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Nov 12th, 2006
Dear Diary,
I was going to keep this to myself and never share it with another living soul. I have been keeping this a secret for a few months now. It happened this past summer at the height of the World Cup games. Mr. was off to Riga, Latvia, at the time and I was feeling kind of down about the whole thing. Not having anything else to do I had a shower, did the hair and make up thing, put on a push-up bra, cute little top, short skirt, hosed myself off in my honey-orange perfume, and walked to the market.
It is what happened to me at the market, that I have been keeping the secret about.
I was aimlessly tooling through the market, not really paying attention to any one thing. I just wanted to be around other people, even though I couldn’t understand what they were saying. I walked toward the milk, yogurt, and cheese section and my mind registered a man standing there. I was looking over the selection of mozzarella when I heard a familiar (familiar?!) voice say, “I wonder where they keep the fucking jellies?” His voice was familiar, yes, but it was also the way he said this simple sentence. He had a British accent, annunciated each word, and paused at different points in the sentence that made me recognize his voice instantly. “I wonder…” - thoughtful pause - “where”- pause - “they keep the fuck-ing jellies?!” Like that.
Before my mind fully wrapped itself around the fact that I was looking at the back of this person I recognized, my mouth shot itself off. I said, “Well… wherever they keep them, you probably won’t find them in the sour cream section.”
I startled him, no doubt. I’m sure that the last thing he expected to hear was someone speaking English, and to be talking about sour cream and not, “OH MY GAWD!!! DO YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE?!” He executed a very graceful half-turn and looked at me with already raised eyebrows. And suddenly, there I was, face to face with the man who was responsible for giving me pre-pubescent sexual fantasies. He had always “been around” as far as I knew. He never really caught my attention or interest until he was in the movie, “Labyrinth.” It was watching that movie that gave me the first taste of my appreciation for intense, dark men. I followed his career half-heartedly from then on, but he would always be “The Goblin King” to me. He was looking me up and down with his patented, sneering, half-smile. When his eyes reached my face again he said, “You’re probably right about that.” His grin widened the slightest bit and he stepped forward and took my hand. He bowed slightly, kissed my hand, and asked me my name. I told him and he told me his first name. (Like I didn’t know…) Still holding my hand, he stood up straight and said, “My God, Miss Eos. You smell good enough to eat… what IS that scent?” I told him I make my own perfume, and he said that he bet I would still smell good without it. I smiled and told him that I had never had any complaints. He threw his head back and laughed. He looked me right in my eyes and said, “Miss Eos, I can honestly say that it was my extreme pleasure to have made your acquaintance on this fine day.” I told him that the pleasure was all mine. He kissed my hand again, smiled, made a short, grunt sound in the back of his throat, (Kind of like a, “God DAMN” noise) and breezed past me disappearing around the corner of the next aisle.
Diary, I think I stood there for a half hour trying to process what had just happened. I stood still for so long that my right leg went to sleep! How I ever, ever kept my cool the way I did I will never be able to tell you. Well, now you know my secret. You know about the time I came face to face with David Bowie at my favorite little market.
Do you know what “jellies” are, Diary?
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Nov 8th
Dear Diary,
Only nine more days until Mr. comes home! He will be arriving on my birthday, so that’s just very cool. His birthday was a few days ago, and I feel awful about not being able to do anything for him. He said I could make it up to him when he comes home. He doesn’t want much, bless his heart. All he wants is for me to make him a big dinner. After I “service” him. I asked him if he wouldn’t rather go out somewhere nice. He said no because I cook better than any restaurant. Isn’t he sweet?
You know, Diary, it just occurred to me that I am quite a catch. I’m a gourmet cook, funny, able to be ‘one of the boys’, and I don’t yell when Mr. wants to watch football. And I have a nice rack. And look real good in a dress. And I’m a sexual powerhouse. And I don’t really like to shop. Much. Hell, I’m just an all-round cool chick. I’d do me. If I liked chicks. Then again, it's me.
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Nov 4th
Dear Diary,
Latest drama with Eos Jr. is that Ole Peniledrip told his attorney that he would NOT bring her to me at my hotel room by the airport. It’s in the court order that he does this. So, we’re in the process of making it so that things are spelled out to the letter. If he insists he won’t bring her, then he’ll be going against that order. If he does this, he will agree to have her somewhere that I can pick her up. Mr. said that if Scabs-R-Us makes us make Eos Jr. and I miss our flight back, he’s going to be on the next plane to the US as soon as I call him. The Donor does not want Mr. to make that trip… it won’t be anything but all kinds of ugly, lemme tell ya. Although it would be so satisfying to see Mr. snatch Smacktard’s eyes out of his head, I really don’t want to have to bail Mr. out of jail.
I’m bringing my camera, though. Just in case.
