I Lied…Even The Good Ones Suck: The Two Hour Cancellation Notice

So I totally lied. The really great guy I was talking about:

Potential Date Alert: The Guy Who Loves Kids – How Refreshing!

He pretty much stood me up two hours before out date, citing a work emergency at 7 p.m. On a Friday. OOOOOHHHHKay. Douche:

Not actual picture

Not actual picture of the dating demon

He tried to reschedule. I told him that if he can’t even keep a first date, thanks, but no thanks.


Hey Co-Worker, There Are At Least 10 Reasons Why I Can’t Stand You…

I hope the office karma gods don’t punish me, but there is a lady I can’t stand who is  positioned diagonal to my office. She makes me want to stomp off in a huff with my laptop and purse at least once a day because she:

1.) Has the pitch and tone of a castrated macaw.  A New York, castrated macaw. If you don’t know what a New York castrated macaw sounds like, picture a very high-pitched, yet guttural, Fran Drescher with feathers.

2.) Berates any staff member who has the misfortune of sitting through a one-on-one meeting. When I say berate, I also mean she talks to said individual like a five year old, micro-managing every stupid, worthless report they must generate.

3.) Leaves her door wide open when discussing personnel issues and gossip. Like a mean girl.

4.) Her chronic bitch face is a frozen, tight-lipped scowl, as if she was judging your existence or reason for breathing.

5.) Her hair is shaped like a helmet. It offends me.

6.) She talks to me like I’m a glorified secretary or a piece of furniture. I DON’T work for her.

7.) She doesn’t know her job. At all. She questions everything like a willfully ignorant dolt.

8.) Her grand kids are always visiting. They are loud. She still leaves her door wide open.

9.) She blasts her conference calls with the door wide open. Again.

10.) She’s always on Yahoo, CNN or AOL and gives me the stink eye if she passes my office and sees me checking the weather.

A Bermudian $2 Note With Cosmic Significance

It has taken me a long time to write this post, even with its lack in richness.

Almost three years ago, in a time far away it seems, I went to Bermuda with the love of my life, Ron. He’s still my one great love.

After we broke up and I became involved with my abusive ex-fiancee, I divulged my innermost thought: Bermuda was the best time of my life.

SH (abusive ex) didn’t take too fondly to this memory. He sought to stomp it out.

One day, quite out of the blue, SH informed me we were taking an all-expense paid vacation. On his dime. To Bermuda.

We jet-stetted to Bermuda, my old haunts exposed to my new boyfriend. He proposed on our last night. Pregnant, nostalgic and lonely (I suppose), I said yes.

I have the Bermudian two dollar note from Ron and I have another note, only less tattered, from my trip with my ex-fiancee.

Both are constant reminders of love, loss and recovery.

Curious Question To Mothers: How Much “Me” Time Do You Take?

For my own curiosity, I’m hoping that many of you will take this poll to either reassure or nag me that the amount of “me” time I take is healthy. This unscientific poll can include EVERY kind of mother: Single mom, Single Mom By Choice, Married Mom, Stay-At-Home Mom, Divorced Mom, etc. (however you categorize yourself. I want to be inclusive).

Bad Mommy Thoughts

Every now and then I am overwhelmed with guilt over some of my “bad mommy thoughts.” My internal monologue wars with my son before I realize he’s a year old doing one-year old things. A sampling to hopefully make the blog crowd of moms know their not alone:

  • I can’t wait to drop you off at daycare OR it’s 5:00PM pick up already?
  • You’re sick, AGAIN? Ughhhhhh.
  • Go away. I want to poop in peace.
  • Stay back creature! This is mommy’s pizza.
  • Yes, bang those pots louder so that I can feel my migraine penetrate a hole through my brain.
  • Bedtime is at 7:45 tonight. Reality TV mommy time.
  • The smell of poo in the morning, great…
  • Okay, here’s everything but the kitchen sink to stop that infernal screaming.
  • Puke up on the tile not the carpet!!!!
  • What else can you break today?
  • Who am I anymore? A shell of my former self? A ghost of happiness past?

It’s okay to have these feelings once in awhile. In fact, it’s probably healthy. I love my son, I always will. But I can still bitch about the not-so-fun parental responsibilities.

In my head.

baby mess

MS clip art

Annoyances From The Weekend

As I pick up Andrew from his father’s house, the escort, a family friend says:

“SH (ex) said he received an email from the doctor that Andrew needs his one-year appointment scheduled. He missed it.”

I don’t get emails from the doctor because Andrew is on my ex’s insurance. Despite my best efforts, they never send me ANYTHING. I do the copay. I deliver the medication. I must schedule the appointments. I go to all the appointments.

Can’t he take him at least ONCE? Co-parent we don’t.


SH definitely failed on rising to the occasion.

Inside The Nightmare Life Of Seven “Wolfpack” Kids

There’s a new documentary I’m dying to see that just hit Sundance: The Wolfpack.

The documentary is about six boys and one girl who have never spent more than a few hours outside. EVER.

Their seemingly paranoid schizoid father (a Hare Krishna believer) has the only lock to their Manhattan apartment. Their codependent mother home schools the children and their only outlet for imagination is the over 5,000 films they watch and pre-approved books.

How is this not child neglect and abuse? Why are we just learning about these children now?

The controlling father “fears” his children will become contaminated in the outside world. It’s clear, however, they are his objects of control.


If everything in this nightmarish story is true, I hope the state provides them ample help and counseling. This is no life to live.

I’m An Innocentive Winner!

I received the following email this morning:

“It gives me great pleasure to let you know that the Seeker’s review of your submission to InnoCentive led to a favorable evaluation. You will be awarded a total of $2,000. Thank you for your participation on this particular InnoCentive Challenge. Sincerely, Innocentive, Inc.”

I wish I could go into the detail of the challenge and my proposal, however the confidentiality agreement I signed prevents this.

For those of you that are budding innovators and entrepreneurs, check out the InnoCentive website!


6 Reasons To Hate The Dreaded Coffee Date

I have a date planned with the “child-friendly” guy. Let’s call him Pete. He has proposed a coffee date on Friday night. I HATE coffee dates. I repeat, HATE coffee dates. Here are some really (honest) reasons why:

1.) They require no imagination. Starbucks is literally on every corner.

2.) Coffee is a natural laxative. I don’t need to be running into the bathroom every five minutes to take a dump on my date. I could go with tea but I don’t really like the taste.

3.) Coffee breath. If he leans in after he walks you to your car without a breath mint, the kiss is ruined/gross.

4.) It’s cheap! Kind of communicates, eh well I don’t want to take any risks, so here’s a $5 cup of joe.

5.) It’s too busy. There’s always a line of patrons shouting their orders or waiting uncomfortably by your table to pick up their java. Or you may not even get a seat.

6.) It reeks of stale brewed coffee. Not very romantic.

I suggested a lounge or cute cafe as an alternative. Let’s see what we come up with…more to come.


Update: Mary’s Story: Where Are You?

It’s been three weeks and I haven’t heard from Mary. This brings me to the only conclusion that she’s back with her abuser in some way, shape or form. In the little cafe I frequent, always looking, hoping to spot her signature smiling, shinning face, gussied up in a short dress with falsies. It hasn’t happened.

The waitress I befriended, who knows Mary, spotted her with the abusive ex boyfriend at another cafe. The waitress says she went back into the hospital for an overnight stay (according to their brief conversation), but Mary says “she’s okay.” We have no idea if she attempted suicide again or if her abuser caused the hospital visit.

Hoping. Wishing. Wondering.