Sometimes I feel like all I do is gripe and complain here and I promise that I otherwise have a very sunny disposition, but blogging had become cheap therapy for me and so I intend to pour out all my pain on this here blog today. Then I will have a lovely post about an award I won from my dear friend Joan-Marie and you can just skip the rest of this post if you want and move right on to the other one.

This week has been a trying one. I have gotten use to the fact that life is just going to be hard for a while. Raising kids alone is no picnic, hence the reason you should be married when you have kids, not that he still wouldn’t have been a rat and left us, but nonetheless. I am an advocate for single mothers everywhere and believe in the power of women immensely, but parenting should be done between two people.

Rewind to Monday. I was on my way to work, feeling good. I had a great night sleep and was ready to tackle the week. I left early enough for work to stop and treat myself to a cup of coffee and my very favorite song was playing on the radio when I slowed to make the exit for work. The guy in front of me slowed and then, I thought, moved on. I looked behind me to make sure no oncoming traffic was coming and I then proceeded to let off my brake and glide into the other lane. That is when I looked back to see that the truck that was suppose to be making it’s way up Pfeifer was still sitting there. I tried to slam on my brakes and I hit the gas pedal instead. Then I slammed my new beautiful red car that has only had two payments paid on it into the back of a huge black truck that had decided to stop in the merging lane. My head slammed against the windshield, my glasses flew from my face. I felt instant pain in my head and neck and it felt like someone had just twisted my arm out of it’s socket and beat me upside the head with it.

I kept my cool while the police were there. I was too worried about being even later for work to request a EMT. After we exchanged information, I made my way to work. That is when I heard it. It sounded like a 500 pound grizzly bear crawled up under my hood and got stuck. And now he was pissed. And growling. I made it the few short blocks to work and then I sat in the parking lot and cried like a child. I heaved and sobbed and maybe even yelled a little bit. And then I thanked my dear God that my girls were not in that car with me. I called my mom and I called my boyfriend and I made my way into work.

The entire day I sat at my desk with my door closed and tried my best to work through tears. Every time someone even said hello to me, I started bawling. Makes for a great impression on people. Try it, they will proceed to walk around looking at you like you may blow at any second.

When the day was finally over, I drove home loudly in my now, very banged up vehicle. I got the girls home safely and fed and in the bathtub and then to bed. Then I sat in the middle of my bed and proceeded to have a nervous breakdown. I called my boss and told her I would not be in on Tuesday as I had to get my car in the shop and at least get proof for my own stubbornness that the repairs would be far more than I could afford. Then I could proceed with the breakdown that I truly deserved.

The next day I woke up feeling like someone had screwed my head off and put it on backwards. I was barely able to move my neck, my head was pounding and my right arm was completely numb from the shoulder down.  I got in the shower for one more quick breakdown and to talk to God for a few minutes. I asked for the bravery and courage and empathy to contain my own emotions and be strong for my girls. I took Olivia to an 8 o’clock dentist appointment and then dropped her off to play hooky with my mom on her day off work.

On my way back home, I dropped my car at the body shop at the corner of town and began the 30+ block walk home. My boyfriend called and said to sit still and he would be by to scoop me up and take me home. We made it to my door step without a single tear and up the steps to my door when the boyfriend made the mistake of twisting me around and taking me in his arms and trying to hug the life out of me. The tears came and they came and they came and before long I felt too weak to stand and he laid me on the couch and he put my head in his lap and he stroked my hair and I felt the safest I have ever felt in my entire adult life.

I know some of you may think I am being entirely overdramatic over a vehicle, but I must give you some insight in the true life of a single mom for you to fully understand.

Not having a driveable vehicle means not getting back and forth to work. Which means no paycheck. Which means no paycheck, at all, in the household. Because I am it. I am the only source of money and wellbeing for myself and three children. Not getting back and forth to work means possibly getting fired. From my very good job. Which means possibly missing a house payment or two. Which would make us homeless. I, and thousands of others in this day and age are living paycheck to paycheck, quite literally. Even missing one paycheck would put me behind on bills and once that happens it is next to impossible to catch up. Not to mention the fact that there is no savings account to dip into when car repairs are needed. I cannot afford more than liability insurance and so the repairs must come from my pocket. My pockets that are so empty, they echo. I do not convey this for sympathy but for clarity. This is huge. This could put my entire life into a tailspin. And my kids. My poor kids. My sweet and innocent kids that already sacrifice so much for this mother they were given and this life they were dealt. All I could hear was my eight year old asking me if this year maybe we could get her new school clothes at the Walmart and not the thrift store. And how that would be next to impossible right now.