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Oct 26, 2006
Dear Diary,
This situation with the sperm donor just gets better and better. What I’m going to do now, is to write out the latest email I got from our lawyer in here, and then respond like I really want to (but can’t). I know you won’t mind if I go a little overboard with my responses. We’re friends like that. (Some names were changed because I was having fun doing it.)
Eos,
I spoke briefly with Retard's lawyer last Thursday, but was waiting to write as she was supposed to call me back on Friday but did not. I was not able to call her today and will be in court all day tomorrow so won't be able to follow up again until Wednesday.
Fanfuckingtastic. We get to wait some more! You know, never in my life have I EVER seen anybody so obviously try and stall things the way that Fuckface has been doing. What gets me is that nobody is stopping it. Hell, nobody is even saying anything about it!
The bottom line of the conversation on Thursday was that Dicklick has no intention of buying a return ticket for Thanksgiving. I know that is not the ideal plan but I also don't think we should petition the court to enforce the order as I honestly don't think that will happen. In fact, I think we would probably get some strange looks.
Hello!!! Have I not been saying since day fucking one that he would NOT buy anything? Did we not just discuss on the phone that we would NOT petition the court to enforce the order?! Why? Well, let’s see… the order states that we are responsible for getting her here, and Cockgobbler is responsible for getting her back there. Right? Right. You have already told us that if/when he does not show up to pick her up, we are under no legal obligation to send her back. Remember that? We fucking giggled about it on the phone… Christ on a crutch! Do I have to think of everything?! The next time my husband comes up with the verbiage to a legal document concerning this, and it works as well as it did the last time, we’re charging YOU. How’d that be? Bottom line here, girlfriend. We do NOT want the court to force Peckersniffer to buy the return ticket! Because when he does not, that means she has to stay HERE. Why is it that us normal people are always smarter than you lawyers, and then still get charged up the ass for doing your damn job?
I was waiting to hear back from her about the request that Smacktard have Eos Jr. to you on November 21.
Hey, tell them that there is no fucking rush. I mean, it’s still a few weeks away. Hell, they don’t have to get back to us till a few hours before my plane is due to take off to come back to Germany! The suspene will be fun! Will he deliver her to my hotel room on the 21st, so that I can have some time with her before she has to go on her first plane ride ever? Or will he wait till a few hours beforehand? He hasn’t let me see her in months, but that doesn’t matter at all, right?
Monkeyfeltcher’s lawyer added that she didn't know that he'd be buying a ticket for the return after Christmas, and that he honestly does not have the money.
Okay. AGAIN. If he has no intention on buying the return trip for Thanksgiving, how the fuck is she going to be back in the US for us to pick her up again for Christmas? Huh? HUH?! I won’t suggest that she swim back. Not at this time of year. The water would be way too cold.
Did you send Eos Jr. an itinerary or ticket for her trip? Somehow Smacktard saw the price of the ticket and where the ticket was purchased and is insisting that Mr. is reimbursed for those costs and that the ticket is at no price to the two of you.
Wow… let me think… did I send a ticket to my 7-year-old daughter. Hell no! One; that ticket would have “disappeared” without her ever having seen it. Two; you already said you sent Shithead's lawyer a copy of MY itinerary… that’s how he saw it. Mr. does NOT get reimbursed for plane tickets. I don’t know where Cousin It got that impression. Hell if Mr. was reimbursed for my tickets, don’t you think I’d be flying my happy ass all over the world to visit him while he was away? Am I the ONLY ONE THINKING? Don't answer that - there will probably be a charge coming my way if you do.
I will talk to you on Thursday but will e-mail if I hear from Asshole’s lawyer.
Yay! Can’t fucking wait, let me tell you!
Thanks,
Your Attorney
Diary, don’t get me wrong. I really like this lawyer, but this back and forth “hey-do-you-think-if-we-came-up-with-something-more-stupid-than-yesterday-that-they’ll-be-overwhelmed-and-give-up” attitude is really getting on my nerves. What strikes me as hilarious (in a morbid way) is that my lawyer is treating this shit seriously. I don’t get it.
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Oct 23, 2006
Dear Diary,
The weather here today was just awesome! No sun all day and super windy. It was a day of perpetual 5am. (Yes, I love days like these and no, I don’t have to explain myself to you. Shut up.) Since it was so fantastic outside I decided to walk down to the market. I nixed the idea of riding my bike. It was that windy. I was in an absolutely fantastic mood and was smiling at everybody and humming to myself. Nice weather does that to me.
