Tuesday, April 19, 2011

I should be dead...

So today, I logged onto Facebook and I saw the following Status...

My curfew was the street lights and mom didn't call my cell, she yelled "time to come in". I played outside with friends, not online. If I didn't eat what my mom made me then I didn't eat. Hand sanitizer didn't exist, but you COULD get your mouth washed out with soap. Repost if you drank water out of a hose and survived

Needless to say it got me thinking a little bit.

Do you realize that if you are above the ripe old age of 22 and sitting here reading this, you are damn lucky to be alive.  No seriously, I mean it.  Hell if you are older than me and sitting here reading this then hot damn! you must be immortal.

When my mother was a child, her mother took her out to the cotton field in the sun and she picked cotton.  She lived in a house that had a tin roof and was made other wise of nothing but wood.  They climbed the tree in the front yard and shook pecans out of the topmost branches.  They went swimming in the swimming hole on the family property.  If you peed in the swimming hole no one cared.  They went exploring in the woods.

The picked berries off the vine, they drank milk from the cow, they twisted the necks of chicken, took off the feathers and cooked the damn thing and that was dinner.

When my mother was a child she played outdoors from sun up to sundown regardless of bugs. And she did it skirts and dresses.  She risked extreme sunburn and melanoma.  There was no west Nile virus or if there was, it was still on the Nile, and nobody gave a hot damn.  If my mother got bit by a bug, my grandfather put some whiskey on it and boom it's was all good.  If my mother fell out of the afore mentioned tree and broke her arm, one of the elders in her family probably wrapped it up and there was no investigation as to why the child was in the tree.

Do you realize that my mother is so lucky to be alive?

When I was a child.  I played outside.  I woke up in the morning ready to hit the pavement regardless of how hot it was because if I was able to go outside and play then hell, it was a good day.  I drank from water hoses, I tromped around in the great outdoors wearing shorts that would make Daisy Duke proud.  I wore flip flops and poked at strange things I found in the woods with sticks.

I didn't go swimming in swimming holes because by that time (A scant 30 years of civilization later) it was bad.  There were things in there so instead, I jumped in head first or belly flopped into slightly chlorinated water.  If you cam across a warm spot in that water no worries, the chlorine eradicated it soon enough.  I didn't have to wear sunblock outdoors but I did have to have that oh so healthy layer of Vaseline slather on me to protect my skin and consequently make me shine like a shiny eight ball that could be seen from space when the sun shined right.

I didn't drink milk straight from the cow because by the time (again a scant thirty years later) it had to be pasteurized.   I did however, get little Debbie's for breakfast, drank strawberry Quik like it was going out of style.  My cereal was frosted and I STILL added sugar to it.  My bread was full of gluten and it was white or brown.  I ate butter, not margerine, and my vegatables came from a can.

When we climbed trees, it was at camp with a spotter or a group of friends standing below us and if we fell and broke our arms we went to the Doctor who wrapped it up, gave us a lollipop and told us to be careful next time.

When I was in the fifth grade, I came home to my house all by myself and let myself in with my key and did my homework and watched television and ate a snack while my mom finished work and came home.  If she had someplace to go at night, the girl next door came over and babysat me and we watched television and the girl did my hair until it was late enough for me to be yawning every five minutes and just when we saw my moms head lights, I was told to scramble back to my room and pretend like I had been sleep for the last two hours.

We went to the store and I wanted things and I pestered my mother for them relentlessly.  She looked at me and in her most threatening voice told me what she was going to do if I kept it up.  If I kept it up I got a whooping right there in the store.  Other mother might have seen me getting my ass whooped and said "I have to do the same thing in the toy aisle"  The bruises on my ass can tell you for damn sure that not one time did CPS come and save me from that nor did my mother end up on the evening news as a child beater.

I lived through all of that and I survived.  Holy crap am I lucky!!

We are now sixty years from when my mother was a child and while my children play outside and don't actually have to be home until the sun is no longer in the sky there are some that have to be in at a certain hour.  Sometimes, my kids decide that the movie on TV or the computer game is more exciting than playing out in the sun.

