take your pick asshole, asphyxiation or the mouth of an active volcano?

I have been trying so hard to maintain a certain level of calm with regard to some of the things my son’s father does and i guess i have reached the end of my proverbial rope.

let me nail down some facts….

1. been divorced almost 9 years

2. been raising genius XY most on my own for those 9 years

3. genius XY was a vegetarian from birth

4. all that changed when i added fish

5. changed some more when i added chicken to our diet

somewhere between 5. and now, dad decided that it would be practical to sway genius XY from eating chicken. his plan:

1. constant discussion about how i am not following his plan of raising genius XY; i.e., raising him catholic and not TM style, raising him as a black child and not a white one (stew on this one for a while), not keeping him away from his ‘dangerous’ family members (in quotes for a reason), and not keeping him a vegetarian.

2. making genius XY feel guilty for eating meat

3. having genius XY watch a film “Meet Your Meat” from PETA on the care of farm raised chickens, aka chickens slaughtered for human consumption.

now back to my list…

6. chicken is cheap

7. chicken is easier to prepare 1,000,000 different ways

8. chicken is tasty

i have been cool, calm, and collected long enough but i guess i just have to vent here because i can’t change who my son’s father is. i can just change how i react to him. as a result, Goddess has decided to let it all out in my blog, then keep it movin’.

genius XY watching ‘Meet Your Meat’ has caused absolute CHAOS at my fucking dinner table. not an evening has gone by when i haven’t had to sit down to eat a meal of chicken to watch my child pick and nibble at his meal short of tears because he has so much trouble eating The Chickens. he is all fucked up over parts of the chicken and parts of what he sees of the film while he is eating. did his father not recognize that this would happen?

absol-fuckin-lutely not!he meant best but he doesn’t feed him meat at his home so he doesn’t have to deal with this.

perhaps he thought that milo would just make a decision to stop eating meat like Lisa Simpson did and all would be good in the hood. downside to this is that genius XY is not a able to give up chicken because his mother buys chicken that was alright until “Meet Your Meat”.

tonight i’d had it and i explained to him why i am always so cranky at dinner time. it is because his father has committed a terrorist act on the sanctity of my home and dropped a table side incendiary device onto my dining room and kitchen.

i feel like i am punishing him everytime i feed him chicken and i can’t afford to go out and buy the tender veggie nuggets or make him tofu because he will then be VERY hungry before bedtime because he is a growing boy!!!!!!

i want to choke the shit out of this man on a good day and drop him into the mouth of an active volcano on days like this.


Goddess (yes, the very angry one )



If you are truly a ‘baby daddy’ in all matter of that term, DO NOT read this entry. You might read some shit about yourself that you might not want to hear*

Granted, the mere title “Ramblings of a Single Parent Goddess” might be a reason why I have no male followers, the note above might be for naught but it is what it is.

I will be the first to admit that I fucked up royal by having a child with you. On the other hand, I will never be the one who is first accused of being immature and childish. I love my son with everything that I have and I realize that being a single parent with minimal help and relief time is not the most exciting thing to do and if I could have it another way, I would.
That being said, if I had to do this ALL over again and not have my son, I would choose to stay right where I am… Mad as Fuck!

This is why I need to get this out of my system today and now and forever. For my sanity’s sake:

Today, I must say that I hate you with all that I have.
As a mother, I have come to the decision that my son comes first. Before everything, I must think of his safety.

Downside is that I married your stupid ass and just getting off the phone with you is something that has me clawing at the walls whenever I must speak with you.

There comes a time in a person’s life when they have to own up to their mistakes and move forward with a new way of thinking.

I am more than aware that you did not willingly choose to have children and I am more than aware that you feel you are forced to do your job as a parent. I also understand that you feel that your life is over (if it ever actually began) when God gave you this beautiful child and you chose to spit in His face by calling the child’s mother out and stomping your feet and begging her to have an abortion when she could have and to give him up for adoption after it was no longer an option.
You never saw that this girl you called yourself “dating” was maturing before your eyes and was looking at you like a madman and having difficulty looking at herself in the mirror trying not to see the victim that she had become. By the time your son was conceived (albeit not on purpose, not in an “I’m going to trap him with a kid” kind of thinking) I, the woman you had controlled all those years, was done with being controlled. The mere thought of raising a child in the life she was living was not going to work and I planned for a year, and left you when the boy was only 17 months old. I was not going to stick it out with your crazy ass and have my son grow up watching without an ounce of respect for others.

I was unaware that at the age of 19, I would meet a man who at 37, should have known that there was something almost criminal in dating someone my age. You, if your mother had raised you right, should have been able to recognize that the woman you had added on as a ‘friend'(at least that is what you told your girlfriend I was) was young enough to be your fucking daughter.

Shame on you for searching out women and girls with not the best self esteem so you could be the man of the house and run their worlds.

Some how at that time I thought you were good for me (because I wasn’t thinking) and I sure as hell know better now.

When I get on the phone, I want to scream and yell at you because I know you are still stalking girls now old enough to be MY daughters and that makes me sick.

So when I ask for a slight modification in the schedule, reply via email because you will have a monster on the end of the line until I decide in my head that I choose not to hate you anymore.

Please don’t look for a miracle to happen any time soon. I took 13 years of your shit and I make no estimation as to when I will stop hating you. It is my turn to dish out what you gave me and if you are thinking clearly, which you more than likely are not, you wouldn’t want to call me for shit.

I will make every effort to be civil, but know that the sound of your voice is more than I can tolerate at this point in my life and I would be more than satisfied if I NEVER had to hear your squeaky upstate NY accent ever again.

Thank you for calling me as I was writing this, so I could tell it to you personally.


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