An hour or so later the boyfriend dropped me off at the car place so he could make his way to work and he waited outside patiently while I went in for the estimate. The guy behind the counter just shook his head when I walked in. He had that look on his face perfected by countless evening-drama doctors that have to tell families they did all they could, but their loved one could not be saved. “It’s bad” he said, “Real bad. Your frame is bent. Nothing I can do here. You will have to take it to a frame shop. You are looking at a couple thousand dollars probably.”

I walked back to my car in a stupor. A fog. I felt numb and shock. I had no earthly clue what I was going to do. I looked at that car I just got two months ago and thought about how beautiful it was to me. It was used, but the nicest car I had ever owned. I felt proud to drive it and my kids were proud to ride around in it. Now it was damaged. Just like my heart. Just like my spirit. I made it home and sat on my couch and just stared at the wall. I felt true despair and just fell to my knees and I cried and cried and begged God for mercy for me and these girls and I told him I believed that he would help us. I believed it and I knew it. And then God lifted me right out of the floor of my living room and he helped me create a productive day. I got laundry done, scrubbed floors, cooked a big dinner and for the first time in two days, I felt a sense of purpose. My boyfriend called at least 15 times throughout the day, each time talking softly as if the simple sound of his voice too loudly would cause me to crack and break.

I am just too tired to tell the rest of the story right now. I am going back to work today with a ride there from my mom and a ride home from the boyfriend. In the meantime calling on others to assist me with a ride to and from school and the sitter for the girls. My car is going in the shop on Sunday at a friend of a friend of a friend who is going to “knock it out enough to be safe enough to drive”.

My neck is better and the constant headache I am sure is from stress. I am waiting any day now for the shingles that I have had twice before to rear their stress-induced ugly heads.

I feel better just “talking” about it and all I can do now is pray. Pray and hope that someway, somehow this is all going to get better and I come out a stronger and better person.

Dear Olivia,

I am writing this letter in the hopes that you will read it one day and realize that when I grounded you when you were eight years old for fearing the dentist that it was out of love and not pure meaness and to make your little life miserable. Last night you tried repeatedly to rip my heart out by trying several “I am the saddest girl alive” tactics and moping through the kitchen to throw things away looking miserable even though we both know you have a garbage can in your bedroom. The kicker was the letter you left on the kitchen table for me while I was taking out the garbage.

Exhibit A:

I must admit the picture of you crying real tears at the end almost got me. But I still had to say no and I want you to know why.

Tuesday when I took off work early to take you to the dentist, I was worried for you. I know your fear of the dentist, but after just getting your teeth cleaned two weeks ago and being so brave, I thought that this would be a piece of cake. Almost as heartbreaking to me as the day your tooth was busted by the swing smacking you in the face, was when the dentist told you your tooth would have to be bonded and the look on your face was sheer terror. I want you to know that I feel your pain. I am 27 years old and I still fear the dentist. I have thrown up on dentists, I have passed out on dentists and once I almost hyperventilated and the dentist had me breathing deeply into a paperbag. Not my proudest moment, but let’s keep it real, no one really likes the dentist. Well, Emma does, but you know, that’s Emma. She likes to do everything the opposite of normal to keep us on our toes. Anyway to make my point, I was not upset at you for being fearful and you are not grounded for being fearful. What you are grounded for is this: when I asked you to please lay back on the dentist chair and we would hold hands and I would never leave your side, and you flat out refused. The redhead in you then crossed your arms over your chest and refused to talk to the dentist. I was humiliated. I tried talking softly and encouragingly, I offered to pray with you right there on the spot and I even used my “I am serious” voice. Nothing. Crickets. Short of straddling you and holding your mouth open while you screamed, there wasn’t much I could do.

So the disobedience is the culprit for your grounding. Last night when I made you go to your room while your sister’s and I watched American Idol, was not because I am mad at you, but because I love you and I need you to learn this lesson. Being afraid is normal and even healthy, but you cannot be disobedient and rude. That is unacceptable.