And if they go out in the sun, God forbid I slather them down in Vaseline?  No I have to use SPF 6000 because after millions of years of kids running around in the sun, it can now kill you.  My kids go into the woods?  Are you nuts?!?!?  Do you know whats in the woods??  There's bugs, and snakes, and pedophiles hiding in those trees.  There's rocks to trip over, trees on paths, birds that could pick your eyes out.

And swimming!  they still swim and in the same pools as I did but that warm patch, well you know not to go near it now because it turns dark blue to alert everyone that someone peed in water.  The Chlorine that eradicated it when I was a  little girl still gets rid of it but not before it says to everyone "Look that kid had to pee!!!"  At which point EVERYONE has to get out of the pool and the area has to be sanitized.  Cause you know pee inside our bodies won't kill us but swimming near/through someone else in a pool filled with bleach more or less is going to cause untold damages.

If my kid climbs a tree which I think is an extinct sport now and falls out of said tree and breaks his arm, I have to answer a million questions at the hospital explaining why was my child in the tree?  How tall was the tree?  Why didn't I catch him?  Where were his spotter?  Was I paying attention to my child?  And on the heels of that CPS will want to launch a full investigation into my child falling out a tree.

Not only does milk have to be pasteurized now, it has to have water added so that it's only 2% milk cause in the last 60 years cows have ganged up on us and not only created mad cow disease, tainted their milk so that drinking it the way that God intended is bad. And not just Bad, super bad.  Vegetables still come out of a can but now before that can was sealed the vegetables were cleaned and homogenized and sterilized and all that stuff that basically means we killed the shit stuffed it in a can and made sure than nothing that signifies that this kernel of corn or green bean ever actually saw sunlight or felt soil is left evident on it.  Killing, cleaning and cooking a chicken now?  As if!  First of all, that chicken is bad!  He has a disease. Not sure what it's called but it probably has something to do with him being mad.  He has been fed steroids because he was too small. (His steroids cause boobs to grow way bigger and way faster on girls now.  Where the hell was THAT chicken when I was growing up?!?!?)

If my kids find berries on a vine now, they have to look it up to see if it is poisonous and then they still can't eat it because even though it's wild it may have been sprayed with insecticide, because I mean after millions of year helping fruit and berries grow, insects have now decided that spreading diseases is a much better use of their time.

My kids can't come home from school and let themselves in with their very own key.  Why?  Because ther's all sorts of dangers in my house that could kill them if they were left alone for an hour or two.  NO, now I have to fill out forms and sign them up for school based after school programs that will keep them safe from harm and Spongebob until I get off work.  Cause you know, after six hours of school, kids only want more school.  If I have to go out at night, the girl next door has to have a background check before she can come over and watch my kids.  She can't do their hair because well, that would be bad.  I don't know how exactly but that would be bad.  And there's nothing on for kids past a certain hour most places so staying up is pointless unless you have uber cable and they can't stay up anyway because after years and years of kids staying up late, studdies now show that children HAVE to have their eight to ten hours of sleep or who knows what calamity will occur.

If my kids want something in the store enough to pester me for it, I can't turn to them with my Exorcist face on and tell them what I'm going to to do to them if they keep at it, because I'm threatening them.  I can't reach around and spank one of them for bugging me about cocoa krispies because then I assaulting my child.  And the Mom that passed me in the aisles when I was a youngster getting that very same spanking, now rips my child out of my arms, tells me what a horrible mother I am while at the same time calling the police.  By the end of the day, I'm on the nine o'clock news as a convicted child beater.

Let's not go into furniture.  The high chair that my mother sat in as a baby could have wood rot and worms and kill me, so my mom brought a brand new metal and vinyl one when I was a baby but by the time my kids were born, it could have rusted and the vinyl torn and my kids could get tetanus.  The playpen my mom played in as an infant (Rolling my eyes because my mom grew up in the country in the forties) could have so many many bad things in it so when she had me, she had to get the big Graco one that took up millions of miles of floor space.  But I couldn't use that when my kids were babies bcause in twenty years the metal had suddenly decided to buckle and trap my kids inside while the mesh screen would work its way around their throat and down their windpipe if it tore.  My moms toys would have killed me and my toys would kill my kids.

