Toys R Us Had it Right

When I was in high school I had but only one concern, having fun. I wasn't interested in boys or how I looked. All I cared about was where the next party was. That's it. Life was simple. If I was bored at school, I took off with my friends. If my parents pissed me off, I yelled "fuck you" and left in pursuit of a drink. If I had a boyfriend that wanted to tell me what I could and could not do, I looked at him with a "you've got to be fucking kidding me" look as I held my hand up to my ear asking for them to repeat themselves because I didn't quite hear them. Only to tell them that things weren't working out. In high school it was predicted that I would remain single, childless and rule the world by the time I was 25. Someone has some serious splain' to do. 

I seriously ask if it is entirely too much to ask to have a nice simple life filled with cocktails, family and friends shooting the shit while pointing, laughing and making fun of people? Am I unrealistic to think I can come home to house that is relatively clean, have my partner help me cook dinner and then spend time with me? Maybe I'm crazy to think there is a man out there who will like me enough to want to talk to me and hear all my crazy stories but will still want to fuck the living hell out of me at night....?

I work like a fucking illegal Mexican on a summer day in the fields of California. I have my ass ridden by an insecure dick head of a boss who would love to fire me because I won't hide how much I fucking hate him. If I could kill any one person with a guarantee to get away with it, I'd hesitate in making my choice between my boss 'Sluggo" and "Mother Fucker", the father of my younger son, who is trying to take my kid in an attempt to avoid paying child support. So after a hard day of having my balls broken with Sluggo I drive like an one eyed amateur Nascar driver on crack through Dallas traffic to pick up my younger son. I then break my neck to go to the fucking unhappiest place on the mother fucking earth, the grocery store, so I can make dinner only to come home to a filthy fucking kitchen. I then make dinner, serve it and eat it without an appearance from Fuckface. I am then rewarded by cleaning the dishes alone. All I ask is that Fuckface come home at a decent hour say 6:30 but that mother fucker won't come home before 7:30. For he has to "work" at the local bar. I also ask that he ask his kids to pick up after themselves. I know it's hard with the little one with her being 8 or 9. But the older one is fucking 18 years old. She can't fucking wash the dishes she uses when she eats. She can't close a box of cereal or put it back in the cabinet. She leaves her hats, hair bows, jewelry and shoes everywhere. Last night she opened her birthday cards, one of which had these gay ass Pokemon cards in it. She opened the fucking cards and the mother fucking packages are still out on the table as I fucking type. This is a little girl who leaves her dirty clothes on the bathroom floor and throws her dirty tampons in the cabinet under the sink!!!! Don't even get me started on her room! I ask that for ONCE he take me out for a drink after work or help me with dinner. I ask that he fucking talk to me. Like really talk to me, the way he used to before he was sticking his dick in me. 

Please understand that I don't write any of this to get sympathy nor am I trying to play the part of victim. I'm not a easy person to be with either. I mean seriously...my nickname since I was a child has been Brat. My kids are lazy, by my design and my younger one has a serious attitude problem. I know, I know. Apple. Tree. To which I say, "Fuck you." I only tell my stories so that if there is by chance another woman out there stuck in the same pile of shit I am, that she not feel alone. I know things need to change and trust that I am working on change. But change is never as easy or as quick as we want it to be. I find it cruelly ironic that as a teenager living it up that all I ever wanted to do was to be an adult so I could do whatever I fucking wanted. Now that I'm an adult I see how I have no freedom. I'm nothing more than a slave to my kids, my job, my family and to all the responsibilities of life. Just a prisoner of time and it's demands.

After my daily duties tonight I wanted to take a shower so I could cry. As I sat in the shower wanting desperately for the water to hide my tears and the sound of the shower to drown out my sobs, I realized I had no right to cry. I'm not a victim. I wasn't given this life as if I didn't have a say in my destiny. And the last time I checked, no one has been holding a gun to my head forcing me to stay. No. I am a grown ass woman who made a series of choices that has lead me to this SERIOUS mother fucking detour. I have no idea what my next move is but I  do know that I have no right to cry. At least I have a starting point, even if it's weak.

Life is a bitch and death is her sister. Growing up? Totally fucking overrated. 