Tuesday you stuck with the attitude and gave me the silent treatment. Yesterday you were sad and moping. Today or tomorrow, the remorse should hit and we can this conversation live and in-person, but I wanted to record it here for future reference.

And don’t worry. I know this seems like the end of the world, but in about 7  years, you will feel like my sheer existence is ruining your life and you will have long forgotten about all this.

Until then and forever - I love you.

Mommy

I woke up feeling lovely today. I want today to be a good day. My oldest two daughter’s have dentist appointments today. Olivia is dealthly afraid of the dentist and today may just result in the loss of a finger on the part of the dentist, but I am trying to be optimistic. However, something has been on my heart for the last few days and when my boyfriend and I had yet another talk about it yesterday, I knew I must purge it from my system to move on. Did I mention my boyfriend is Dr. Phil? He is the only man I know that thinks we must discuss how I am feeling all the time.

To give a little backdrop and to hopefully avoid a little confusion, my boyfriend and I are very involved in an Innercity Youth Sports program. We have been doing it together for four years and it is our one true passion. Our summers are full of practices and games and car washes and standing in front of Kroger stores selling candy bars. When we are not outdoors we are usually on the phone begging people to give us money or support our team. They know me by name at the sports supply store in town and come November, one corner of my living room will be cluttered with boxes of trophies and plaques. We truly put our hearts and souls into this project of ours and we love these kids very much.

Simply because of the geographical location of our program, I am, on more occasions than not, the only white person around. I chose to volunteer in this program before I knew my boyfriend. My cousin was involved at the time and she encouraged me to come around. My children were getting older and I wanted to expose them to that side of their culture. I wanted them to see that not all black men are like their father and that they could truly gain a sense of themselves by relating to their black peers. Before long it became much more than that. These kids needed us. Not at all because I was white, but because they just needed someone. Someone to show them attention and love them and to get this program organized so it could be successful. That is when I met my boyfriend. My cousin volunteered me for Team Mom and we started working closely together. After four long years and lots of blood, sweat and tears, we now have a more organized and successful team. The boys have three uniforms a piece, trips are mostly covered my donations and fundraising and we are revered as the toughest youth football team in the city; winning the last two super bowls and numerous out-of-town tournament titles. We are like a well oiled machine. In four years we went from hollaring announcements to eachother at the field after practice, to making phone lists and structuring a network, to sending out professional fliers and brochures to all prospective parents. Our team has been used as a model around the city for other teams struggling with administrative tasks. I take alot of pride in that and I take alot of ownership with this team.

I also have a heart that beats full with love for these little boys. I cheer at their triumphs and cry at their losses. I take at least 500 pictures at every awards banquet and I have baked cupcakes for more birthdays than I can remember. I can look at any team picture for the last four years and tell you each and every one of those little boys names and what position they play. For most of them I could probably recite their siblings and parents names as well. I have more pictures of the team on my entertainment center than I do of my own children. I feel my calling is to be surrounded with children and to be a light and I am so blessed to know these kids. For four years I have watched them grow from four year old little babies to the eight year old young men they are now. I melt every time they run to me yelling Miss Maaaaannnnndy.

Children are innocent and sweet and they know when someone truly cares for them. Parents, however, can have preconceived notions and deep rooted resentments that can sometimes be catastraphically wrong, and overwhelmingly destructive.

When we first started this four years ago you could come to practice and the parents that actually stuck around to watch, would be spread about the field in their lawn chairs and on cell phones, staying to themselves. Now, mothers have gotten to know one another and appreciate eachother. Children are being swapped on Friday nights between single moms, just wanting to get out for a little while on their own. Bags of clothes and shoes are distributed among those with kids of the same age and size. Mothers bring covered dishes and coolers on long practice days and on more than one occasion, card tables are set up in the parking lot. In the summer months, you can find us congregating until the sun sets, long after practice is over. Kids are running around squirting eachother with water guns and playing kickball in the field. Little girls are squealing or chasing boys and some mothers use this time to put braids in beads in their daughter’s hair.

My kids always have the best time when these occasions roll around and they beg me to go to practice and stay as long as I will allow them. My girls have made fast friends with many of the other little girls there and will sometimes play on the playground for hours on end without once looking up to notice me watching them from a distance. They get sunshine and fresh air and they stay out of my hair and let me enjoy a little conversation and comaraderie with women close to my own age. Many a little girl have come home with us from the park for sleepovers.