So there I was walking around the market, picking up wonderful things for myself, and I kept hearing a kid whining/crying about something. The kid sounded tired to me. While standing in front of the snack section trying to decide which kind of peanuts I wanted, the kid rolls up in a cart pushed by its mother. No more than five feet away from me, it starts it’s whining again… a sound that drove right through my skull. Yeah, he was one of those kids. Beautiful little boy though. Well, being in the jovial mood I was, I decided to spread some of my personal sunshine around and make the kid’s day a little brighter. Kids love me. I have that goofy, wrinkle-up-your-nose-and-squint-your-eyes Mommy Face down to a science. I waited until Junior looked my way and then I gave him my best Mommy-Goofy Face. Diary, that fucking kid freaked out as if I had just thrown lemon juice in his eyeballs. He screamed and tried crawling out of his seat in the cart. I thought he was going to tip the whole thing over. His mother caught him and looked around wildly. I guess she was looking for the axe murderer/boogeyman that had just scared her precious tot half to death. Of course, I did what any honest Mom would do. I grabbed my nuts and got the fuck out of Dodge.
I have a theory, Diary. Try to follow me on this one. There was something wrong with the kid, obviously, and I am pretty sure I know what it was. See, the kid was platinum blonde with bright blue eyes… the mother was platinum blonde with bright blue eyes. I know that darker coloration of hair, eyes, and skin tone are dominant traits. So, one would deduct that this kid’s father was also an Aryan… I mean, he was fair haired and blue eyed too. Now, a human geneticist I am not, however, I do know a lot about breeding horses and dogs. (Hey, an animal is an animal.) Here’s what happens when only certain traits are desirable in any specific breed of animal… all the other good stuff gets thinned out to extinction and all you’re left with is looks.
Of course, I have examples.
The American bred Teacup Poodle is one such example. Bred for their size alone, they are one of the nastiest little creatures on the planet. I am sure there are exceptions to this but I haven’t run into many. They have been bred exclusively for size and color for so long that most bitches cannot give birth naturally. They are too small, so they need C-sections or they die. My first horse was an Appaloosa gelding. He was fantastic to look at; tall, leggy, broad chest, straight back, gorgeous head, and brilliant color! He came from a long line of carefully selected color matches. You could not ask for a lovelier looking horse. But he was a fucking fruitcake. He was easy enough to train but he had no common sense. He would go ballistic over lines painted on a road or someone turning on a light in the barn. Dangerously ballistic. He was a concussion waiting to happen. (I had three concussions with that one.) Once I had him in the mountains for a trail ride and we saw a black bear. I had the hardest time getting the horse away from the bear. He wanted to see it up close and personal like. Oh, but don’t let him see a squirrel. No indeedy. Sends him running down the mountain-side faster than a redneck caught in a rockslide. Only thing I can figure is that he was gang raped by squirrels when he was a foal. He would also kill cats… run them down, stomp them into the ground, and tear them apart with his teeth.
So you see, Diary, I am probably right about this. That has to be the only explanation, in the case of the kid at the market, because kids do not react that way to me.
I saw the kid and his mother again in the bread aisle. He looked at me with these huge eyes, and I could tell he was holding his breath. You are wondering if I made the same face at him. Of course not. I made a different one and it had the same result. I bet he’s afraid of squirrels too.
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Oct 19, 2006
Dear Diary,
I gotta tell ya… this whole situation with Eos Jr. is both nerve wracking and funny as shit at the same time. (I have to laugh or I would be crying about it.) Latest development on the sperm donor “allowing” her to stay here from Thanksgiving through Christmas is that he lied again. Oh, he wants her to be here that long and both lawyers are working on getting that all drawn up, all nice and legal-like.
However... I spoke with Eos Jr’s guidance counselor and teacher yesterday by phone. Her teacher made no bones about the fact that she is very unhappy about Eos Jr. missing so much school… even though she had agreed to draw up lesson plans and send books with her, etc. Apparently, the donor came up with this brilliant idea of his the day before he even left the message on his lawyer’s voice mail about it. He had gone in to the school and left a note for the teacher, instructing her to do this. Fucking rude if you ask me… it’s not like this woman doesn’t have enough to do already, right? Sooooo, as I’m talking to the teacher, she mentions that she ran into donor at Wal-Mart later that night (Tuesday). He told her that he knows it won’t be the best thing for Eos Jr. to miss that much school, but that all of this was COURT ORDERED so he had no choice. What was court ordered is that Eos Jr. comes here for Thanksgiving, then goes back to PA, comes back for Christmas, then goes back to PA. We are responsible for my round trip ticket to pick her up and her one-way ticket here. Donor is responsible for his ticket to pick her up and her one- way back.
Here be my dilemma, Diary. Do I ignore this latest lie just so I can get Eos Jr. here or, do I use it? Donor’s lies got him into this mess, and now he is ignoring Eos Jr’s wellbeing again just to dig himself out of something else. Lying to your daughter’s second grade teacher just to save a few bucks probably will not look very good, you know? YES, I want her here for that long! YES, I would be more than happy to home school her. BUT she is a chip off her old momma in that it takes her a long time to be able to concentrate on something, and when she is interrupted, she doesn’t do very well getting back on track. If the donor actually comes up with the money to fly her back after the Christmas break, not only will she be upset about leaving me and Mr., but she will also have a very difficult time going back to her ‘old’ school. I do not want to put her through that. We still don’t have a date for the final custody trail and I don’t know how long she will have to be there without me.