What happened over the years?  I sometimes think that I would have loved to have been a child even back before my mom was born.  They didn't have a million and one vaccines.  If they got the chicken pox, they itched for a few days and it was gone.  Do you realize, my kids have never had the chicken pox and probably never will because there's a vaccine for it.  I had the chicken pox so bad it was in the corners of my eyes and you know what?  Moms from all over bought their kids to sit in the playpen with me because they wanted their kids to have it.  Children have survived a whole bunch of stuff but over time people have forgotten that and the people that do remember that, are considered quacks and freaks because they like me, believe that what didn't kill our elders will not kill our kids.

Terminally Single and Blogging is well... there is no word for what I am right now.  I guess since I'm alive, the best I can say is I am sure as hell damn lucky to be so...

Thursday, April 14, 2011

A serious issue....

I Got Flowers Today

I got flowers today.
It wasn't my birthday or any other special day.
We had our first argument last night,
And he said a lot of cruel things that really hurt me.
I know he is sorry and didn't mean the things he said.
Because he sent me flowers today. 
 
I got flowers today.
It wasn't our anniversary any other special day.
Last night, he threw me into a wall and started to choke me.
It seemed like a nightmare.
I couldn't believe it was real.
I woke up this morning sore and bruised all over.
I know he must be sorry.
Because he sent me flowers today. 

I got flowers today,
and it wasn't Mother's Day or any other special day.
Last night, he beat me up again.
And it was much worse than all the other times.
If I leave him, what will I do?
How will I take care of my kids?
What about money?
I'm afraid of him and scared to leave.
But I know he must be sorry.
Because he sent me flowers today. 

I got flowers today.
Today was a very special day.
It was the day of my funeral.
Last night, he finally killed me.
He beat me to death.
If only I had gathered enough courage and strength to leave him,
I would not have gotten flowers...today.  

By Paulette Kelly 

_____________________________________________________________________________
Does this poem make you think at all?  This woman was beaten to death by her husband but it's not the only kind of abuse that's out there.  I know.  I was a victim of one of the most subtle and horrendous forms of it: Verbal and Mental abuse.

For years of my marriage, years, I lived with a man that thought that he was the king in our house and whatever he said or did was okay.  

At our wedding he looked the pastor in the eye and asked if he had to kiss me when he was told he could.  IN front of the church, he kissed me on the cheek.  

Our first years I wouldn't have described as that bad really.  He told me I couldn't cook and set to teaching me how to cook.  In my mind then, I had been an only child that never had to touch a stove so yeah, I needed lessons in the kitchen.  I didn't like that his mother basically held me hostage teaching me his favorite meals and not letting me go untl I had done something the way she wanted it done.  I started cooking that way and he was happy.

When my son was a little less than six months I did the laundry for the first time.  I'm serious.  The first time in my life being in charge of laundry.  I bleached everything.  The problem.  My son's clothes were blue and white and my husbands uniforms were white.  I thought the bleach would keep the white parts white and the blue parts would just get clean.  I was kinda wrong.  So when I had to stand in my living room in front of his friends and take the ass reaming Randy gave me I thought it was warranted.  I even went into my own pocket and took his uniforms to the cleaners to get the blue out.  From then, I handwashed his white and he was happy.

I got pregnant with my first daughter and when I showed him the pregnancy test.  He gathered his clothes in a bag and told me he was leaving.  He called drug stores trying to see if there was a test I could be given to verify that I had been taking my birth control pills.  I was daunted.  I was horrified.