Through all the time and the work together and the grillouts and out-of-town trips the relationships have grown so strong that a stranger to our practices may assume they have stumbled upon a family reunion. They can scan the crowd and see the laughing and talking going on and then inevitably they slow their gaze for a moment to see…wait…what is that. That looks like something that doesn’t belong, doesn’t quite fit in. What is that pink face in a sea of brown?

Well, it’s me.

See, the women in the flock don’t exactly accept me wholeheartedly. They are friendly and civil and they don’t necessarily make me feel out of place, but they don’t include me either. I always feel like I am let out of the inside jokes, and I have not forged one true blue friendship with any of them. When they form outings to the movies or the bowling alley after games, I am not invited. Just last week one of the young couples got married. I was the only woman from the football team that wasn’t asked to attend. I don’t get asked to come to parties and I don’t get phone calls from any of them. For the most part, I try not to let it bother me, sometimes even convincing myself that maybe they don’t ask because they don’t know if I would want to come. Last weekend the lack of inclusion on their part was so obvious, my boyfriend met me at the park last night so we could talk about it. He explained to me what I guess in my heart I always knew, but was too naive to accept. It is because I am white. And because, over all the black women he could have, my boyfriend has chosen me - a white woman.

We had an impromptu get-together at the park after practice on Sunday. Someone had went home to get their grill and people were showing up left and right with coolers full of pop and lil hugs for the kids. The children were running around the playground and playing basketball. The men were standing around talking about the impending NCAA basketball championship and the woman were gathered at the picnic tables playing cards and talking. I arrived a little late after stopping at the store and when I walked up I noticed an immediate awkwardness. It seemed everyone just stopped talking. When I asked my boyfriend under my breath what the deal was, he told me we would talk about it later. For the rest of the day I stayed by his side. Every time I tried to talk to one of the mothers they would give me quick short answers and then turn their head. I felt like I was the butt of some kind of joke. Like I missed something. It was like that all day.

I finally just packed up the kids and we headed for home. I was confused and hurt. But most importantly I thought about my kids and how I hoped that one day people would see them for their heart and not refuse to accept them because of their white mother.

Last night as we sat at the park and watched the kids on the swings, my boyfriend started to tell me the story of what went on the day prior. He said as soon as he arrived at the park and walked over to say hello, all the mothers seemed to jump on him about me. They told him he acted differently when I am around and that he is always “up my butt”. Once one started, they all jumped in agreeing and although he said they were being lighthearted about it and joking, the next comment hit me directly in the gut. He said that one of the moms said to him that now that he has this white girlfriend he must think he is too good for them now. This continued until I pulled up, hence the awkward silence when I got there.

My boyfriend is the type of person that is always true to himself. He tends to not care what other people think, but in a respectable way. He explained to me how much he loved to have me around and that he doesn’t care what everybody else thinks and that I shouldn’t either. He told me that those women don’t know my heart and I should just get in where I fit in.

I just smiled and changed the subject to something else. I didn’t want to get upset and I knew I couldn’t truly explain to him how I felt without doing so, so I dropped it.

What I really wanted to explain to him was how bad it hurt. How my heart was breaking. I was overcome with confusion. I didn’t know why they could not accept me for me as a person. Why they could not see how genuine I am when it comes to what we are all suppose to be in this for anyway: the kids. Their kids. Not mine. I don’t even have a son. These are their kids I love and support with my whole heart. I wasn’t trying to come in and change things and take over. I just wanted to be a part of the team. I didn’t want to admit it, but I just wanted them to like me. Don’t get me wrong, these women are not mean to me. They don’t say hurtful things to my face or downright refuse to talk to me. But I know when they are nice and chatting with me, that it is fake. I know they have no interest in getting to really know me.

I understand that racism is real. I understand that black people in this country have been unfairly discrimated against for all time and that even in this politically correct world, stereotypes mold the way people think. I understand they don’t see me for Mandy, but as a white person and all that that means to them. But racism hurts all involved. White people judge me for having black kids and a black boyfriend and black people judge me for having black kids and a black boyfriend.

I long for the people that judge me for having a good heart and being a good person.

And then invite me to go bowling.