Lockdown Mode

If you missed the post about my boyfriend, Fuckface, finding my blog and his refusal to stop reading....then too damn bad. In 7 days I am restricing access to this blog. I can't feel censored and I do not want Fuckface reading it...so if you're interested in the new bullshit he's pulled lately, stories from my past, hearing me rant about the random things that piss me off OR if you just like reading the word "fuck" a lot, then send me your email. You may send it via the "Just Ask A Brat" box over there to the right or you can add your request down there in the comments section.

I'm also going through my followers and deleting anyone who looks shady. If I delete you and you aren't Fuckface, then my apologies. Send me a note and I'll add you again.

So far I have two readers, Diva and Titling Suds. To be quite honest I'm cool with just having them! I have written a couple of posts that are ready to be released but won't be until next Friday...maybe sooner. Who the fuck knows??!???

So be there or go fuck yourself!

I've Been Violated!!!

Ok, so maybe it isn't that bad BUT it's pretty fucking close!! FF has found out that I started posting here again! How??!? I'm not really sure. I sure as shit didn't tell him. He said something about being "notified" about it…?? Whatever the fuck that means. You know, I haven't even had the time to import any of my old posts yet. So what to do?? Do I change my www thing???!? Someone once told me that I ranted like Andy Rooney (whoever the fuck that is...???!?) and said that Green-Eyed Bitch suited me better than Green-Eyed Brat after reading ONE post. I'm kinda curious which post that was....??? However to be far to this cat, he did send a note later apologizing and saying that he understood my writing style. Which is baffling to me since I don't even understand my writing style or was even aware that I had one to begin with. Anyhow, I guess I could become the Green-Eyed Bitch...??? It does have a nice ring to it...? But I've tried to be something other than GEB before and it just never felt right. It felt like I was wearing someone else's underwear. And that just don’t feel right, yenno?!!?? So do I stop writing again??? If you don't know, THAT question is rhetorical. I really don't give a fuck if you want me to stop. Writing for me is therapeutic. Being brutally honest about how much FF punks me out and humiliates me sets my soul at ease. Anyone who has been in a fucked up relationship with someone who takes them for granted and is treated less than shit may understand that it's a cycle of purging, clearing out your head and making room for shit that's gonna motivate you for change....whatever that change might be. But why he feels compelled to read this is beyond me. You know it's not like I don't try to tell him how I feel CONSTANTLY. Do you think he listens when I try?? No! He would rather blow me off and then VIOLATE...yes Fuckface YOU ARE VIOLATING ME and not in the good "do that again" way, by reading my blog! I've asked you over and over again to NOT READ IT yet you do and then flaunt the fact that you do read it to me. You know, that's a total 'D' move. Not to mention your obvious TOTAL and BLANTANT lack of respect for me. You know this guy has a box of tapes in his closet and I have NEVER touched them. Am I dying to hear what's on them???? You bet your fucking ass I am but you see I have respect for this guy even though he has NONE for me. (Ironic statement seeing how I call him Fuckface, huh??) 

So I think the obvious answer is to lock this mofo down. Have it set where you have to be on my exclusive list of readers to access it. I know, I know...doing that is a total pain in the ass AND I'm pretty sure that I don't write anything that captivating to motivate you to go through the trouble BUT I can't feel censored by FF reading my shit. Besides I write for me, not for readers. And I've never been one to give a shit about popularity contests so why start now??!?

So if you're interested in reading my posts, and I don't blame you if you aren't, send me your email address via that box over there to the right labeled "Just Ask A Brat" and I'll add you to my list of approved readers. I'm gonna lock it down within the next week or two. 

Oh! And to you, Fuckface, if you really want to fucking know what's bothering me then man up and just fucking ask me. Thanks for ruining yet another aspect of my life. Nothing says "I love you" like fucking with my shit.