Here’s what I’m thinking… I tell my lawyer what happened and that the teacher is very much against her missing that much school. We force him to have to pay for both flights (which he can’t afford). He either pulls a lot of money out of his ass all of a sudden, or he signs her over to us. Either way, he’s fucked. I just don’t know the best way to proceed with it. I’m going to call our lawyer later today about it and see what she has to say.
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Oct 17, 2006
Dear Diary,
Holy shit. Seriously.
I feel like I am about to fly apart at the seams. First, Mr. just left for Libya about an hour ago. He wasn’t supposed to leave for another few days but surprise, surprise… the visa came in early so off he goes. Fuckers. Second, Mr. and I had a phone conference with our attorney last night about Eos. Jr.
The sperm donor has been playing mindfuck games with her for a while. When I talk to her on the phone, she refuses to get excited about coming here for Thanksgiving because, apparently, he is setting her up NOT to come. We already have the damn tickets. He (excuse me, IT. Yeah, I like that. “It.”) has also been entertaining her with stories about how people puke on airplanes. Yes, Diary, I am writing everything down. HOWEVER! Last night we found out that he is running very low on cash, apparently. His lawyer told our lawyer that if we “keep this up” he would probably cave because he can’t afford it. Hey, It was the one that refused to talk to me about anything… so EVERYTHING since then has been going through our attorneys. I didn't start that shit.
Here’s the deal. Yesterday morning, It called and left a voicemail with It’s lawyer. It suggested that we just keep Eos Jr. from Thanksgiving through January 2nd. What the fuck, Diary? It admitted that it couldn’t afford the double set of plane tickets to do BOTH Thanksgiving AND Christmas… great, wonderful, fine, etc… but she will miss three weeks of school. It’s attorney was scrambling to try and keep up with this latest development because it has lied to it’s own attorney on several occasions. It’s attorney dodges the issue of the ‘missing birth certificate’ because I busted his ass good on that one. So It is thinking that Eos Jr. can stay here for a little over a month and then go back to the old single wide trailer in that crowded trailer park, and that she will be okay with that?! Diary… we have him, period. I know in my heart that if she comes here for that long, she won’t be going back. If, for some reason, she does go back, it won’t be for long. If this goes to court, it has just guaranteed that we will win. My attorney suggested that I home school her for those three weeks. That will be all kinds of cool! (Not too sure about that second grade math though…)
As much as I would love to gloat about this, I can’t. I am just so thankful that we will have her for that long and that I will be able to protect her from what has been happening to her. My heart has been ripped out almost every day for months when I talk to her on the phone and hear how much she misses Mr. and I. So, he won’t be running with her like we thought. She will be here and she will be with us.
Diary, just wait till after she gets here and I start telling you about the things she says on a daily basis. The kid is a scream.
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Oct 14, 2006
Dear Diary,
Mr. and I have a phone appointment with our attorney tonight. We are going to tell her about some concerns we have about Eos Jr’s trip here. Not about Eos Jr. actually coming here… but the fact we think the sperm donor is going to make it so that she doesn’t come. We think he is going to take off with her.
I got to talk to her on the phone last night and told her that I was very excited about Thanksgiving. She said she didn’t want to talk about it. (Red flag #1.) I asked why and she said that it was a month away and she just didn’t want to talk about it. Then she said, “It will cost too much to send me to Germany. We can’t afford it.” (Red flag #2.) I told her that we had already bought both her ticket, and mine, so she was definitely coming here. She did not believe me. I think that poor excuse for a human being, waste of air, cockgobbling, motherfucker is setting her up NOT to come.
We don’t think he will have the money to come and pick her up like he is supposed to. Oh. Fucking. Well. We have already been advised that we are under no legal obligation to send her back.
Diary, I am thanking God that Mr.’s Mother is going to be with me when dicksmack drops Eos Jr. off to me at my hotel. Everything he has done to me, and everything he is doing to her, is enough to make me want to strangle him. I honestly would get off just to be able to round house him in his fucking mug.
Now, if I can just keep my mother-in-law from ripping his nuts off, we should be good to go.
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Oct 12, 2006
Dear Diary,
Well, my dinner out with Mr. turned into not having dinner out at all! We went on our little trip on a Sunday, completely forgetting that most places are not open on Sundays here! If they were open, they were serving coffee, drinks, and maybe some bread and cheese. We ended up stopping in Belgium and having the absolute BEST cappuccino on the planet! The waitress brought us each our own little tray. It had the cappuccino, a tiny glass of water, a tiny plate with three miniature cakes on it, a very small bar of chocolate, and a little bowl with whipped crème in it. Under the whipped crème was a mixture of egg yolk and brandy to mix in the cappuccino. Sounds somewhat icky, but it tasted fantastic!