I woke this morning after having a particularly crappy day yesterday to soon realize the real crap had not even happened yet. My eight year old went outside this morning to check for a paper she couldn’t find in her bookbag. I gave her the keys and, silly me, told her to make sure she locked the car back when she came in.

I heard her come into the house and then bound up the steps two at a time.

“Mama, someone was in our car. The glove box is open and there are papers everywhere.”

“What???? Is there a window busted? I know I locked it last night. I know I did. Because the footballs are in th…. the footballs. Are the footballs still there?”

“No, mama” she said slowly and sadly. “The footballs are gone.”

I half brushed my hair back and grabbed a pair of shoes and made my way outside. I unlocked and relocked the doors about a dozen times. Then I walked around the car trying each door. Low and behold, the back right passenger door came open, even with the lock down. My heart just sank. Hot tears started streaming.

I stopped yesterday at Kattus (the only team sports store up this way) and picked up two youth footballs our league president generously bought for us to have at football camp tonight.

And now they were gone.

I started to take them in the house last night when returning home from work, but knew as soon as I did, I would walk off and forget them today and have to make an extra trip home to get them to camp by 6PM.

And now they were gone.

Someone stealing from you is bad enough. I felt angry and hurt and confused and alot like yelling obscenities at anyone walking down the street. (Instead I just cried like a big ole baby) But they weren’t stealing from me, they were stealing from 30 little boys whose parents can barely afford clothes for them. 

Now, I am going to have to go back to Kattus on my lunchbreak and buy two footballs with money I don’t really have. But what else can I do?

And the boyfriend doesn’t even know yet. I left a message for him this morning, but I am sure he is still asleep. He is going to be just thrilled. And he is a man, so somehow this will be all my fault. He is going to be so irritated.

I am sitting at work and I am not going to be worth a hill of beans today. I can’t even think straight.

What is wrong with people? Why would someone get into someone else’s car and steal what are clearly youth footballs. Stealing from a child just makes me sick to my stomach.

And now I am going to be more broke than I already was, which to me, is also stealing from my own children.

I don’t even know how much a stinkin football costs.  I am so screwed.

At least it’s not Monday.

I ran across this article this morning while getting my day started at work, you know when I should have been reading emails and making my to-do list. Anyway, I was intrigued by the title and thought I would check it out. You can read it here if you would like.

Evidently the author, Rachel Sarah, had a similiar situation as I when her husband up and left the country when she was 7 months pregnant. I was six months pregnant and he moved to Atlanta.  Oh and I was pregnant with our third not our first, which made it a tad bit suckier.

She asks the top questions on her mind and answers them to give us other single moms some encouragement; things like : Am I up to the challenge? Can I support us? Will people look down on me? Will baby be ok without dad?

Her answers were lovely and flowery and filled with phrases like “Hold your head up high” and “Keep yourself grounded” and “Stay stress free“. Yeah, I almost laughed at that one too.

If I would have thought of this first, and oh yeah, were a journalist with an audience of thousands, my article would have been a little different and my answers would have been alot different. Maybe a little something like this.

The Single Mom Survival Guide : The Realist Edition.

When I was six months pregnant with my youngest daughter their dad left the state and moved to Georgia. At the time we also had a 16 month old and a 2 year old. I was a hormonal and heartbroken woman way too damn young to have three kids in the first place. In between working two jobs I cried and came up with creative ways to change two diapers at once, while feeding a newborn and finding time to shower myself ever now and again. I started to ask myself important questions.  

Am I up to the challenge? Believe me, you’re not. It is harder than you think. And you are going to be very tired and very grumpy and feel sorry for yourself alot. Suck it up. You got kids to take care of now.

Can I support us? Not unless you plan on getting three jobs. Kids are expensive and they have these annoying little needs like food, milk and lots and lots of diapers. You will have trouble getting a second or third job because then you will need a babysitter. Get creative. Get a paper route. Get one of those things you can strap the baby in and get ta steppin.

Will people look down on me? The short answer, yes. Especially if you live in the bible belt or the country. And if your kids are interracial? Oh, it’s a losing battle. Again, suck it up and get over it. Unless those people plan to move in with you and be a surrogate father and help take care of you and your kid, who cares what they have to say, right? It also may help to tell them you could care less what they have to say. That always felt very therapeutic to me. Use your outside voice a couple times too for dramatic effect. That makes it really fun.

