Tuesday, December 18, 2012

This. Is. TODDLERDOM!!!!!!!

Warrior Baby

I’ve been having a tough time inside my head lately. Kiddo is now a year and a half old and in full-blown toddler mode. It seems that nothing I do is right. She doesn’t want to eat what I give her, when I give it to her. She doesn’t want to sleep when it’s time to sleep. When I come home from work, she breaks out into a big smile and yells, “Mama!” and leaps into my arms. She gives me a big hug and then a switch suddenly flips in her tiny brain. She pulls away with an angry look and hits me in the face. I don’t mean some little baby slap. This kid can hit. She then attempts to backflip out of my arms and thrashes around for a while, throwing an epic fit. Her head slowly rotates 180 degrees upon her neck to face backwards and a pea soup substance violently shoots from her mouth, coating the walls and floor. An unknown man’s voice erupts from deep inside of her, “THERE IS NO KIDDO, ONLY ZUUL.” Ok, a few of those things don’t actually happen, but they might as well.

So getting back to inside my head. I’ve been struggling with balancing what my head tells me to do and what my heart tells me to do as a parent. Or I suppose, what my instinct tells me. As a working single mom, I worry if she’s getting enough of my time. I have guilt. I was very lucky that I got to spend the first 13 months of her life with her full-time. And I’m sure that her new temper tantrums when I come home from work is a direct result of that not being the case anymore. She used to go to bed at 7 PM every night and wake up at 7 AM every morning (I know, I’m lucky). But that has been getting stretched out later and later as her protests become more and more explosive. I’ve given in, letting her lay in bed with me and watch yet another Mickey Mouse Clubhouse episode on my computer before bed. Which stretches in to two and sometimes three. I don’t want her to think that after spending the majority of the day away from her that I’m eager to put her in bed and be away from her even more. And when I do put her in her crib, her desperate screams of “Mama! Mama!” and then, “Mickey!” Mickey!” really hurt my heart.

I’ve relented and gone in to reassure her that I’m here, that I love her, but it’s bedtime now, and perhaps we can have a rational conversation about it? 18-month old to 34-year old? She listens, fingers folded and pressed to her lips, clutching her pink bunny. “Thank you for that succinct presentation, Mother. I want you to know that Bunny and I have carefully considered your presentation, but we are going to demand that you take us back downstairs so that we can run around aimlessly, chase the cat and bash our toy shopping cart into the walls. We are now going to work ourselves up into such a hysterical frenzy that we eventually gag ourselves over and over. Thank you for your time.”

Before I had a kid, I thought I knew how to parent. Of course I’d only be feeding her healthy, balanced food. Lots of fruits and vegetables, organic if possible. Cow’s milk would be replaced by almond milk or free-range mermaid tears, whichever one was in season. I would only speak Spanish with her so she would grow up completely bilingual. Discipline would be swift and fair but otherwise wouldn’t be too much of an issue since it would only take a couple times for my child to learn and forevermore behave.

HA HA HA HA HAHA HA HAH AH HAA!!! What an asshole I was. Am.

This child is not that child. This child is a warrior. This child narrows her eyes, pulls down her mask affixed to her Medieval spiked helmet and unsheathes her sword. This child licks her lips and spits on the ground, never breaking eye contact. “Hello, Mother,” she quietly growls through her binky. “Welcome to Hell.”

I recently was talking on the phone with a good friend of mine who also has a toddler and we discussed How We Thought It Would Be vs. How It Is. “I totally thought I’d only buy delightful, lead-free, hand-painted wooden toys from local businesses for him,” she said, “but, for instance, like right now as we speak, I’m watching him chew on an empty tomato can and I’m like, ‘Ugghh, I should stop him from doing that... but he seems happy and I’d really like to continue this rare phone conversation with my friend… meh, I’m sure the label glue isn’t poisonous.’”

Toddlerdom is definitely a fork in the road. There are many paths you can go from here, and there seems to be endless advice (often unsolicited) as to which path to take. Everyone ultimately needs to take the path that works best for them. And what works best for me is believing that no matter what I choose to do, it will be ok, as this fabulous read points out. People have been raising kids for zillions of years. I’d be willing to bet that as adults, you wouldn’t be able to tell who was raised by the Cry-It-Out method and who was raised via Attachment Parenting.