Queen of Second Chances

To say that I'm the second chance queen is an understament. Anyone reading this who knows me...is scoffing. I've given Fuckface so many chances that at this point it's not fair to blame him. Not that I've ever blamed him. Well, at least not to anyone other than him. You see my boyfriend, aka Fuckface, thinks bitches like me are a dime a dozen. Chances are you don't know me, so allow me to assure you that bitches like me are absolutely not a dime a dozen. I know, I know all chicks say they are the exception but with me it's true. I'm a rare breed. A hybrid. A total product of my environment. I was a forgotten child. A child who, for all intents and purposes, slipped through the cracks. We think of kids slipping through the cracks in relation to grown ass men graduating from high school completely illiterate but that's not the only way a kid can fall through the cracks. You see, I was a daughter of no one. Shuffled between homes and wanted only out of convenience or guilt. I never really belonged to any one family. I'm not looking for sympathy and I'm not feeling sorry for myself. For the most part I had a great childhood and think of it fondly. Besides I've always hated pity and self pity even more. What I want is understanding.

My mother was young, uneducated and in an abusive relationship with my biological father who happened to be an unemployed alcoholic drug addict. My mom was caught somewhere in between not wanting me and not knowing what to do with me. So I was left with my mom's family. I ran the streets with my cousins and uncles who were all male with very limited adult supervision. I was raised with boys, by boys making me the perfect combination of boobs and beer. I like the simple things in life like a good beer, baseball, music and a good fuck. I detest drama, applying make-up more than once, crying and catty back stabbing gossip. But I love glitter, bling, tiaras, having doors opened for me and having the things I don't want to do done for me because I have big tits. Take all of that and add in my willingness to help you with your kids, help pay your bills, come home from work to make you dinner and tiddy up your house before you come home. Then throw in loyalty, protectiveness, my honesty, my ability to be open-minded and kind heart and you think you've hit the jack pot. Add in the fact that some guys would say I'm beautiful and sexy with a side of brains and wit and you found the elusive e almost perfect chick. Don't get me wrong I have my faults, which I will happily list off when asked...or when on a first date. I am happy with who I am and see no reason to hide it. With that said you'd think I was secure and woman headed on the right path. I would assume if you're a man reading this that after the beer and a good fuck comment, you pretty much zoned out. Allow me to remind you that I am still a woman with a vagina. And to quote one of my favorite superheros, "With great power comes great responsibility."

I will admit outside of the uncontrollable monthly bleeding and the whole child birth thing having a vagina is heavenly. I don't think I really need to explain why. Any homosexual or even bisexual man knows the power we women wield. But again, there is a downside. Like emotions...yuck! Feelings...double yuck!!! Because with those two things lead to tears...triple fuck you yuck!!! I HATE crying. Loathe it. Despise it! I would rather give birth again than make my ugly crying face and become a total emotionally worthless sack of glitter.

Yesterday was Mother's Day. FF woke up before me and didn't return until mid afternoon. He then left around 4 and didn't return home for a couple of hours. Not only did he not wish me a Happy Mother's Day but he also didn't bother with buying me anything. Not even a cheap $5 bouquet of half dead grocery store flowers. Now I understand there are a lot of men and women who don't put much stock into that day. I get it. However I'm a single mom of two boys who works her ass off to make sure they never suffer the repercussions of being in a single parent home. Neither one of their father's appreciate the fact that I work hard to raise their boys to be good kids or that I am doing my best to raise them to be the men they even aren't. I know I'm a mom and that raising my kids and all that is my job...my responsibility but have you seen the news lately? Picked up a newspaper? There are moms everywhere beating their kids, drowning their kids, throwing them off bridges onto the freeway, leaving them to be cared for by people who hurt them, moms who are out chasing dick, doing drugs, drinking themselves into a coma, etc. I should at the very least get a, "Hey, Happy Mother's Day. Thanks for not being a crack whore." text. But I don't get that. What I have gotten is a custody suit slapped in my face because the fucker doesn't want to pay child support. Nice, huh??!? When I first met FF he called me on the very rare occasion where I was crying. He asked me what was wrong. So I went into the whole tirade about how my boy's dads didn't say anything to me on Mother's Day. He apologized and that was that. Later that day I received flowers from him as a belated Happy Mother's Day gift. And the flowers where even purple, my favorite color! I was touched. Which leads me to the whole "Queen of Second Chances" thing. I was asked today why I was still with him. I didn't have answer. So I was asked if I had a picture of him. I showed FF's picture to her. Her next question was, "How did he get you?!?!??" Simple. There was a time when Fuckface wasn't Fuckface. A time when he was a man. A kind man. A man that appreciated me. A thoughtful man. Where that man went?? I don't know. I've given him chance after chance hoping that the man I fell in love with would return. I now see my mistake in being a forgiving woman. That seemingly harmless mistake. A mistake that would be considered a gesture of goodwill and love has cost me dearly. It's ultimately cost me the respect of man who once liked and even loved me.