Will baby be ok without dad? Well they will just have to be now won’t they? Because he has decided Atlanta is a much better place to live. He has important things to do now like play basketball with his buddies and work part time at Home Depot, because with only himself to support now, he doesn’t really need that much money, so why exert himself more than he has to. Again, you guessed it, suck it up. And oh, some advice. Don’t move every Tom, Dick and Harry you meet into your house to “make up” for dad. This is really never a good idea. Then you just end up supporting another kid, and who needs that right now, huh?

This is the part where I am suppose to encourage you. Here goes: I promise that even though you feel like this whole experience might kill you, it won’t. And one day all the sacrifices you have made and the tears you have shed will all be worth it when your kids see how hard you worked and are forever grateful. Well at least that’s what my mom says. I will get back to you on that one.

And oh yeah, keep your head up. Blah, Blah, Blah.

The end.

 1. Wake up 4-6 minutes before alarm goes off so I can be adequately annoyed. Not sure who, exactly, I am so mad at when this happens or how much better I would be with those 4-6 minutes of sleep but I find it quite annoying none the less.

2. Hit the snooze button at least 7 times. That way after it takes me 6-8 minutes to doze back off, I can still get 1-2 minutes of sleep before the alarm clock goes off again. Multiplying that by 7 gives me 7-14 minutes of extra sleep. Therefore making up for the fact that I woke up 4-6 minutes before the alarm clock went off the first time. It’s the principle of it all, people. And the new Math… AKA: Mommy needs way more sleep than she actually gets.

3. I go into the bathroom and do my business (sorry for the TMI) and then stare at myself in the mirror while washing my hands to see what new wrinkles and bumps and grey hairs I have acquired overnight.

4. Brush my teeth and remind myself that we are almost out of toothpaste and toilet paper. Four females in one house = ALWAYS out of toilet paper.

5.  Jump in the shower and utilize my time by mentally making a list of all the important things I have to do at work today, like seeing if Ree is having a contest, check to see what everyone else did for Thursday Thirteen, IM my sister for a while, check TMZ.com to see what my girl Crazazy Brit has been up to in the last 24 hours and email my boyfriend to remind him of all the important things he has to do at work today like: get me some grapes and apples when the fruit order comes in today and remind the dagon jewelry lady to bring me the ”silver” catalog already. We are very important people at our jobs by the way.

6.  Get out of the shower and take 8 minutes on myself. In this amount of time I must properly lotion, dress, put on my face and dry my hair. If I am feeling especially good I may even brush my hair and put on a bit of lipstick chapstick.

7. Get the girls up and moving and help them pick out clothes that they will put back in their drawer throw on the floor the minute I walk out of the room so they can pick out their own clothes.

8. Go downstairs to take the dog out and fill up his food and water bowl since this is Olivia’s job and she always does it. Oh wait, if she always did it I wouldn’t be doing it. Oh that’s right, she never does it. So I do it.

9. Lay something out for dinner so I can cook my children a well balanced meal when I get home. Throw something in the slow cooker and call it dinner, trying not to forget that the first rule is to remove whatever it is from whatever plastic packaging it is in. But this is before I have had coffee and I am not responsible for what happens in the morning before I have had coffee.

10. Go upstairs and gently remind tell the girls in my outside voice that we must leave the house in 12 minutes and they need to really get a move on, while making a mental note to stop saying things like “get a move on”. I am really starting to sound like my mother, which I swore would never happen.

11. Go in my room and turn off Hairspray or High School Musical II or Return to Neverland or whatever other movie Cori has put in the DVD player to watch while “she is getting ready”. Remind Cori again that we must leave the house in what is now 11 minutes and so she really needs to go take off her pajamas and put on her school clothes. Trust me, if you were allowed to wear pajamas in elementary school every school picture I ever had would have featured Strawberry Shortcake or Rainbow Brite. Wait, who am I kidding, my favorite pajamas had Knight Rider on them. So did my lunch box.

12. Remind the girls to not forget any of the following items: shoes, socks, homework, hat, scarf, coat, bookbag, forms and surveys from the office I should have turned in a week ago.