We drove through Holland, Belgium, France, and Luxembourg. Holland was interesting… I didn’t see any wooden clogs or anything, but got some pictures of some huge ass windmills. We tuned into a Dutch radio station and I was just amazed. Dutch sounds like German being spoken backwards. (I’m sure there is a joke in there somewhere.) Belgium was a little easier because it seems many of their Flamish words are similar to German. I was even making out some road signs and stuff. France was... ya know... full of French people. So was Luxembourg, actually. We stopped at a truck stop/rest area in Luxembourg to use the bathroom and I saw some French rednecks. No shit. But instead of saying things like, “Git outta the way, ya dumb Sumbitch!” They were saying, “Croissant, beret, French dressing, Froggy Froggy!” Hilarity around every corner! I saw some little French kid with his finger up his nose and his Momma smacked him upside the head for it. Hell, I almost felt like I was back in Pennsylvania! (They are everywhere!)
Mr. has to go back to Libya in a few days. He will be coming back home on my birthday though! We are going to plan a long weekend after that. We will dump the dog off at a kennel, load the kitties up with food and water, and just disappear for a few days. I can’t wait!
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Oct 7, 2006
Dear Diary,
Mr. is taking me out for dinner tomorrow! I know, you are probably thinking, “So? What’s the big deal?” Well, it is a big deal to me. I absolutely love to cook so we don’t go out much. However, there is another reason I am so excited about going out for dinner.
As you know, the life I have now is very different from the one I had before Mr. and I got married. In the ‘before time’, in the ‘long, long ago’, a “nice dinner out” would be a first date to Red Lobster with some heavy petting in the back seat of your date's Camaro afterwards. Also, a “nice dinner out” could be a celebration of a birthday or anniversary, or a family member announcing that she was “knocked up” and that “the daddy ain’t kin so the kid prolly won’t have that eye problem that lil’ Sally Ann got.” At Red Lobster. Of course.
Nope. Mr. is taking me to Belgium to a restaurant he knows there that has (according to him) the best mussels in garlic-cream sauce on the planet. We can sightsee on the way and I am really excited. It will take us about four hours to drive each way.
Mr. says that he has wanted these mussels for a long time and the only thing that would make the meal complete is if he had “clam” for dessert. Oh, he will get clam for dessert. I happen to know of an all-you-can-eat clam bar.
My, how things change. From, “Hey. Wanna go out’n git sumpin t’eat? I ain’t gut much money, but I shore would like to have a date with ya.” To, “Sweetheart, I have an idea! You need to get out and go somewhere fun, so how about I take you to a different country for dinner!”
You know what, Diary? Fuck Red Lobster.
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Oct 4, 2006
Dear Diary,
We have won a huge battle in this custody case. The Judge just signed an order that says we get Eos Jr. for the Thanksgiving holiday! I will be flying to the states to get her in November. Not only that, Diary, but the Judge also signed the order stating that the sperm donor has to fly his nasty ass to Germany to pick her up! AND has to buy his own ticket and her return ticket. Oh happy day! His lawyer has been crying the blues about how po’ her client is, etc etc.
The latest lie I busted him on was about Eos Jr’s birth certificate. He said he didn’t have one for the passport. Now… this numbfuck has had her passport application for FOUR months and he is just now realizing he needs a birth certificate? His lawyer even helped him fill out the application. How fucking stupid do you need to be to have to have help with one of those? Took me ten minutes to get everything ready to go for mine. (Quick note: Cockgobbler only ‘realized’ he needed a birth certificate and did not have one, AFTER this order was signed that he had to pay for tickets.) Apparently, his lawyer helped him fill out another application to send off for a replacement birth certificate… that could take up to three weeks. (‘Nother note: the state capital and the birth certificate office is about half an hour away from where Peckersniffer lives. It would take him one hour to have as many copies of her birth certificate as he needed.) During all of this cluster fucking around, I am fuming because I KNOW he has multiple copies of her birth certificate. After I left him, he called me crowing about how he got them. (Guess he thinks they are like AKC registration/ownership papers for your dog.)
Diary, I have been listening to my guts during all of this and doing what the little voices in my head tell me to do. This time the voices told me to call Eos Jr’s guidance counselor at school and ask her to check Eos Jr’s file. Because everybody knows, you need to provide a birth certificate in order to register your child at a new school, right? Not only did they have that information in her records, but also it was not even a notarized ‘real’ birth certificate. No indeedy. It was a motherfucking COPY. I could barely contain my maniacal giggles of glee long enough to thank the guidance counselor and hang the phone up. I promptly called my lawyer and TATTLED! She emailed his lawyer, his lawyer said she would check into this ‘ASAP’ and my lawyer hasn’t heard back from her in over a week about it. Gosh, wonder why?
