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Just Don’t Call Me Fat.

September 26, 2009

Did I ever tell you the one about when I was on probation for assault?

I know. Your mouth is agape right now and you’re thinking, Grace, assault? It just doesn’t go together. Grace keeps her cool, especially under pressure. Who could’ve pissed her off to the point of assault?

But, if you’ve been a long time reader you’re going, “Yep! I knew she had a criminal record.”

Only one person on this planet could drive me to assault and then get assaulted and then tattle on me – my baby daddy. Yep, the one that flops his dick against the door frame. You’d think if he can handle doing that to himself there’d be nothing I could do to harm him.

Ex lives in Oklahoma (there’s a little hint about why I hate Oklahoma). He’s the President of The White Trash, Oklahoma Division. He lives on 80 acres with his brother and his wife, with their 4 children, and his parents. Ex lived in a trailer on the land with New Wife for years. Every car they owned was bought at an auction. And every car had red interior. And most had no headliner. And most had bondo as a body color. The mom actually handmade a windchime from a coat hanger and old cans of corn – CRAFTY!

He spent 18 months not contacting me or my son and not paying child support. In fact, he wasn’t even on the radar. Then shows up with New Wife, a lawyer, and a hard intent to see his kid.

After several times in front of a judge he finally was awarded visitation. So, ding-dong goes my doorbell, and there he stands with his wife standing behind him with a video camera. Which pissed me off immediately. Because What. The. Fuck. Right?

I step out onto the front porch and close the front door. Tell him that I wanted the camera removed. This is when he starts flailing about like a fish out of water, yelling, “This is public access! This is public access!” And I’m all like, “Dude. Chill out. My front porch is so the opposite of public access.” This is when his head starts spinning and smoke literally starts pouring out of his ears like Elmer Fudd. I try calmly to instruct his wife to get her ass back in the car and I’ll let my son out when he’s not making such a spectacle of himself.

And when you tell someone with smoke coming out of their ears to stop making a spectacle of themselves, well, it doesn’t go over well. In fact, it made this little, short man come toe to toe with me. Literally. His front shoe was touching my shoe and he got about a quarter inch away from my nose and informed me I was nothing but a whore.

Which, on a sidenote I would like to debate because I’m the furthest thing from a whore, and he should know this because he was flat broke and I never asked him to pay me for sex.

But you can’t reason with someone that is that wound up.

So, with his hot breath blowing my bangs backwards I said, jovially, “Would you like for me to open the door so you can bang your dick against my door frame as your war cry?” Then I snorted and giggled.

This is when he stuck his finger in my face and almost poked my eye out. He said nothing audible. It sounded something like I would imagine a heart attack would sound like.

And then he called me fat!

And the gloves were off. Something from the depths of my inner being. Something from the very tips of my toenails created this large, fitful wad of spit to fly out of my mouth and spatter all over his face! At the same time my brain was saying to my mouth, “What the fuck did you do that for? Now RUN!” And, I walked quickly back into the house. As he turned to his wife, now sitting in the car with the camera and yells, “You got the zoom on that?” And I immediately wished I had a copy. Because how cool would that be to put on Youtube today!!

Then the cops show up. He presses charges for assault. And I was on probation. I had to stand before a judge and promise to not spit on anyone for the next 90 days. And I kinda figured I could agree to that since I had spent my entire life never spitting on anyone before.

After about 6 months of visiting B and paying child support he drifted off the radar again. I was in Belize with my family and my cell phone rang. It was his now EX wife on the other end. She informed me that he had buried himself in the house and was in the midst of a shootout with the local police. And I was all like, “Did you spit on him?” And she was all, “No! He just went crazy!” And I was all, “Bitch, he was crazy before!” And she was all, “What should I do?” And I was, “He’s not my problem! And I’m on vaca!”

And I haven’t spit on anyone since.

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