13. Get in the car. Get back out of the car to go into the house to get shoes, socks, homework, hat, scarf, coat, bookbag, forms and surveys from the office that I should have turned in a week ago that at least one of the girls forgot. And if you are thinking — “it is the middle of January, surely her kids would not leave the house without their socks and shoes on,” you don’t know Cori.

When I got laid off at my old job my beautiful sidekick id with internet and email capability went with it. I was forced to choose a new cell phone and *gulp* start paying my own bill. Two of my close friends had recently gone with Cricket so I checked it out. Being that I would not have to sign a 18 year contract like most places, I was sold. I purchased the cheapest phone being that I am both poor and well, cheap. It has been a fine little phone. It doesn’t have cute little avatars that pop up when my friends call me or the ability to turn into a little keyboard or cool games like Ms. Pacman like my Sidekick id, but it has been okay.

 About two months or so ago I started to have issues with the battery on my phone. I would charge the phone at night while I was sleeping and then I would notice after only making one or two short phone calls, my battery would be surprisingly low. I purchased a car charger thinking this would help. Before long the battery would last for shorter and shorter amounts of time. And for those of you with the same phone you know you have very little time to prepare for your phone to cut off. One minute you are talking away and the next minute there is a beep and a message that pops up something like this…. you better say bye and hang up now or whoever you are talking to is going to get hung up on midsente…. and then it dies.

For a month I had to convince my boyfriend it was the phone’s fault and not my own. No really, I told him like a zillion times I was not hanging up on him for no good reason, I just did not have a charge. The phone continued to hang up on people in the most annoying of times. Once I held for my daughter’s doctor to come on the phone for 36 minutes. Guess what happened the minute he picked up and said hello? Yeah, that’s enough to make ya wanna throw it into oncoming traffic.

So one day after hanging up on my mother which, believe me, is never a good idea, I figured it was time to visit my local neighborhood Cricket store. After taking 3 minutes to figure out which door to go in I finally made my way into the teeny tiny store and explained my plight to the salesman, whom happened to look exactly like Drew Carey. He explained to me that I might need a new charger. So being the naive little guppy that I am, I bought one. That worked for all of two days.

Being the procrastinator busy mom that I am, it took me another two weeks to make it back to the Cricket store for further assistance. This trip is when the real fun began.

First let me give you a prelude with a little story of crazy Cricket man. He stands in front of the Cricket store and talks to himself and  the many other people that evidently live in his head. The really interesting thing is, if you listen closely he asks questions and then answers them while quite literally turning his whole body from side to side in order to assume the other “person’s” position. He is harmless unless of course you just try to be polite and Christianly and say hello to him at which point he will curse like the dickens and he may or may not lunge at you with stinky breath and even stinkier clothes.

So today crazy Cricket man was posted in front of the store and imagine my delight when I noticed he was actively drinking from a quite large wine bottle that he was trying to hide with a Kroger circular. Convinced I would either be bashed over the head with said wine bottle or have to wrestle my 6 year old away from him should he engage her in a  cursing match (she is not one to back down from a fight) I said a little prayer and exited the car. We all crammed our way into the Cricket store. Did I mention this place is teeny tiny? Drew Carey looked at me with a total look of annoyance and then proceeded to act like he had no memory of me when I started to explain to him why I was back.

After letting me go on for about 14 minutes about hanging up on my babysitter, boyfriend twice, daughter’s school, friend Jamie, and my mother all in the course of one day, he looked at me blankly and said “I can’t help you.”

I just stared at him. “Huh?”

“You have to go to a corporate store. There is one in Florence.”

“There is a Cricket store on every block.” I said. “Why do I have to go all the way to Florence?”

“Because our Customer Service sucks really bad and we like to make up for our cheap rate plans by making you travel all the way to Florence since gas is 400 dollars a gallon. And we know one of your kids is sick and you still have to go to the grocery store and the pharmacy and the dollar store and the post office today all before your volunteer job meeting tonight at 6PM, but we really don’t care. So yeah, you have to drive all the way to Florence.”

Okay so that isn’t really what he said but he might as well have.

We made our way to Florence where again I had to explain the whole sordid tale to a salesman that strangely enough looked just like the older guy from Scrubs. I was starting to get the creeps a little about the C-list celebrity look-alike salespeople at Cricket, when he explained to me that the calibrated technilico gobbity googlier in my battery seemed to have gone bad or something like that, sort of. Anyhoo, he was gonna replace my battery. Ah, success, I thought and it was almost totally painless, except for the part where I had to drive 15 miles out of my way even though I passed about 27 other Cricket stores on the way.