I felt so good about this whole thing that Mr. and I celebrated later that night. I threw my back out, but damn it was worth it!
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Oct 2, 2006
Dear Diary,
I have been having some fucked up dreams, Diary. I’ve always slept “weird.” I always have my hands near my face somewhere; usually on my chin or under one of my cheeks. Well, apparently I have been pushing on my jaw in my sleep and grinding my teeth. Stress, I reckon. In any case, I have been waking up feeling as if I have been run over by a truck. I went to an ear, nose, and throat doctor and he told me what it was. I wake up in the morning and start crying because of the way I feel physically and because of the dreams I am having. I sleep all night but get no rest.
Anyway, Diary, this is what has been going on with me. I go back to the ear, nose, and throat guy today and hopefully he can point me to a doctor that might give me something to sleep and not beat myself up while I’m doing it. I have never been one to take medicine for that kind of thing, but I’m willing to do it now.
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Sep 26, 2006
Dear Diary,
Sorry for not writing more. I know I haven’t told you this, but I am involved in a big custody battle for my daughter. You know how some people have phobias that just don’t make any sense? I have a friend who is afraid of cows. Yep. Cows. She cannot explain it, but she is terrified of them. The sight of a cow makes her shudder. She eats beef but she says that’s not the same… When you buy hamburger, it isn’t in cow form. That sort of logic. Anyway, my phobia is anything “legal.” Courtrooms, lawyers, judges, even the police. I have never been in trouble for anything. I’ve never done anything wrong, nor have I ever been in a situation where I have had to deal much with the legal system.
As you know, DIary, I left my daughter with her father in April, not wanting to move her between three schools in one year. Since I left the asshole, things have been fairly congenial. We have not fought over who gets her when. It has all been verbal agreements, even though there has been an official custody order in effect. The plan was that my daughter would come here in the middle of the summer to acclimate and start school here with us. Long story short; the sperm donor “changed his mind.” That is what the Judge claimed, anyway. Actually, he had this all planned from day one. I just can’t prove it. He has been lying about everything… and I mean EVERYTHING. We have proof of what and how he has been lying, and that he is trying to keep my daughter from me.
Now I have to sit here and wait for a complete stranger to see him for what he is and to decide whether I deserve to have my own child. Lots of judgment is being passed on me by people that have no idea who or what I am. I think the most difficult part of this entire thing is the extremes that I am experiencing. On one hand, I am here in Germany with the man of my dreams. I know it seems like I gush about my Mr. a lot, and maybe I do. Mr. is a walking dream for me in every way and is so much so, that when he’s away and I see that I have an email from him, my heart flutters. (Yeah, yeah… I know, shut up.) Then we have this whole needless mess with my daughter. The ONLY reason her father wants her at all is to “get back at me” for leaving him six years ago. Bitter much? It has been hard on Mr. in that he feels helpless to do anything about this situation. He sees how much it is hurting me and it makes him furious. Naturally, that makes me feel horrible.
Just wanted to vent.
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Sep 19, 2006
Dear Diary,
Ever have one of those moments where you see something going on (with someone else) that should not be, and you want to just butt in and take care of it yourself? I mean, usually you can see other people’s problems crystal clearly. Much more so than your own.
Such is the case with my friend, Sugar. Okay, I just moved in here so I don’t know if you could call us “friends” yet, exactly. What I do know, however, is that I have been in her shoes. Twice. Amazing how we gravitate toward the same kind of people that are not good for us, ain’t it? Anyway, for me, my lack of self-confidence and self-esteem did it. Oh, and the fact that I have Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome AND good old ADD, so I am just a big walking chemical imbalance. Put all that shit together with a family that didn’t give a shit whether I lived or died and you have the recipe for a mess. The first time in my life that I remember being hugged on a regular basis was when I had my first boyfriend at the age of 17. That is when I started equating sex with love.
It was all down hill from there.
I really wish I could invite Sugar over. We could sit and have coffee, cigarettes, and just talk for hours about stuff. If I thought that, for a second, it would help her, I would tell her EVERYTHING that happened to me between asshole #1 and stretched-out-I-think-I-would-like-to-try-out-a-Tranny-but-I’m-not-a-fag-asshole #2. (You remember, Diary, this is the “man” that bought me a strap-on dildo the size of a horse cock for Valentine’s day, saying he thought it would be romantic if I would fuck him up the ass with it…) I suppose stories about that would be the comic relief during the conversation. I can laugh about it now, albeit bitterly. Any laughter at all is better than none, right?