She will be fine. She will know that she is loved and taken care of even when she’s not always happy about it. One of my favorite parenting quotes is from Jim Henson. He said, “The attitude you have as a parent is what your kids will learn from more than what you tell them. They don’t remember what you try to teach them. They remember what you are.”

So I stop over-analyzing and questioning myself. I turn off my brain. I will go with my instinct on this one. This child needs lots of love and lots of structure.

I pull on my chainmail and slide on my chest plate. I raise my shield and lower my center of gravity, slowly advancing toward my child. “It’s time to go to bed, Kiddo,” I say softly. The lion roars. She strikes a clawed paw out toward my head; I duck. I carry her upstairs to her room; she thrashes and claws. I kiss her on the check; her eyes speak of murder.

“Good night, sweetie. I love you. See you tomorrow.”

“Mama! Mama! Mickey! Mickey!” she yells. “You may have won this time, Woman, but I promise this won’t be our last encounter upon the battle field!”

I know she is right.

In an hour, I’ll check on her to find her peacefully asleep, one arm thrown over Bunny. Tomorrow, we will play and tickle wrestle and laugh and read books. Come dusk, we will suit up again for battle. But for now, the beast has been slain. Mama is victorious. And on the right path.

Friday, December 14, 2012

FUCK. GUNS.

Fuck guns. Fuck people who want to own guns. All of them. It’s in the Constitution, you say? Times have changed. The Forefathers did not envision this. Change the Amendment.

You want to carry a weapon for your personal safety? Because criminals are out there and will get their hands on guns anyway? Bullshit. Too many people who wouldn’t be able to get their guns out and loaded in time anyway. Too many accidents with guns in the home. Too many kids getting their hands on them. Too many easy suicides.

But owning guns is a part of your “culture?” Then that culture needs to change. Evolve. Some countries have a long, treasured history of cutting the clitorises off of baby girls for some long, treasured bullshit cultural reasons. THAT IS WRONG. I don’t care about your culture. I don’t care about your religion. I don’t care about your rights. It’s WRONG. 

But you enjoy hunting? Killing animals for fun should not be a hobby. It is sick. But you only shoot at targets? Shooting for fun? FIND A NEW HOBBY. There are many of them. Your right to do things you like to do for "fun" does not trump the safety and well-being of your community.

But “guns don’t kill people, people kill people?” A fork can just as easily be used as a weapon, too. That’s asinine. Forks were designed for a different purpose. A gun has no other main purpose than to injure or kill.

Well why should I, a responsible gun-owner, be punished because some idiots can’t use guns in the correct way? First, there is no “correct” way, unless you are in the military and you are in WAR. Any other way is stupid and needless and selfish and wrong. Second, too bad. Fuck you. Your own selfish desire to own and use a gun for your stupid rationalized purposes are bullshit.

Taking away guns from everyone won’t completely solve the problem? Too bad. Fuck you. It’s a start. Whine and bitch all you want for your backwards, idiotic, selfish reasons. 

Don’t agree? Fuck you. This has gone too far.

Schools have now incorporated “School Lockdown Drills” alongside the typical “Tornado Drill.” THIS IS NOT SOMETHING THAT SHOULD BE NORMAL.

Fuck this. Fuck guns. Fuck gun owners. Take them away from everyone. Take them away.

Tuesday, December 11, 2012

Hotel Fantasy Part 2: The Revenge of the Hotel Fantasy.

NOtel

 After I finished my cheesecake and brownie thing I didn’t have much else to do. It was time to relax. At last. Alone. No one to bother me. Just what I’ve been dreaming about. So now I can relax. Ready? Here I go! I’m going to relax now. Don't try to stop me! Ready? I’m... relaxing! Look at me. Don’t I look relaxed? Laying here all… relaxed. Ok this isn’t working.

Maybe I need a countdown. Yeah, that makes sense.

On the count of three. One, two, three, GO! RELAX!

...

Ok. This is good.
 
I’m ok. I’m. Fine.

Um.

I wonder what’s going on on Facebook? Where’s my phone?

OH HA HA HA, that’s a funny photo!

Aw, Dan put his grandma’s little Christmas tree up in his house, that’s so nice!

I wonder how old Nelly Furtado’s daughter Nevis is now? Let me google it. Eleven?! She’s 11-years old? That’s crazy! It seems like yesterday that Nelly Furtado was pregnant! Wait, who is she married to now? Let me google that.