I got AOL while he was on a deployment because he requested I have an email he could email me at to give me instructions.  Well back then there was no free AOL.  You had to pay for it.  This was fine with him.  Or so I thought.  Well the account that it was linked to suddenly didn't have money in it.  It didn't for maybe three months but I didn't know this because he had the main account, I had a satellite account.    AOL got smart one month and took three months worth of their money at one shot since it was there on payday.  This caused him not to be able to get a playstation game.  The result was that he screamed at me, told me to get out, and threw my clothes into the street.  

The next morning, I was rushed to Langley Air Force Base Clinic Urgent Care.  I had taken 8 Motrin 800 mg. pills.  At the time Motrin 800 made the pain go away and made me sleepy.  At that time all I wanted was for the pain to go away and to sleep.

Two years later, we had had Olivia and we were moving to California.  We got to Chula Vista and as I was putting the crib together, it fell on my ankle and I couldn't make it move.  I screamed for hours, but Randy who was in the next room sleeping, didn't hear me.  Or so I thought.  Later he told me that he heard me.  He just didn't feel like getting up.  He only got up when the neighbors next door pounded on the door because my wailing and screaming was getting to them and they, unlike my husband, had already called 911.  It was my left ankle and it was sprained really badly.  Randy told the paramedics that I had a history of hurting myself for attention and this was probably one of those times.  The result?  I sat in the room in the ER for HOURS being ignored by the doctors because I had been labeled drug/attention seeker.

A week later, I was putting away his underwear and found a love letter from his long time friend.  I won't go into details but a few things happened.  The first was that I began to see that I was not loved.
But what could I do?  I had three children, no education and no one out in California.  So I stayed.  I took it in stride.  I even moved to a house that was seven times worse than the worst place you could put your children and call it a home.

Meanwhile the fights got worse.

By the time we moved back to Virginia, I knew it was over but now I was in a position where I could go home to my mother.  But she wasn't convinced I should do that and she urged me to stay.  Stay for my children.  

But my children were not okay.  They saw their father screaming at their mother.  They saw their mother over compensating to make their life seem okay.  They saw there mother retreat further and further into herself.  They saw me dying.

Little by little, I was dying.  I was a shell of my former self.  My weight would go up and I would withdraw further and further.  My weight would drop and he'd pay attention to me but as soon as he did, his long time friend would come back and blow my temporary paradise.  So I began to drink.  I do believe I was quickly on the verge of becoming an alcoholic at that point.

At one point.  Maybe the most vital point in my life to that point I tossed aside the motrin and reached for the hard stuff.  I called it a cocktail.  I don't even remember what I took but I know it was a handful.  I wrote my children a note apologizing to them and locked my door so that they wouldn't find me.  Randy found me.  And he gave me an ultimatum. Either I seek help or he takes my children and lables me an unfit mother and I never see them again.

Bloggers.  The thought of that man being the sole parent for my children scared the shit out of me.  What if to Gods Horror, they turned out like him.  So I did it.  I walked to the base clinic and I told them that I had just tried to commit suicide and I needed help or it would be the death of me and quite possibly my children.

I got help.  I went to Bethesda.  There I met up with Capt. Marjorie Renior.  I may never forget that name as long as I live.  She saved my life.  She asked me why I stayed.  I said because my children.  WHere would I go that I could keep my children?  She pointed out that there were government programs like Food stamps and subsidy housing that could send me to school and feed my family while I got on my feet.  

The thought of being a welfare mother horrified me.  Growing up they were the peple from the unmentionable side of the tracks.  At least that was how I grew up.  I know now that thats not true but the captain asked me one very important question after that.  

What is more important?  Living as a single welfare mom or dying as an abused wife?

From that point everything I did was in an effort to live.  Live for myself.  Live for my children.

To live.

I know you are probably sitting there reading this wondering why I am telling my story.  Why I am finally after these years saying something?

Because I have friends who are being abused both verbally and mentally and all of them say the same thing.  They can't leave or they can't leave because of the kids.

