I'm Not Sure Wherein Lies the Root of the Problem

I've had it tonight.  My computer keeps freezing up while I try to type.  I don't know if it's my browser (Firefox), my crappy dial-up Internet service, or the hosting site of this blog ("An error occurred while saving"--If I see this again, I'm calling it quits).

Oh look, I got the same friggin error message again. 

That's it computer, you win for the night. 

Welcome to My World Kuwait

I'm amazed and quite stunned to log in everyday to find that people from all over the world are checking in on me.  Hello Kuwait, glad to see you've made it on the map.

I've hit ever continent, save Antarctica.  Tell you what, $50 and a prominent picture of your face if you can convince some researcher in the South Pole to look me up. 

I'm kinda punchy right now because I'm writing way too late and my brain turned off about 2 hours ago.  See, stupid me bought the stupid GPS and was/still are struggling to download the most recently downloaded maps.  I'm not so sure that the fact that I have a basic dial-up Net service through my wireless provider isn't helping the situation at all.  Oh well.

Taxes have been filed with a return good enough to cover my rent for the next 4 months, which comes at a great time seeing as the Plant is shutting down on Monday.  I knew this day was coming soon, but I'm still stressing.  But on the subject of stress and taxes, I have to rant for a bit on child support.

I got screwed over in child support back 5 years ago.  I petitioned the State of Florida of child support, but my ex counter-sued and as a result the State Commonwealth of Virginia took jurisdiction of the case.  Not having the mean of hiring an out of state lawyer, still being emotionally numb from being abandoned at 20 wks pregnant and coping with a newborn, I didn't have much strength to fight.  When the lawyers presented the agreement, which I felt I had no choice but to sign as I wasn't getting any advice at all,  I got stuck to agreeing that every other year the biological father gets to claim MY Kiddo as a tax dependent.

How fucked up is that?

He's never seen MY Kiddo, never asked for pictures, hell, he didn't even want to know the sex of the baby after he had skipped out on the ultrasound.

That part?  I'm over.  In fact, the Kiddo came across a few pictures of me and the biological tucked in between the child support order and last years tax returns.  I've held on to a few of the pictures over the years as I figured some day he might ask questions.  He's been hinting for a while that he understands that you need to have "a man and a woman to get married to have a baby,"as he explained.  But he gives me a questioning look like, "Okay?  Where's the other part?"

So when the Kiddo turned his attention to the photos, he asked about the man in the photos with me.  I told the Kiddo his name, but not the relationship because I didn't want to jump the gun on any questions.  When he saw the two of us dressed up for a formal dance, the Kiddo got so excited.  "YOU LOOK SO PRETTY!!!  OH MY GOSH, YOU ARE THE PRETTIEST MOM IN THE WORLD!!"  (Don't think for a moment that I didn't just eat that up.)

Then he said, "I didn't know you got married."

"I didn't."

"Was I in you tummy?"

"Not at that time."

"Did that man love you?" . . . . . . That question blew me away. 

How was I supposed to answer that?  Before I had time to fumble around for the right answer, I think one of God's Messengers placed the reply on my lips.

"Yes.  He did love me; some but not enough."

The Kiddo stared at the picture again, grinned at me and said, "Well that's too bad, cuz I love you a TON!"

And that's when I was reminded, I might get screwed over every other tax year monetarily, but 'that man' has been screwed over since the day he walked out on the best thing that ever happened to me.  

 

I Think the Term I Am Looking for is Operator Error

I love technology.

What did we do before the advent of the mobile phone, when you couldn't tell mom to pick up some more milk while she's at the store because your baby brother (who you were supposed to be keeping an eye on and not dancing to Amy Grant's Baby, Baby) pulled the gallon out of the fridge and onto the floor?

I have two different remotes that allow me to switch functions on my TV/DVD without having to leave my chair.  (I can just image the conversation with the Kiddo. . ."when I was your age, you had to walk across the room to change the channel, and cartoons were only on Saturdays."  I'm sure that will go over as well when I tried to explain to my little brother that 'the giant CDs out in the garbage can' were actually LPs.  Much confusion ensued.)

I can order books off of the Internet, request prayers or encouragement through various social networking sites, find delicious recipes without having to paw through a stack of unorganized, stained, chicken-scratched papers, and discover just how little I have in my bank account. 

