Dear Nasty, Skanky, Trailer Trash Hookers Who Insist On Mentally Putting Their Filthy Paws All Over My Son

Dear Tami and Mari:

Let me first say that for one brief moment I liked you. Then you turned into a bunch of crazy skanky bitches. You remember your other daughter, Desi, don't you, Tami? The one I was friends with all throughout high school? Well she's on permanent disability because she can't even function in the real world thanks to your effed up family, siccing all the other kids on her and treating her like filth, attacking her and scratching up her face with your nasty nails, making her sleep outside in the trailer, oh, not to mention such gems as forbidding her from seeing her friends, and calling them up and saying that they were a witch and devil worshiper on their 15th birthday? Remember that one, Tami? Well I do. My effing 15th birthday, you dumb wench. Well, suffice to say, I don't like you. And I don't like your fughly daughter Mari, either.

In true family tradition, when Matt was home last year on his birthday, you told him, Mari, that I had emailed you all these terrible, untrue things, and made him hate me. He wouldn't even talk to me so I could prove that you were lying. But that wasn't enough. Nope. You thought it would be fun to send me awful emails saying all kinds of horrible things that Matt said about me (which he didn't) that I don't even want to repeat. Finally I just stopped reading them and deleted them without even looking.

Then, this year, months and months after he realized exactly what brand of worthless scum you are, you tried to contact Matt again through Faith's myspace. Of course, neither of them wanted anything to do with you, especially after seeing all the racist trash on your profile. You tell Faith that Matt is going to leave her for me, and that no matter what, he will always come running back to me, any other girls are just a diversion, so she better keep a short leash on him and not let me have anything to do with him. WTF? Seriously. Don't go telling my friends that I am going to steal away their boyfriend. I like and respect Faith very much, and I don't have any intentions of 'stealing' him away from her, whether I am capable of it or not.

Then, they try and tell you not to contact them, and you have the cojones to call Faith's children future hookers, fags, and drug addicts, (and those are the nicer things you said). Faith's kids are 5,6, and 8 years old. Yeah. Nice job, assface. You have class just oozing out all over the place, don't you, Mari?

So that said, I don't care if you work with Erik. I don't care if you just "luuurrrve" babies. Quit flipping asking him about Chase. Quit asking about him, quit asking if he can bring him to work so you can see him (and no doubt touch him with your nasty little hands), and most of all, quit leaving asinine comments on his myspace saying that he 'looks just like Erik' and most of all, acting as if I had nothing to do with the whole creating bit. For all intents and purposes, Erik is barely in the picture at all. He spends maybe a few hours every few days over here, can't even burp the child correctly, and I can't trust him to take Chase anywhere because he drives like an idiot and refuses to drive safely even with constant reminders. Plus, he keeps pot in is car and there's no effing way that I'm going to let him take Chase anywhere with that around, lest he get pulled over (a common occurance) and searched.

HE IS MY FUCKING SON, YOU MORONS. Keep your nasty evil germs away from him, mentally and physically. Keep it up and I may hunt you down and punch you square in the face... maybe not, as we all know, fughly people have nothing to lose. But I will teach you not to mess with me, cuz you are getting on my last nerve. Wenches.

--Dragon

Stupid jump still isn't working. Argh. Read more!

If It's Not One Thing...

Let me first say that I feel so much better. Thank you so much to everyone who commented regarding my fear of labor. Of the few people I've told so far about it, some have been very supportive while others have made it seem as if I was being selfish and unreasonable, and I was just very afraid that more people would feel that way. I have a tendency to be a shameless people pleaser, sometimes to the extreme. You have helped me see that it's ok, whether they think so or not, because what matters is what I am comfortable with. Again, thank you. :)

That said, right now Erik is driving me nuts. Remember how about 3 months ago, in June, I kicked him out mainly because he refused to step up to the plate and get a decent job? Well guess what: still no good job.

I have done everything in my power to help him find a job. I have done far more than I should have to, more than anyone else in their right mind would do, I'm sure. I created a resume', found ads for jobs that sounded suitable, I signed him up for a class to learn how to write his own resume' and another class to help him work on his interview skills. I even told him what to wear to an interview. It turns out I'm not the only one-- his aunt and sister bought him a bunch of new clothes that were more professional than his old clothes, everyone in his family, even his sister's boyfriend keep an eye out for jobs he might like and let him know about them.