Fuck second chances.

Tonight

There are things in life I could bitch about. So many things. I want to curse the heavens and ask God. "What the fuck?!?" Seriously, when am I going to get a mother fucking break?!? Since day one God has been breaking my balls. And I'm not talking about small things like giving me gigantic boobs and a flat ass or making me look completely different than anyone else in my family. No, life isn't fucked up enough with walking around thinking you're on the verge of death because you have "no color". Nah, it's not traumatizing enough going through life wondering if you really are adopted like your cousins claim you are. Nope, it wouldn't be fun to just watch me from the heavens tripping and falling because I'm COMPLETELY top heavy. Now don't get me wrong. I don't believe God is cruel. I just think He, like the rest of us, has a hell of a sense of humor...no matter how warped it may appear to anyone else. You see God didn't stop there with me. He gave me two, not one, but TWO mother fuckers that didn't want me. But I never let that bother me. I didn't even let the fact that because my parents didn't want me that they left me with my aunt who's husband DID want me, nightly, get to me. I decided long ago that I wasn't going to be a victim. I didn't even let my two very physically and emotionally abusive relationships get to me. Nah, I got up, dusted myself off and said, "Fuck you." I walked away from both of those mother fuckers, saddled with their kids and moved the fuck on... untouched and unbreakable. And I say that not to impress anyone. I say it because that what us real mother fuckers do. We regret nothing, we don't apologize and we never look back.

So I sit here and ask why? Why God?!? Why can't you cut me some slack? I've never asked for money, beauty or fame. Why must you deny me the one thing I want, love? And then I remember God has nothing to do with this and it's allllll me. So now my next line of questioning is for the stupid bitch looking back at me in the mirror. Why in the fuck have I allowed that stupid selfish mother fucker to do this to me? Why was I just in the bathroom on the toilet muffling my sobs because his fucking fat ass doesn't love me? Fuck him. Tonight is the LAST mother fucking night I sit and cry knowing I'm with the one man in the world who doesn't want me. You don't want me Fuckface?!?! Fine. Fuck you. Tonight is the last mother fucking night I feel this way. I'm gonna play your fucking game. I'm going to go with the flow. You, yes YOU... because I know your stupid ass is reading this right now....you have NO idea the fury you have unleashed. Tonight I fell out of love with you and BACK in love with me. Hell has no fury like a woman scorned. But you just really fucked yourself because not only am I Mexican but I'm a survior. I've come up against bigger demons than you. If ignoring me, pushing me away and brining me back just to dump me is all you have then you better go back to school mother fucker. Much like those stank ass farts you silently let go in the middle of the night...you know the ones, don't play dumb....the ones you make after a day of drinking Mexican beer, the ones that melt the paint off the wall and singe the mustache off of me...yeah those...just like those fucker that's how I'm going to attack. When you least expect it. You think I'm mean now? You have no idea the depth of cruel and heartless I can sink to when I simply stop giving a fuck. Remember Fuckface, I'm the mother fucking bitch's who own mother questioned the presence of a heart. Yeah, you have no idea. Tonight is the last night I cry in the shower to hide my tears. Tonight is the last night you hurt me. Tonight is the last night I shed anymore fucking tears. Tonight, we embark on a new era of us. Tonight you crossed the line. You will remeber tonight until you choke out your last breath. Right now I know you're thinking, "What in the fuck happened?!?" You're wondering what the fuck did I do? But now you're remembering that you don't fucking care. You're dismissing me again and remembering how my feelings don't matter. You're now thinking "she's pissed and full of shit but she'll calm down and all will be well." Think it asshole. Feel it. Be it. Wish it. Pray it. Will it away. Do what you need to but I'm not going to forget tonight. Tonight I stop being a victim.

I'm vindicative, hateful and angry. You have no idea how patient I can be. But. You. Will. Silly little Fuckface, the only thing worse than hate is apathy. A lesson I will happily bestow upon you.