Kids adjust.  Believe me.  Kids are made of strong stuff.  They adapt no matter where they are.  Or most of them do.  If where they are now, they see Mommy being treated like dirt under someone's shoe, they grow up thinking this is okay.  Mommy stayed so it's not that bad.  But if Mommy takes them someplace and suddenly Mommy is happy and confident and more sure of herself, they're going to know, what Daddy was doing is not okay.  Daddy has serious mental issues.  True the younger they are the better the bounce back but think on this.  Teeneagers have email and phone.  They have short scant years left until they can be trusted to go visit their friends back home alone.

If you are a woman in a situation like I was and you need to get out, there are ways.  There are friends.  Get away.  

Ask yourself.  Whats better?  Living as a single mother whose children will adjust to new circumstances or dying slowly and painfully each day because you don't want to uproot your children.

If you happen to be a child or teen reading this who is watching your mom go through something like what I described, ask yourself this.

You have probably have facebook, oovoo, AIM, Yahoo, email, texting, and phone calls to keep track of your friends.  You can make friends wherever you go.  Would you rather see your mother happy, healthy, confident, and self assured away from your father, or would you rather that she stay downtrodden, moody, and stress filled with your father until you turn eighteen?  Would you feel okay risking your mom maybe doing something permanent to end her daily pain just so you can stay in the town you, a teenager, grew up in?

Ask yourself.  Who benefits?
Please.  Don't let the poem above be about you or your mother.  

Single and Blogging is begging you.   Do something.  Get out.  Get away.


Really?? Seriously???

Can I have a day where I'm not riled beyond normal?  Please??

First my friends husband pisses me off... I really don't want to get into that one again.

Then my son comes home from school and sasy nothing to me except that he was home.  My youngest come to me about ten minutes later and wants to know whats wrong with Jovaughn.  So I called him to my room and asked him whats wrong.  At first he said the normal nothing but then he says that they put the fight up on you tube. 

Hello!?!?!?  What fight???



HE's near crying and he says that this kid showed him the video on his phone and said he said he put it up on the net.

This is more than enough for me.  I have been calling the school since August last year and writing notes that seem to go astray.  He comes home with bruises, fat lips, torn clothes and the school does nothing about it.  I'm done. 

They are about to know my name.  They are about to know exactly why three schools hate me.  They have fucked with the wrong mother.  Call me a bitch I'll answer today.

Single and Blogging is pissed off still....

Little pissed....

As you can tell from my blogging infrequency, it usually takes a good deal to piss me off to a point where I feel a blog is needed to vent my frustrations.  Well, that level has been reached.

Everyone I know has a friend who has a friend that has a spouse that the initial friend just cannot stand.  I'm special I have a couple but one in particular pushed his way through the crowd and stepped up to the front of the line wearing a lime green jumpsuit.

My very dear friend is on a diet.  Why is she on a diet?  Because she feels she needs to lose weight.  Just like the rest of us, that bell went off in her head that said, "Okay it's time."

And she's doing awesome with it.  She lives in a world where a can of beer at the end of the day dulls reality enough so that climbing atop a water tower with a sniper rifle is not a fix it option.  She lives in a world where the Wii Fit board is a horrible device of torture that needs to be destroyed. (I actually live in that world.  It's a pretty world.) But she tossed the beer and climbed on the wii and in one week, she lost twelve pounds. (this is where you do a fist pump and say "Wow!  That's awesome!" because it is.)

And like ninety percent of excersizing  America, she plateaued at that twelve pounds.

She went on her Facebook and she expressed her annoyance that while she's not gaining any weight, she's also not losing any.  Aside here:  notice I said her facebook. and her annoyance.  This is like I posted at the top of my blog.  My blog, my bitch moments, you don't have to read it. It was HER facebook.

So what has me so pissed off?  Her husband went on her facebook and I would post here what he said but the comment was deleted.


He basically said that the only opinion of her body that should matter to her, was his.  And then backed that up with a scientific fact about what will happen to her muscles if she does the liquid cleansing diet.

I was a good girl, Bloggers.  I didn't say what I wanted to say anywhere nearly as violently as I wanted to say it but the first thought that came to my mind was WTF?  Where does he come off saying that?