What I would really like to tell Sugar, though, is that no matter how many people you ask for advice, and no matter how much advice you get, you have to be the one to make up your mind to do something about your situation. It is really easy for people to stand back and say, “Jesus Christ! Just leave the fuckhead!” I know that it is not that easy. I was ‘invited’ to a domestic violence shelter, a full six months before it got bad enough for me to go. I said I would never do that; make myself homeless - are you kidding?! Well, by the end of those last six months with asshole #1, homelessness seemed like a damn fine idea. There is a mourning period we all need to go through, women in our situation. Mourning the loss of the person you thought you were with. Mourning the loss of the life you thought you were going to have. Being terrified of what will happen next. Going over and over, all of your options, and still attempting to maintain a certain sense of normalcy for the benefit of the people around you, the kids. All the while, trying to keep your true feelings hidden from your insignificant other… even as their mind fuckery continues unchecked. One good thing though; most people like Sugar’s husband are so fucking arrogant, and are so secure in the fact that they “have you right where they want you”, that they aren’t expecting a damn thing.
They never see it coming.
I would like to tell Sugar that I did not fully research the whole Domestic Violence Shelter thing before I went. If I had done that, I would have gone a lot sooner. Once you put yourself in that situation, you are automatically qualified to receive all sorts of help. YES, the thought of being ‘in the system’ and being on WELFARE made me sick to my stomach, but… the good outweighed the bad, definitely. Because I went to the shelter, I was put on a list for Section 8 housing, and given priority because I was in a shelter with a child. I was approved for that in less than one working day. Because I had been a stay at home mom, with no real work skills to speak of, I was offered a chance to go back to school. Childcare would be paid for, rent was taken care of, food was not a worry, I had help with electricity, AND I was AWAY from HIM. There are even programs to help you buy and maintain a car and to help pay for gas back and forth to school. Even though the mere thought of welfare made me want to crawl under a rock, I had no choice. I had my daughter to think about. Sure, the asshole wasn’t doing anything to her, specifically, but I sure as hell could not be a good mother with the stress I was under all the time. The shelter also got me a lawyer and child support right away.
It was scary at first. Really, really scary. But I had my daughter to focus on so that made it a little easier. Also, I waited until the asshole was away for a few days and I packed everything I wanted out of that super-deluxe-20-year-old-single-wide-mobile-mansion in a suitcase, and got the fuck out. Yep, I took a lot of shit. Community property state and all. Possession is 9/10’s of the law. Ever hear that one? I knew his parents would find out that I left, before he did, so I took the king size bed and put the blow up mattress I had been sleeping on, in its place. I put a big purple dildo on top of the mattress, and left it like that. It’s the little things, you know?
My daughter and I moved into a beautiful three-bedroom apartment. For the next few years, I concentrated on us and worked on healing myself from the asshole. I found I had more patience with her and just enjoyed being with her a lot more than I ever had before. I felt better than I had in YEARS. Then… I met asshole #2. However, that is a story for another time.
Diary, maybe I will just walk over to Sugar’s some day and ask her to come over for coffee. I can’t tell her what to do or how to go about doing it, all I can do is tell her what I did, and hope that she will find a little comfort in that. Maybe it will give her an idea of what to do for herself. Any way you look at it, what she is going through is hard. Physically, emotionally, psychologically, and I am sure there are some spiritual questions running around her head, too. I did a lot of asking, “Why me?”
Yeah. One of these days, I’m going to tell her.
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Sep 15, 2006
Dear Diary,
I took homemade beef jerky into school yesterday. Diary, those Korean kids went nuts over it! Everybody else liked it too but first thing this morning, they were talking to me about it. They wanted to know how to make it. I do not mind giving out any recipe but there are several problems with this. One, I don’t use recipes… I just throw stuff together... Two, the German words for the stuff I use are different from English. In addition, neither of the kids understood one thing I told them anyway. I was stumped as to how to go about telling them how to make this stuff. I figured I would just invite them over and we would spend a few hours cooking! They want to learn how to make pancakes, too. I am really looking forward to it. They are super polite and just really nice kids. I think it will be a lot of fun.
There's a rumor in the neighborhood, Diary, that Elise is coming back soon. I hope she'll be OK with me moving in my stuff during her time-out. I don't know where she's been, but that's what they always say when people go to the funny farm, right?
Well I should start on my German homework. We have to memorize about 3 ½ billion words by Monday. My poor, poor little brain.
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Sep 13, 2006
Dear Diary,
Man, do I feel bad! Mr. had to get two shots in his back today. One was a painkiller and one was a muscle relaxer. He threw his back out and he has never ever done that before. I know it wasn’t my fault or anything, but I still feel bad about it. Okay, it was not my fault directly. He is claiming it was a “sex accident.” I am not sure if he is serious or if he is just joking about that. I have not asked because I don’t want to know. I feel bad enough at the possibility that it might be my fault.