Regardless of all the help he's getting, he still won't do anything. I've told him in every way I know of that he needs to get a new job, that not only are his expenses going to go up once the baby is born, but he can't even keep up with his current bills. He goes from agreeing with me to giving me all kinds of rediculous reasons as to why he can't search for jobs now. For example, his band is playing in an upcoming festival about 2 weeks from now. Now, I'm pretty good at getting a job easily, but even for me 2 weeks is pretty fast. Not to mention if you let them know that you have prior engagements, most employers understand.

I'm not the only one who is getting fed up with him. Everyone in his family has been after him and feel as if he should be taking responsibility. We are all so frustrated with him. Babies cost money. Now, I have plenty of help if I need it. I have my mom, Sara, my dad, everyone in Erik's family including his mom and stepdad, both his aunts, his uncle, his grandma, and his sister and her boyfriend. So if I ever really need something, there is no shortage of people who will gladly help me out. However, it's still Erik's responsibility.

I'm hoping that he will surprise us all when faced with reality in all its screaming, pooping, chubby-cheeked glory, and do his share. But to be quite honest, I really don't believe he will. And it frustrates and angers me to no end. I don't want to be a bitch. I don't want to have to tell him that either he gets a job and starts helping out financially or I'll have to go to Child Support Services and let them go after him. Because they will attach his wages and he'll have no choice but to get a better job, as he'll have barely anything left. They don't care whether he can pay his bills or not. I'm not that cruel. But if he doesn't hurry up and be a man, then I'll have no choice.

I'm so sick of being put in positions like this. I'd much, much rather be nice. If people would only listen to me, everything would work out so much better. It's not like I say these things because I like the sound of my own voice (and really, I don't. It's too high pitched.). I just don't feel like I have any other choice.

--Dragon Read more!

Even I Realize That This Is A Tad Bit Too Honest

Let me first say that the person in question is a very sweet, kind hearted woman. I do like her. However, right now a lot of things are pissing me off. With much gusto and all that. This is what I would say to her if I could say it and then give her amnesia so she would forget the whole thing. And just so you know, I'm not always a very nice person.

Please stop asking me about the status of my being or the baby's. I am a very private person and I dislike discussing the goings on of my body, whether or not it is currently home to another person or not. Until he can speak for himself, he's going to live by my philosophy of "We don't talk about our bodies in polite company." Anyways, you know what it's like. You've had 5 of them. So just stop asking. Do you not notice how uncomfortable I get when you ask? And by the way, It's not like I see my doctor every day. Unless he suddenly stops moving or something wierd happens, I'm going to assume he's the same from one day to the next. Please don't ask to rub my belly. You are not rubbing the baby. You are rubbing a distended bit of flesh replete with happy little stretchmarks that is covering the baby. Don't ask if the baby is moving or kicking or whatever. I prefer not to think about it. Most of the time, he is shoved up into my ribs having a grand old time contorting my internal organs into new and interesting shapes. Other times he is trying to punch his way out through my nether regions. I personally don't like discussing anything that is that close to my nether regions.



I really want you to stop acting as if you have some sort of right to the baby. So your related. Oh well. If I wanted it to, that would mean diddly squat. Just so you know, you didn't make it. You aren't the one who gets to be a human incubation vehicle. You don't have to do the hard work. Which, by the way, it looks very much like I'll be going that one alone, or almost. You've already had your experience with the "miracle of childbirth" (ugh). Quit trying to act like you have a right to mine. IT IS NOT YOUR FREAKING BABY!!!!

Also, don't get all hurt and upset at me because I am not going to give up my goals to stay chained to this little town so you can have unrestricted access to him. Sorry. I know you decided to let your entire life revolve around your children's existence (oh, and look how that turned out), but I'm not going to. Yes, the baby will play a major role in my life. However, my life isn't going to simply end because I popped out a little pod person. Yes, I'm going to let you be part of his life. Yes, when I move, I'll come back to visit often, and you will be welcome to visit us. But I'm not going to sit here and become a jobless loser because you want another baby around.

I'm really sorry your one daughter is a moron and a whore and refuses to let you see her or your granddaughter. She needs to grow the fuck up and learn that the world does not revolve around her. (Oh, poor widdle baby, her family was so mean to her growing up. Cry me a river why don't you.) However, it is not my responsibility to make up for her lack of humanity. And by the way, you actually have the right to sue for visitation, and you'd probably win, but I'm never going to tell you that because I don't want you getting any ideas. I know you want a grandchild. I don't know why you do, but that's neither here nor there.

