. But you might want to keep that attitude to your damned self. I’m not saying…I”m just saying. FTN!
  • Cable company jerks who keep me on hold for 20 minutes because I want to cancel a service. You think because you put me on hold that long, I’m going to hang up and keep the service? NOPE. I’m going to put you on speaker, wash my dishes, feed my son and pick up just in time to tell you I think your service is crappy. Aint no patience like a single mommy trying to save money, Boo. FTN!
  • Snow. I don’t even need to explain this one. It’s not even here yet but I hate snow the way I hate getting stabbed in the face with an ice pick. Me no likey! FTN!

1.91 – Yeah!

(That title should be read in the extreme Lil Jon voice, btw)

You know when people say, everything happens for a reason? I hate that. It’s so stupid. It’s so annoying. Yeah, it’s so true. Long story short – I had plans to go out with a group of girls, which I pretty much never do. I canceled my part in the plans for a reason I believed, and still do, was valid. I felt like it wasn’t meant for me to be apart of something like that. Just not my time to make friends, I guess. I’m not going to lie. I was bummed.

And then something happened. And things changed. And I spent a really great evening with four awesome chicks. Four girls who are so very different from me. So very different from one another. And yet, it worked.

People may not “need” friends. But we all want them. To connect. To engage. To interact and feel like you’re appreciated for your insight, humor, and style. I knew I liked these girls before. They are just fun loving, happy people. But now, I appreciate them even more.

WHOA!

Happy people. I used to say I hated happy people. Well, here’s my theory. Only unhappy people say that shit. I’m living proof. I’m glad the universe kicked my ass and made things happen tonight. I’m glad I got to laugh. I’m glad I was just the girl in a crowd. A very small, awesome, hilarious, interesting, cute as hell crowd. Tonight, I didn’t feel like the outsider looking in. Tonight, I didn’t feel like the insider looking out. I was a girl, enjoying herself with genuine people; I had no time to do anything but enjoy the moment.

What an inspiring night.

1.83 – A Crappy Lie?

Here’s a story. It’s a true story.

It’s New Years Eve. I’m working. I go on my lunch break, because that’s just how I roll. I check my phone and see that there are five text messages from my sons father. It goes pretty much like this:

GAHHHHHH, ANGER, RAGE, ANNOYANCE, OUR SON CAN’T POOP, PANIC, ANNOYANCE, MORE ANGER, SCREAMING, MORE CONVO ABOUT POOP.

My son has been blessed with a moody stomach since he was born. In short, sometimes – he has trouble taking a crap. He just can’t. The boy claws at his face and screams, it hurts that bad. It’s no joke. There is nothing more painful to a parent’s ears than the cry of pain from a child.

So I call my sons father and we have an exchange in which he explains that my son hasn’t dropped a log in two days. Yes, I just referred to poop as a log. Again, because that’s how I roll. I can hear my little man screaming in the background, grunting and whimpering. His ass hurts. Period.

My sons father cant take him to the store, my child is that agonized. So he says he thinks he’s going to take him to the ER. This will entail random people messing with my sons rectum, a large bill and a very annoyed father. My head already hurts. He then informs me that he is considering performing an enema on my son with…and I quote, “I have a turkey baster and water…that should work.” You want to stick what in my son? OH HELL NO.

The pressure is on and it’s up to me to do something. “I don’t know what to do,” he says, which means I have to be the one to fix this. And there goes that mothers dilemma. Working and Family. Family and Work. I’ve helped with inventory but there is still much to be done. But my son can’t go on like this. That turkey baster is not going near my sons ass! So, I make the call. I’m going to have to go.

I tell one person and he is fine with my decision. He gives the best advice he can. All I can think about it my son screaming. But I have to inform the right channels so I’m not considered MIA. So, I find the next in command.

I get attitude. A wave of the hand and a “well what about…” comment. But I don’t have time for that. I’ve got to do for my child. I am on the road in no time. I head to Walgreens. “Um…hi…my son can’t shit. What would fix that.” Why beat around the bush, right?

The clerk gives me the generic suppository. But this is my sons ass we’re talking about. Now is not the time to try and cut corners to save money. So I pay the 8 dollars for the legit medicine versus 1.99 for the store brand. Yeah, I know, I’m all about dropping the big bucks. I get some Pedialyte so my son doesn’t dehydrate. I’m with my son just minutes after the purchase.

I attempt to ignore my sons screams while I administer the medication. And then I hold him. Try to soothe him and myself. I’m in full fledged mommy mode, cradling my son until he falls asleep in my arms. I set him down and head to the door. “He’s going to crap within the hour. I’m going back to work.”

I’m back in 1 hour 5 minutes time. Pretty damn good for the distance, purchase and enema I just performed.

Shitty day, right?

That’s not the annoying part for me. My son can puke, pee, shit all over me. I deal. It’s just apart of the makeup of mommyhood. You know what did get to me. You know what really made me break down? Two things. I’m only going to address one of those things in this post. The second thing will be in the following post, which I will pen shortly. The thing I can share with you is this:

I am annoyed that anyone would imply or insinuate by asking someone else if they think I am telling the truth about why I had to leave work. Lets analyze this. If I was going to lie – Don’t you think I could think up something better than “my son can’t shit?” SERIOUSLY! Secondly, what is asking this person going to do? You’re placing whether you believe me on someone else?

My feelings are not hurt. I’m pissed off about it. It is questioning my moral character, my integrity, my choices as a mother. I will not have anyone, EVER, make me feel like I have to worry that I will be believed when it comes to my son. It is insulting, demeaning, and offensive. PERIOD. What am I going to do with this situation? As of right now, I don’t know.

My son is doing much better. THAT is what matters. I will deal with my son’s bowel issues to the best of my ability. I WILL NOT take random adults bullshit. You couldn’t pay me enough.

Here’s a lie for you. I like you. I respect you. I think you’re good at your job. I look up to you.

The End.