We women have a whole world of media telling us that thinner is the better.  It's in every magazine, it's in every movie, it's on every show.  Thin is in.  Thin is the thing.  There's people like Victoria Beckham, Kiera Knightly, Kate Moss who are so thin and so pretty that they make every good list. Best beach body, best dressed, best everything.  Then there's people like Queen Latifah and Camryn Manheim that when they make the nest dressed list, the media attaches the line for their size to the compliment. "OMG did you see that dress that Queen Latifah wore to the grammys?  It's was a pretty dress.  She looked awesome for her size"


So of course women today always want to lose weight.  Hell I want to lose weight.  I can't pass a full length mirror without wanting to cringe.


I challenge any husband that says his wife's weight should only matter to him, to put on his wifes jeans or her swimsuit and see if he doesn't feel like a complete whale when that button snaps or that spandex settles into one of his beer belly rolls.  I dare him to have to go to the store and shop for stockings and not let just a little of his self esteem fall when he has to pick up queen instead of A, B, or C.  I want him to have to plot his weight on a weight chart for a piece of clothing and see if he doesn't feel like he is the Titanic in human form

I have one piece of advice for husband out there.  A woman's weight is territory uncharted by men for a reason.  It it that dark cobwebby door in the attic that you grow up afraid to go near.  It is that barbed wire fence that's guarded by the large red nose pit bull with the foaming mouth.  Approaching that door without riot gear and traveling the paths of a woman's psyche where weight is concerned is quite literally in some cases, signing your own death warrant.  Don't go there.  For god sake, Don't go there, and DO NOT go on her facebook and say in front all of her friends that yours is the only opinion that matters.  It is not and never will be and to tell you the truth, in most cases, your opinion matter so little that it's insignificant.


I'm spent bloggers.  Until my rage is flared once more...


Terminally Single and Blogging is going to watch television.

Wednesday, April 06, 2011

Stuff floating around in my mind...

When you were a kid was there ever a dish that your mom/dad/guardian ever cooked that when you found out it was THAT night, you wanted to coerce your BFF to offer you a dinner invitation?  For me it was meatloaf night.  Don't get me wrong.  My mother is/was an awesome cook.  I learned a lot from her.  Her fried whiting could elicit Homer Simpson like moans and drools for a mile radius.  Before her high blood pressure scare her spaghetti and hamburgers could make me clean the pot/grill. (I'm thinking now I had an unhealthy addiction to salt cause with the blood pressure meds the salt in my childhood house became a war criminal)  But no matter what she put in it, on it, or near it.  I could not stand my mothers Meatloaf.  And you want to know what is hilarious about that?  Her meatloaf recipe is the exact same as her hamburger recipie.  The only difference was the hamburgers were fried and the meatloaf was baked.

But are you ready for this?  Now that I am an adult with kids of my own.  I love meatloaf.  I love making it (Although you will still never catch me touching raw hamburger with my hands) and I love eating it, and I love reheating it.  Dude seriously, reheating meatloaf when i was a kid was six times worse than eating it the first time around. 

I don't get it.  I honestly don't get.  Growing up you hate something but once you are an adult, it's like mana from heaven.

There are so many things I don't get.

Among them today is violence against other people.

Day before yesterday the cops were outside of my home once again because a girl from around the corner got beaten up by this guy named Benny.  I don't know either of them.  She said he beat her down, kicked her repeatedly, then took her bag.  She made it to the lady across the streets house to call the cops.  I have to be honest and tell you that I am glad she went to them and not to me because I would have done what was needed and called the cops but I wouldn't want to deal with the drama.

I also wouldn't want to deal with the repercussions.

It seems that he came back and found her leaned on the side of my next door neighbors house and threatened her then left.  This is the house he thought she sought refuge in.  So yesterday, my next door neighbor's grandson came home to find their door kicked in and every single one of their televisions except an old school one gone.  The perp rifled through important papers and her jewelry then took the xbox and the wii.  They were there for a good long time because they carted four televisions out of that house and had time to unscrew the cable as opposed to yank it out.