And keep in mind, the only reason this one is even in existence is because I royally screwed up. I didn't refill my birth control prescription and wasn't careful. Yes, I'm stupid. I tell myself that every day. But guess what? Unlike some people, including your son (who certainly had his part in this whole baby-making fiasco), I own up to my mistakes (most of the time) and try and take responsibility for my actions. So I'm going to pony up (lol yes I said pony up) and make sure that this baby is loved, cared for, and educated. Call me sick, but I see this as a grand experiment to see if I can do better than half the idiots out there that have no business having children in the first place. Yes, I know that's probably a horrible way to look at it. So shoot me. Oh, and don't tell me there are people (like your sister) who would die to be able to have children and I should be grateful. Believe me, I think she should be able to have children too, and I think she'd make a much better mother than me. However, I don't really have a say in things like that.

Don't get upset at me when I am not happy that you give me something that I don't want and don't have any space for but I have to take for fear of hurting your feelings. It's no wonder your son is such a soft-shelled cry baby sometimes. You asked if I had a baby registry. I told you where it was, and you didn't even bother to check it. You even asked my mom what I needed, and she told you that I really justed needed the basics and didn't want a bunch of extra, frivolous crap. You even told her you were glad I was so level-headed. So why did you turn around and get me a swing? She specifically said I didn't want a swing. If you don't want to get me something that is on my list (which by the way is a damned good, well thought out and incredibly thorough list), then by all means, save your money. I never asked for any gifts. I know you want to "help", but believe me, that was not helping.

Keep in mind that since my mom and brother moved in, the baby will no longer have his own designated space. Instead, he has to share mine. And you know what, I don't want my room overtaken with a bunch of cheap, garish, plastic crap. They baby will not know or care whether it has a stupid swing or a bunch of other space hogging equipment or not. All he needs is a place to sleep, some clothes, some food, some diapers, and someone to make sure he is happy, dry, and fed. I know this is shocking to you, but believe it or not it is quite possible to raise a child without buying stock in playskool or gerber.

Lastly, if I say that I want to keep the gender a secret, don't act like I'm some kind of strange creature who obviously is not from the same species as you. It's my freaking body and I'll tell you as much or as little as I want. Why the hell couldn't I have my little secret? Why is it such a crime to want to know something that you don't? You'd find out eventually. And you'll adore it whatever it's got inside it's diaper. And then, when my silly airheaded friend slipped and told you all the gender, why did you have to say, "oh, now I can buy a bunch of cute boy clothes!" When I told you a major reason I didn't want to tell you the gender is because I didn't want a bunch of gender specific crap.

People get too carried away with the "cuteness factor" of babies. That is why I didn't want you all to know, because you can't seem to get it through your thick heads. I hope and pray for the slight chance that it is a girl just so I can spite you all and dress her in all the "cute" little boy clothes you got me. Oh, and by the way, I live right across the street from a baby consignment shop. Don't think I'd have any qualms about marching over there and trading in all the stuff you guys got me for what I actually need. I know you purposely didn't give me reciepts because you knew I'd return the stuff if you did. Well guess what, I'm alot smarter than you think, I'll always find ways around whatever kind of roadblocks you put up.

I know this makes me sound like a heartless bitch from hell, but this is the accumulation of nine months of frustration and biting my tongue because I don't want everyone in Erik's family to hate me from the outset. But boy, am I getting fed up with all this kow-towing. And the baby isn't even born yet!

-Dragon

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Why Be A Man When You Can Be A Child Instead?

Sometimes I feel like this baby is going to end up with one parent and one trememdously overgrown playmate he calls daddy.

Every month the local hospital holds an orientation for expectant parents in order to allow them to pre-admit and give them an idea as to what to expect when they arrive. I found out about it 3 weeks ago and told Erik right away (he was standing right next to me, after all). So I call him today to tell him we were going and how long it would be. I was going to go to the store afterwards to get something for dinner and discussed this with my mom as we were leaving, right in front of Erik.

Halfway through the orientation, he started texting his cousin. I told him several times to pay attention and he kept saying he was. First off, no, he wasn't. He was texting. Erik has ADD and can't even hold a coherent conversation while watching a moving or using the internet, and text messaging is distracting even for someone with a normal attention span. Then he got an attitude and said that I should have told him sooner because he made plans tonight. I told him 3 weeks ago. That's pretty damn advanced notice. That pissed me off so I decided not to bother with it until the orientation was over. When we left, I said we were going to stop at the grocery store for a moment so I could get something for dinner. Of course he started pouting like a petulant child and refused to admit anything was wrong. After making a few attempts to get him to cheer up, I decided to ignore his behavior.

