I've been trying to maintain my sainty, dealing with BD2 and his completely inane requests. This has been a trying experience; I want to do what's best for The Boy.
What in the name of all things unholy is this nigga talkin about? He say he want a test. Then he say he never said he wasn't The Boy's father. That's fuckin contradictory. It's real nice how he tries to project his whorish bevior off on me. Not. Feelin. It.
STEAM.ING. Why this nigga gotta be takin me through extraneous bullshit? I told him if he has any doubt that The Boy is his...SEND HIM THE FUCK home. Just fuckin retarded. Not only has my integrity been attacked, my mothering skills have been questioned and I aint havin it. I'm trying to
I find it to be extremely pathetic that his wife is perched over him tuggin marionette strings.They are not getting another notarized letter from me. They will not have custody of my son.
If this broad got a prollem with me, she need to bring it.
I sent my son to live with his father in Las Vegas at the end of May. He'd been having a hard time in school the entire year, not wanting to behave and all. I thought it would be good for him to have time with his father. Besides, he'd been asking for The Boy to come stay with him for about a year. I wasn't so keen on the year part, but we agreed to work out the details.
Fast forward two months and things have changed. When I inquired about when he'd be sending The Boy back home, he began to dance around giving me a date, instead using flowery language to describe how wonderful his life is and how beneficial it is to keep The Boy out there. From that moment on I knew I was in for some shit.
Because his name isn't on my son's birth certificate (his fault, of course), he tells me the school is requesting a notarized letter from me, stating he is The Boy's father and has custody of him. Okay. No prollem. I send the letter stating he has temporary custody.
Apparently, that wasn't good enough.
He comes back and tells me he needs another notarized letter stating he and his wife have sole physical and legal custody of The Boy. This letter is supposed to allow him to enroll The Boy in school and add him to their health insurance policy, which is in his wife's name. He's sellin but I aint buying. For the life of me, I don't understand why the letter I initially sent to him wasn't sufficient. I balk.
He tries to pressure me into sendin the letter, which definitely wasn't gon' happen and I told him so. I ask for something in writing from the school and the insurance company to explain this policy in more detail. He sent a link to the school's policies. I wasn't satisfied.
I went to legal aid yesterday. The attorney I spoke with confirmed my suspicions: he's up to something. While they evaluate my case to determine if they are able to represent me, the attorney suggested I go to the self help service center at the court house and file for joint custody on my own. She also had a lot of good advice to offer on other componets of the case.
I'm terrified to have to take this kind of action; I wish it weren't necessary. Bottom line: I'm not gonna let anybody pressure me into doing anything I don't feel comfortable with. He perceived my hesitence as ambivalence. I have the right to research a situation to get the information needed to make a sound decision. If he doesn't like it, so be it.
Hopefully, this journey won't be as painful as I anticipate.
One.« ... now bounce.
Last nite, I decided to venture from the comfort of my, um, computer room and hang out. Initially, I was supposed to go to a caberet with the Fix It Guy but it was cancelled (yay!). I was told the location would be changed to the grown folk's club on the waterfront. That's what I told my peoples. That's where they were ready to go. Of course the Fix It Guy comes back to me, an hour before we were to leave, i might add, and tells me the location has chaged yet AGAIN. I tells him I aint goin. He bugs me to ask my friends to change their plans. Um....no. If it were earlier in the week, maybe. But an hour before lift off? Iown think his request was fair.
So here we are, three fat girls rollin to the club. Personally, I'm not the club kinda gal. I'd much rather sit home, bump one of nOva's mixes and talk shit to Primey. We gotta walk bout a block to the club. Not bad. No line to get in. Hmmmmmmm. I felt a lil uneasy about that, but what the hell, we already here. I paid my $20, get my ticket and go inside. The reggae dance floor is right in front of us when we enter. We venture in....nothing much happenin. I get my drink, tip the tipsy bartender and head up stairs.
Now upstairs is where the "hip hop" dance floor is supposed to be. Much larger crowd up here; the dance floor is jumpin. I swallow the rest of my expensive ass drink and head to the floor. I'm boppin a lil bit. Now what's fucked up my groove is the large screen over the dance floor displaying vidoes on MTV2. Who the fuck comes to a club to watch some shit they can watch at home. Coupled with the fact that the song the dj was spinnin was different than the video displayed. It reminded me of a kung fu flick where the words don't match the character's lip movements.
I let the baseline take over me for a min but the dj wasn't playing anything I really cared to hear. The most current thing he played was Ms. New Booty, which I hate. The next most current was Bring Em Out, followed by Headsprung. I'm thinkin....why dude playin this old ass shit?!?! No hotness whatsoever. While I'm aware this club caters to and um, older crowd, them mfs should be up on game! No fuckin excuse.
As I'm rockin an rollin, some dude comes up to me and speaks. I speak and keep on rockin. Next thing I know...I'm feelin a butt up against my...butt. I turns around and there stands a white dude, trynna match my rythm. Him want him a lil piece of brown suga do he? I think not.
Maaan, overall, that shit was whack. Music weak. Dudes in church suits...not my steez. Oh, that one dude in the white an ernj stripped seersucker pants...eh, I aint eein gettin into that.
See why I don't venture far from home?« ... now bounce.