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.

Check it:

The answer to the birth certificate question is when I go get a paternity test done I will
add my name to the record. Plain english. Yes I absolutely 100% want a paternity test. Any man would want one. We were not exclusively each other's back then. What we did was just something to do. We did not have a solidified relationship. That being said, The Boy's paternity should be checked. Resemblence is not a stand-alone, tried and true, scientific-backed form of paternity testing. The Boy does look like me. I love him and never said he wasn't mine. But before my name goes on any paper, I want a scientific test. That's plain and simple. Call me tonight. This is stupid.

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
maintain my composure; I'm trying to be nice. He's makin it hard for me. I don't want my son damaged by this experience but I don't see any other way to resolve it. Imma have to strong arm this dude. He finally decides to be a father afer 7 years and this is the type of shit I gotta put up with? I'd rather hustle and grind to provide for my kids till I expire than deal with this foolishness.

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.

One.

21.July.2006    08:46 PM     Commments: 1

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.

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18.July.2006    06:45 PM     Commments: 0

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.

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09.July.2006    10:43 AM     Commments: 1