When we left the store, I asked him if he would save $25 out of his next paycheck for the upcoming carseat program as I don't know exactly when I will get my first check for disability. He asked what I was talking about, and I mentioned that I had already told him, but repeated that there is a program held by the county each month that allows you to buy a new carseat for only $25 dollars if you attend a class about proper installation and automobile safety. He says fine but says he doesn't remember me ever telling him anything about it.

By this point I was really irritated. He has gone with me to several appointments where they told us about it and gave us flyers. There has been a flyer posted on the bulletin board in the kitchen since April. I mentioned it to him at my baby shower, where I said that Sara wanted to get me a carseat, but the one she wants is out of stock so she has to wait for it to come in, but I still wanted to go to the class and get a carseat from it for Erik's car. He tries to tell me that he didn't remember any of it and thought that if I really had told him he would remember something as important as that. Of course, there have been many times where we've had essentially the same conversation, but he continues to insist that I never tell him any of the things I say I have.

What am I supposed to do, buy him a dayplanner and write every thing I want him to remember in it? The main reason I broke up with him is that I. AM. NOT. HIS. MOMMY. It isn't my job to do everything for him. Every time something doesn't go his way he throws a fit, pouts or runs away from the situation. He almost started crying at my baby shower because we were all playing a game where we took turns diapering a baby doll blindfolded and whoever was the fastest won. No one cared how bad at it anyone was. My mom has had 4 kids and she put the diaper on backward! He flat out refused to do it, even though the other two guys there tried. When I had shown him how to do it previously with just the two of us in the room, he was incredibly resistant then. Well he's going to have to learn to do it eventually.

Any time he has to use his brain or be responsible, he acts like a child. My mom keeps saying that many men grow up rather quickly once there's a real baby involved. I hope she's right, because if he continues to act this way after the baby is born, then he won't be allowed to see him at all. It's better to have one mature, responsible parent who is happy and able to take care of you and provide the nurturing and positive role modeling a child needs than to have 2 parents when one of them is unreliable and a bad influence. I don't want a son who is weak and feels like everything should be done for him. All men should be able to show emotion, to be able to hug other men, to cry when the want to. But just because you are in touch with your emotions does not mean you should be an immature crybaby who can't even take care of themselves.

I'm so tired of this. Why can't he just grow up and take responsibility for himself?

I know I whine alot, btw. Sometimes, though, I have reason to.

--Dragon Read more!

Hostage

This post was inspired by a recent post of Thordora's. (I just noticed it said "Thoradora" and not Thordora. Silly me.)

The black ball-- it's always there... maybe the size of a pebble sitting in the pit of my stomach, filled with all the hate and rage I've ever felt just begging for the right moment to be released. It's the evil little voice that makes me tear others apart, when I think of how disgusting morbidly obese people are, or how I hate those stupid skinny rich wenches that get everything handed to them and have never had to work or think for anything. It's the part of me that forms no attachments and knows that I could just walk out the door with whatever money I could get my hands on, a change of clothes and a stack of CDs, and just drive and never look back. The part that hates my little brothers for being weaker than me and succumbing to my dad's delusions in the midst of his illness, for giving him the ammo he needed to leave my mom and leave me feeling like I had to always be there for her and protect her from herself.

When I get angry it grows and grows from a leaden ball in the pit of my stomach to a black rage that envelops my entire body and holds sanity and reason hostage, that makes me scream and shove and punch and claw viciously at my own arms to avoid reaching out and tearing the skin off of the person that I am angry at. Anger is so completely insufficent to describe how I feel in those moments. It's an absolutely mindless rage. Murderous. I feel like a hostage when it takes over-- I am sitting inside myself watching and screaming myself raw trying to stop, to calm down and walk away. It takes every ounce of my strength to get it under control and I am exhausted once the ordeal has passed. Even when things are fine and I have no reason to be angry, I can feel it smoldering, waiting for the right time to escape.

Things have gotten better. I am taking medication and reason and sanity are much louder and firmer, holding the rage at bay. But still, I feel it sitting there, waiting. Waiting to drag me down again. Each time it gets worse-- blacker and stronger. I fear that one day, it will devour me, and I will be left as nothing more than a timebomb waiting to explode, a mindless hate that will destroy everything in its path.

--dragon Read more!