But this love of technology is a bipolar love, for there are times (tonight most notably) that I HATE technology. 

See, I'm going to a college baseball game on Saturday with the Kiddo and his 'favorite' uncle/the youngest of my younger brothers which will be located in St. Pete.  You would think that a city built on a grid would be easy to navigate.  That's not what I've found out on most of my adventures to the other side of the Bay.  Last time I tried to drive from a bookstore to my therapist's office which Google Maps assured me was only 15 minutes away, I got lost for an hour!  In rush hour traffic!  On a Friday! 

Which was not fun, to put it mildly.  Profanity, crying, and running a STOP sign (accidentally!) may have been involved.

So I broke down the other night and purchased a GPS.  It came well-enough recommended, got some good on-line reviews and my research showed that for the price Wal-Mart was offering, I couldn't get it any cheaper unless I stole it.  (Which I totally didn't). 

Tonight after watching the download timer tick from 97 minutes on and not wanting to run any other programs, an error message occured in the remaining 4 seconds of downloads. 

Reason being: I forgot to disable to the firewall before downloading began. 

Day 5 of 21

Today's post about my post isn't a post of any importance, but I put it here to keep myself on track.  I did write tonight, but it is a rather personal issue that I'm not ready to discuss quite yet.  I know that at some point when I get some further clarification I'll be more than happy to write about it (in my usual sarcastic manner).

But so you aren't too disappointed that I haven't imparted my wisdom to you (yes, I am rolling my eyes), you have to watch this video first, then scroll down to find out what the Kiddo deadpanned:

"Mom, her song stinks worse than my poop." 

Not the most eloquent child on the block, but may have a future in comedy.

Hard Times + Drugs=Death....Not a Very Good Equation

Reading the Sunday paper this past weekend, I happened upon an article about an American facing the death penalty for participating in a drug smuggling ring.  Frank Amado lives in Jakarta, Indonesia where he decided to turn to drug trafficking when his business went belly up and his girlfriend left him. I admit, it is a sad story especially when I read about the Frank's mother using up most of her savings to try and hire a lawyer to defend her son. 

But, and I know this sounds harsh, I don't have any pity for Frank.  His mother, yes, for she will have to live the remainder of her life knowing that her son was executed millions of miles away from her and that she couldn't do anything to change that.  A parent's worse fear is that their child will die before them.  In this case, Frank could have spared his mother an future filled with sorrow and anger, but instead, he acted like a selfish prick.  I know, I sound like a heartless jackass.

Hear me out. 

First of all, Frank chose to live in a country, beautiful though it is, has very harsh laws against drug use/selling/trafficking.  For Indonesia to take such a hard stance against drugs, they do have lower crime rates than many of their Western counterpoints.   (Charlie Sheen, Lindsey Lohan don't plan on visiting Jakarta anytime soon.  I can guarantee you won't see the light of day again, no matter how good of a publicist you have.)

When Frank fell on 'hard times,' rather than dust himself off, work one or more jobs to cover his living expenses, or even call mom and ask for air fare back home, he decided to take a short cut.  The saying when you play with fire you'll get burned isn't a joke. 

This is why I have no pity for Frank.  I, along with millions of others in the US today, have fallen on 'hard times.'  When I lost my job back in June, I was devastated, but I began scrounging around to find any work I could.  I cleaned a few houses, babysat, moved furniture, and sold some of my meager possessions.  In addition to my own personal expenses, I am raising a child which adds a whole other layer of complexities.

But did I decide that it would be a better choice to run drugs or turn tricks at the local strip bars to support me and my child?

Ummmmm....NO.

Granted, my ego has taken a huge bruising at times, having to ask the landlord if I can split up my rent payments throughout the month, relying on the generosity of others to help make ends meet when the crops froze up for three weeks, and asking to eat at my parent's house a few too many times because I didn't even have milk in the house. 

The point that I am making here is that I didn't wimp out.  And I've still survived.  Certainly more humbled than before and more understanding to the plight of others who are in far worse condition than me.  Frank Amado, sorry as he may be for his crime, screwed up in the first place by trying to take the easy way out and secondly choosing to live in a society knowing fully well of the consequences he might face.