To those of you fucking with the one you love or even think you love, take a little advice from me. Don't be a Fuckface. Remember, a person will do anything for the one they love EXCEPT love them again.

Kryptonite

Interesting things happen to me all the time. Sometimes by my own design and sometimes by chance. For instance, people are always asking me random questions. I was once asked by a drive -thru Starbukcs barista if I had ever been to the titty bar they shared the parking lot with. I could understand being asked the question if it was night, if I was scantily dressed, if I was drunk or at the very least if I had a club stamp or bracelet of some type on. But it was in the middle of the day, I was dressed in a suit and I just finished telling him that my abnormally large order was for a client I had in town for a photoshoot at my office down the street. In fact just yesterday a co-worker of mine came up to me and asked if I like Pink Floyd. When I said I did, he said, "Yeah you look like someone who likes Pink Floyd." and walked away. What the fuck? What the fuck does that mean? Is that a good or a bad thing?!? Besides how does one look like they like Pink Floyd?? I'd rather blog about things of that nature. Or about how I've had several people tell me that they think I should write a book. A book about what? Me?!? About how Tiltingsuds was one of those people. About how he was amused when I told him that there isn't anything about me that could ever be found interesting enough for anyone to want to read. Only to follow up that statment with a story about how I was still legally married but thought I was divorced for 3 years. THAT is a much more entertaining story. Stories like that is why I have a handful of people following me. Not because I tell stories about FF.

I wonder how I'm capable of loving someone that is literally kryptonite to me. Before I met FF I used to think I was a phenomenal catch and being single was a choice. So many men told me girls like me aren't made everyday. How the man that caught me, was an extremely lucky man. So how does a lifetime of me really believing I'm the shit suddenly end? How can the one man I love completely break me down? How could I have let him rob me of everything...of all of life's simple joys. Even eating.

Tonight his dad called. His dad said he had just made lamb and FF just had to try it. FF put a frozen lasagna in the oven and came in to tell me he was going to his dad's. He asked if I wanted to go and I said no. I had just finished telling him that I didn't run the errands I needed to because I didn't feel like leaving the house. We all have days like that. Today was mine. FF then made the decision to go to his dads house and leave me at his house. FF called his daughter about 30 minutes later to tell her to take out the lasagna so she could eat. He leaves me at his house to eat a frozen lasagna alone. What happened to this change he spoke of? I know there are people out there that are wondering why I just didn't go with him to his dad's house. Good question. Here's the thing, just last night I talked to him about what I needed. A man who was ready to start a life with me. A man who, like me, is tired of depending on his family and always playing the third wheel. Like always, he said he wanted the same and understood. So again I find myself hurt and disappointed. And angry with myself for being foolish and wondering if I'm a desperate woman. Wondering how I've allowed the one thing I've never allowed myself to be, a victim.

When Superman was presented with kryptonite he was affected by physical pain and everything that made him special...made him who he is was stripped. He ran from the stuff. Why can't I?

Why Do I Even Bother??!?

And because I'm fucking retarded isn't the answer...or maybe in this case it is.

As very few of you may have noticed I've been MIA lately. And not because I don't have anything to write about. It's been actually quite the opposite. I just can't blog about all the other stuff until I get this post off my chest. This post is the post I didn't want to write. Ever. This post is the reason I had, what I like to call, situational writer's block. I call it situational only because my current, so-called writer's block, is only present because of my current situation. You see? I'm almost 10 sentences into this and I'm still struggling to confess. My struggle doesn't originate from a lack of words but more from shame. Maybe it would have been easier had certain people like Titling Suds or Fuckface hadn't found my blog. Then again I wouldn't have to write this post if Fuckface hadn't found my blog. If you can smell the plot thicking, then you are spot on.

This all started when FF after weeks of searching, actually found my blog. He read every single post. Every. Single. Nasty. Word. In my mind I fantasized sending a link to my blog to him. In one scenario, I fantasized that the words he came across would infuriate him so much that he would never ever want to talk to me again regardless of how strong or how often our moments of weakness would hit us. I imagined that this blog would be what he needed to read in order to leave me the fuck alone. In another scenario, I fantasized about him reading the words on the screen and breaking down into tears. Bitch tears. The kind that make your face puffy, leave you exhausted and wanting to puke from all the heaving. I imagined him being so hurt by how he hurt me that he would forever be scarred and ashamed to ever contact me again. That's the fucked up thing about day dreaming.It's just that, fucking dreams. And I don't give a fuck what that talking little lying fucker of a cricket says, dreams DO NOT come true.