I was over there last night to see if there was anything she needed and she said she found a note on her bed under her covers that said "stay out of it".  She claimed it was this Benny.  IDK.  Who else would leave a note that said stay out of it.

Of course he had to have accomplices.  Like I said four televisions, an xbox, and a wii.  Plus the time to be in her house that long.  I didn't hear a thing but still....  According to her computer, which she says her daughter went on later, this Benny got arrested at two yesterday afternoon.  If he's the one that robbed my next door neighbor, then he had been in her house probably right after her daughter left at ten.

IDK bloggers. 

Why do people do stuff like this???  I lived in Asbury Park.  Down the street from the crypts and up the street from the Bloods.  I grew up with them  I was friends with member from both sides.  The only problem I ever had living in the ghetto was one night a man got drunk and came in my apartment by mistake.  One which he quickly righted when I met him at the top of my stairs with a butcher knife.  Yet I move to suburbia and it's like the worst hell of all.  People break into your house and take what they want.  People beat the hell out of someone and it's just a thing they do.

Eh... I guess this is just a random burble.  I  needed to get it out of my mind.  Whatever.it's over and I'm not going to spend any more time thinking about it.  I just wont.

Terminally Single and Blogging is going to finish dinner.

Sunday, April 03, 2011

Le Sigh...

Bloggers, why are ninety percent of today complete jackasses??

And I don't ask that because I'm having one of my 'All men need to be dragged behind cars going at sixty miles an hour" or "Death to the Ex" moments.  Seriously I'm not.  I'm actually over last weeks ish.

I had a lonely moment where I actually fell prey to the online dating thing.  I mean they can't possibly pay all those people who are preaching true love found on the internet, can they?  All of those bright happy people who say they found their hearts desire through a LAN cord can't be fake right?

Apparently they are or, they were the last decent ones out there.

I put a profile on Black Planet dot com.  I still have lingering hopes that one day my Prince Charming will show up and he will be black.  It's a small, tiny, nearly microscopic hope but it's still there.  Anyway, I put a profile up there.  In my profile I asked for only a few things.

1. Please have decent speaking skills.  If you would make Ebonics ashamed for you, then I don't want to have my eyes bleed out of my skull trying to decipher your message.

2. I am not your Momma, your Baby, your Sugar, or your Sweet thing...  Please don't refer to me as such.  You want me to give you the time of day, then call me by my given name.  Until I do so call me by my handle.

3. I have three children.  If this fact cause cold water to run up and down your spine, then please don't waste my time.  I have desire to start a conversation that is going to abruptly end when you ask if I have children and find out I have three.

Now that wasn't that bad.  At least I don't think it was. I was plain and straightforward and made it clear from the jump what I would not lower myself to.

So why was one of the worst messages I got something that I'm pretty sure would make my eyes bleed all over again to even try to remember the particulars but know that it was telling me that I looked 'gud' and he wished he could come to the 'Quen City' so that he could 'tap dat.'

In one message he managed to completely ignore my first and second request.

I got six hits from Black planet.  There was that one, then two asked if I was married and when I said divorced they tried to proposition me.  The other three managed to sweet talk me enough to get my Yahoo id and have a somewhat interesting conversation but all of them ran for the hills when they found out I had three children and one even blocked me.

I also made a profile at Single Parents meet dot com.  I had the first three requests plus the added:

4.) I have no intention of being a replacement mother to your children.  If you are only looking for a legal babysitter, then you don't need to contact me.

I got a couple hits there but here's the thing about single parent sites.  Fifty percent of the guys there DON'T HAVE ANY KIDS!!  Dude, WTF??

I have shut down my dating profiles.  I just don't think if my knight in shining armor is out there, he's sitting at a computer.  I mean he might be.  I am not counting out ANY possibilities, but  I'm also not putting all my faith into any one. 

Le Sigh...

Terminally Single and Blogging is going to enjoy her Russian lesson and go on to bed.