This battery lasted all of two days as well. To make a very long story short, I ended up with two more batteries in the coures of the next couple of weeks. Yesterday after receving a lovely voice message from my boyfriend, I decided it was time to stop being to passive and demand a new phone. The message went a little something like this: And being that my boyfriend is as big a smart alleck as I, this will not be exaggerated for dramatice effect.

“Mandy, you just hung up on me for the 32nd time this week with that piece of s**t phone of yours. Would ya please take your a** to the friggin Cricket store right this very minute and tell them if they do not replace that stupid cheapa** phone you will be accompanied on your next visit by your very tall, very black (he’s not, maybe more like caramel or like a latte sort of, ok off the subject) very mean and very fed up boyfriend whom has been known to snap a cell phone or two in half out of pure irritation (this part is true). And I don’t really care if the salesman looks like Drew Carey or Howie Mandel or friggin George W. Bush, make them replace your d*mn phone would ya? Please? Please? Ok I love you - call me when you get your new phone.”

Recognizing the “I really mean it this time” voice he was using, I decided to head again to the Cricket store, immediately. I didn’t have my kids with me so I decided to buck up and use my “I am really pissed this time” voice with the salesman. It was a female. Oooooh this was gonna be easy. And she didn’t even resemble a celebrity of any caliber so I was grateful there would be no distractions.

“Can I help you?” she said very sweetly. I took a deep breath.

“Yes as a matter of fact you can. You know I will try not to take this out on you but this is like my eleventh time to this stupid Cricket store 15 miles away from my house because this stupid phone keeps dying on me even though I charge it for an adequate amount of time. You know this is the third battery in this phone and it still is not working right. It is such an inconvenience to try to make an important phone call or even a silly phone call for that matter considering I pay the bill, and have it hang up on you right in the middle of the sentence. Then I have anxiety until I can get it charged thinking that the other person will think that I hung up on them. Twice this thing has died on me in the middle of a heated argument with my boyfriend at which time I have to store up all the clever things I was going to say to make him feel stupid for ever starting the argument in the first place. And so what I am trying to say is, I really am not leaving this store that is 15 miles away from my home until you replace my phone. I have only been with Cricket for 4 months and 2 of those months, my phone has not worked right. This is not a very good first impression of this company you know? Really, I don’t want another stupid battery for this stupid phone. I want a new phone with a brand new battery. Really.”

The saleswoman looked at me blankly and a little like she was ready to call 911 and then said meekly…..

“No problem m’am, your phone has a 1 year warranty. If you can hang on I will just go to the back and get you a new phone.”

Ok, so did she have to make me feel stupid and call me m’am?

Originally published on MSN Spaces on January 4, 2008

So this is my avatar. The one I made on Yahoo messenger. Remember the lovely little messenger I was telling you about that allows you to hide your messenger within email? Anyhoo, my sister and I have become addicted to instant messaging eachother which has been really cool because we can remember to tell eachother all the goofy and sweet and silly things our families do throughout the day. And oh yeah, I get to vent to someone about the ninkempoops I work with. My sister and I even make over eachother’s avatar’s. Geeks, I know. So this is the latest avatar I created. Because I am a football nut. And because it is wildcard weekend. My boyfriend and I will watch hours upon hours of football and eat copious amounts of junk food and hopefully, luckily, amazingly the Steelers will win the playoffs so that said boyfriend will not be in a foul mood for the next 5 months. To get to the actual point of this rambling - I made this avatar and my sister said “Your avatar really looks like you”. Its true I suppose. I do have brown hair and I do wear black framed glasses. And I have been known to rock a football jersey or two. I also tend to hold my arms like that for no reason. Okay I am kidding about that part but what I am not kidding about is… I would SO have that football field rug in my living room. I would …shamelessly. But still that is not the point of the post. The point is… I think my eerily similiar avatar is way cuter and way thinner. All the plus size options they offer for the avatars are kinda goofy and not anything that I would wear. So though I may have cute black glasses and brown hair and green eyes and hoop earrings…. I am not as thin as that dagon avatar! That is my disclaimer.