School today was… interesting. The whole class got yelled at. We had a test on Friday and I know I totally bombed it. Seems as though I was not the only one. The teacher informed us, in German of course, that this was the “accelerated class”. I hope that is what she said, my German is not that good. Anyway, since we are the "accelerated class", the pace would be accelerated. Well, no shit. However… if the ENTIRE class isn’t able to follow the pace, wouldn’t it make sense to slow things down maybe a tiny bit? Maybe? The teacher also informed us that it was not her problem if we were falling behind. Again, I can see her point if it were a few select dumb asses that were not getting it, but this is the whole class. I just don’t see how her forging ahead and telling us, “Too fucking bad if you don’t get it” is going to help any of us.
Then she said her cabbage pants were made out of a little car, or something like that. I am still trying to decipher my notes.
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Sep 11, 2006
Dear Diary,
Wow… the Crocodile Hunter died. Yeah, okay, he was annoying as shit. Seriously. Nonetheless, I was jealous of the guy. I mean his job, his passion; his entire life was spent playing with critters! How cool is that? I never understood the fascination with Crocodiles, though. Snakes I can handle. They are beautiful, graceful, quiet, pieces of perfectly evolved killing machine. You cannot cuddle a Croc, period. I have cuddled snakes, because they like being cuddled, but I don’t reckon I would try that with a crocodile.
A few years ago, I went to a pet store for fish food and, as usual, I checked out the snakes the owner had in the store. I offered $300 for a young Reticulated Python male that was there at the time. He was a Hybrid and was the most gorgeous snake I had ever seen. He was yellow, salmon/pink, lavender, and green… and he loved me! I would hold him every time I went in there. No kidding, Diary, he would crawl up the side of his tank when I would get close to it. The snake would crawl down my shirt and nestle himself in my bra. I think the owner of the store was jealous. The snake would get the bulk of his body between my boobs, poke his head out the top of my shirt, and look around. I guess being sandwiched between a pair of 38D’s is comfy and warm. But the owner still would not sell me the snake. Fucker. He said it was a ‘breeder.’ Yeah whatever. Anyway, I went in one week for fish food and asked where ‘my’ snake was. The rat bastard owner of the store had SOLD the snake. He was getting out of the snake breeding business, he said. He sold MY snake for $200. What a kick in the teeth. I have never wanted to own a snake before or since. I also never went back to that store to buy fish food, either. Weird how we get attached to things that we can’t have, isn’t it?
I was wondering something, Diary. You know how Steve Irwin was always a super spaz? I wondered if he was like that ALL the time. Can you just see him in bed with the wife yelling, “Crikey! That was a beauty!” Yeah, me too.
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Sep 8, 2006
Dear Diary,
I really should start working out. You know, a regular exercise routine supplemented with wholesome and natural foods. Maybe some meditation for my emotional well-being. I am all about being healthy. Or... I could just have lots more sex. I’m telling you, Diary, I am fucking sore. (Pun most definitely intended.) I think Mr. moved my liver from where it is supposed to be. You think I should get that checked out? In any case, it’s wonderful having him home again!
We took the dog out for the last time tonight and saw the coolest thing! There was a hedgehog in the dog run. I grabbed two big sticks and kind of chopsticked him between them and carried him out of there so that some little dog would not try biting him. I’ve never seen one before, so it was really neat. It just so happens that I had my camera with me and I got a few pictures of his little spiny butt! Mr. wouldn’t let me keep him. Pffft.
Well, Diary, it is 1am and Mr. just asked me if I was ready to go to bed. He told me that he was going to bring a bottle of Gatorade to put beside the bed because, “You are going to need it.” Isn’t he just the sweetest? Always looking out for me.
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Sep 6, 2006
Dear Diary,
I did not go to school today so I figured I had better write to say, “Hello”, at least. I’m not sick or anything so don’t worry! It’s just that Mr. got home early from Libya! I figured I had better stay home and help him with some things that have needed to be done around here. I had some “plumbing” that needed looked into, some clogged pipes, and there was a pressure release valve that needed unblocked as well. Mr. is just AMAZING with that kind of stuff! I feel somewhat bad, though. I ignored these pipes so long that Mr. had to snake them twice… just this morning! Poor man. He worked his ass off in Libya with only one day off in two months and I have work for him when he comes home. He didn’t complain, though. He was up for it, he said.
I suppose I should go get dressed, Diary. Mr. had to go to work for about an hour and said that when he came home, he was taking me out for dinner! Before he left, he did the strangest thing. He was kissing me good-bye and he turned me around and draped me over the back of the couch. He stood right behind me and when I asked him what he was doing he said, “Oh, just working out the logistics on something.”
Wonder what he meant by that? Isn’t he silly?
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