Before FF found my blog he had been calling and texting. I really didn't respond because I was busy dating. When I burned through my stash of prospective suitors I found the whole dating thing exhausting. I didn't want to return another stupid email to another stupid douche bag. After a month, I hit my douche bag quota and decided to pull my profile. Mistake number 1. With all this free time, I had a hard time distracting myself when he did text or call. Beating your kids is only fun for so long. Besides I'm lazy and tired very quickly after my first few punches. Punching is no joke. Drinking myself into an oblivion is my next favorite way to pass time. But let's be honest, drinking doesn't mix well with texting. It just adds fuel to the fire. What else was I to do with my time?!? Exercise? Uh. No. Hellloooo! I'm lazy. I didn't have anything else to help keep distracted. You see I possess no talent. Zip. Zilch. Zero. Nada. I'm shit out of luck. I'm not good at anything. I can't draw, sing, play an instrument, accessorize, decorate, build anything or collect anything. However as a side note, I do strongly believe that not having a talent IS a talent. Being truly unexceptional at everything isn't easy. But in my case my "talent" didn't do me any favors. In an effort to "rip off my band-aid" quickly, allow me to try to accelerate all of this. I met with FF and listened to what he had to say. Mistake number 2. He claimed to have not known how much he hurt me until he read post after post about him and the pain he had caused me. I looked at him blankly and thought to myself, "Uh, really?!? Me telling the blogging world that you have a small penis didn't piss you off?!?! I was sure that would set you over the edge. Hmmm, interesting." He asked for another chance. A chance to make me happy. A chance for him to love me. A chance to show me that what I wanted was indeed what he wanted. Uh huh. You guessed it. Like the dumbass I am, I took him back. Mistake number 3. I know. I'm ashamed, embarrassed, humiliated and disappointed that I buckled.

So here I am on a Thursday night pissed, more at me than him, and completely disappointed. You see, I started a new job last week. Tonight I had mandatory training until 7pm. I asked FF if he could please help me tonight by picking up my son from my mom. He said he didn't know if he could help because he has clients in town all week but that he would do his best. Fair enough. So as soon as I got out of training I called him to ask him where he was. The mother fucker was bowling! Why he's bowling and not helping me isn't the reason for my current emotional anguish. No. I AM the source of my current emotional anguish. How foolish of me to think I could depend on him. How foolish of me to think that when I fall he'd be there to pick me up up. How foolish of me to buy into his bullshit that he'd change and work on being there for me. This isn't my first rodeo with him. I fucking know better and for that, I am mad at me. Not him. I am tired of being a single mom. I've been doing this gig alone for almost 17 fucking years. I am emotionally, physically and spiritually tired of it. I am even more tired of having to depend on my fucking family to help me. Nothing worse than your archenemy, your mother, reminding you every chance she gets how much she fucking helps you and how you couldn't do anything without her. And the worst, her asking me what in the hell would I do if I didn't have her. But more so, I am fucking sick of being the tag along with my family. I've had no significant other for quite some time. At least not one I liked enough to have around. Vacations, holidays, events and even everyday fucking simple shit like movies or little league games I'm constantly with some member of my family. Last year, I had to ask Diva to be my Christmas date. Now granted it fucking rocked. I had the hottest date at the whole party but fuck. I'm an old ass woman. At my age, shouldn't I have a fucking date??? But what's really important. What's really at the forefront of my mind. What's painfully clear to me is that FF isn't tired of it. He obviously doesn't mind having to depend on his parents to help him with his kids. He doesn't mind tagging along with his family. And lord knows, he certainly doesn't mind not ever having a plus one to any of his company functions. In fact, I'm pretty fucking sure the fucker prefers it that way. So I ask myself, "Why do I even fucking bother?!?!" I actually have the answer to that question but in fear of my post being too long, I'll stop my retardation here and post the answer tomorrow.

Please allow the insulting comments to commence. Thank you and good evening.