I turned on the TV. Inception was just starting. I’d seen it twice before but there was nothing else on.
I began to feel uncomfortable. Which is the opposite of what I was shooting for this evening. I was alone, just like I wanted. And I didn’t really like it.

I’ve never been very good at being alone. I’ve never gone to a movie alone. I’ve only gone to dinner alone a couple times. Both times were work-related and both times I ended up talking to other people there. “Excuse me, what is that you’re eating? It looks really good and I’m trying to decide. Oh, really? OH HA HA HA THAT’S FUNNY! Why don’t I just join you OH GOD PLEASE BE MY FRIEND, I AM SO ALONE.” Ok, it wasn’t that bad, but it felt like it for a few minutes. I had that same feeling, watching Inception for the third time. What was my problem?? Kiddo is sleeping and fine. I’d be doing the same thing if I were home. Lying around watching TV. So what’s the big deal?

I couldn’t relax. I went to the window and looked out to the building across from me. From the 37th floor I could see into quite a few windows. A couple sat on their couch and watched TV. In another window, four men and two women sat around a table playing what looked like cards. I watched them for a while until I noticed something moving on the floor a few feet away. It was a baby, happily sitting on a blanket, playing with some toys around him. Jamming one of them in his mouth. I stared. Eventually one of the women got up to check on him, kiss his head, then go back to the table and the game. In yet another window, what looked like a young Indian couple sat at their kitchen table while an older woman in a sari opened the refrigerator and took bowls out. Was this the wife’s mother? How did the guy feel about his mother-in-law visiting? Or did she live with them? Or was she his mother? Was his wife cool with this? I’d be irritated. Or would I? Maybe I’d be ok with it if she was nice. Or maybe they’re siblings visiting their parents? Because their dad was some super rich business owner, always traveling? Maybe they were worried about her being so alone all these years, what with the kids now grown and gone, still unmarried, still childless. What a disappointment they had turned out to be. Worse than the man she had married, so many years ago. What with the constant traveling. The affairs. Oh, she knew about the affairs. She never let on that she knew, but that didn't mean she was ignorant. Dignified, she preferred. A single tear traced its way down her cheek; she wiped it quickly before her son and his wife could notice and served the gajar halwa to help erase some of the bitterness she felt inside.

Woah. That was intense. Even my fantasies need a Xanax.

I stood at the window watching others for a very long time. I wondered about everyone, what their stories were. Inventing stories for them. It made me forget that I was alone in a hotel room while my Kiddo slept an hour away. While everyone else was somewhere else. I felt sad. This is stupid, I thought. I can be alone for one night! What is wrong with me? And then I began to feel guilty for not being able to be alone. Guilty and stupid and unrelaxed.

Jesus, get a grip. I laid back down in the bed and took a deep breath, a deep sip of my Old Fashioned and tried to relax.

Tried. To relax.

I was up until 1:30 AM. I am never up until 1:30 AM. The movie ended and the new Facebook posts slowed and finally stopped and I needed to sleep. I turned off the lights and tossed and turned for a bit. At some point, I must have slept.

The next thing I knew I opened my eyes and shot up straight in the bed. What time was it?? 7:03 AM? I slept until 7:03 AM?? That was late for me, but luckily not too late. I had told my parents I would be home in the morning to be with Kiddo so they could do their Sunday Things. I had a very yucky feeling inside that I can’t quite explain? Guilt? Not really. Unsettled? Maybe. I know one thing; I definitely did not feel well-rested. I took a shower and got dressed in a rush.

I noticed the bill slipped under the door. $9 for each dessert, $15 for the Bourbon Old Fashioned, $4 delivery charge, $3.66 tax and $6.60 for 20% included gratuity. All together, $47.26 for two desserts and a drink. Woah. I’m all for Treat Yo’ Self, but I could have gotten a pretty good dinner with my fancy dinner club friends for $47.26. Overnight hotel parking came to $58.00. Priceline cost of the room was $100, a deal. So the grand total for the night (about 8:30 PM – 8:30 AM) was $205.26.
Was it worth it?

No, I decided. It was not worth it. I could have bought some new clothes and earrings at Target, met a friend out for dinner, filled my car up with gas and bought a whole bottle of bourbon to make myself a drink and take a bubble bath at home for that price.

When I am home and Kiddo goes to bed, I enjoy my free time immensely. I enjoy my bubble bath, I enjoy my one beer of the night; my bowl of ice cream is eaten slowly and savored. Here, having a whole night to myself, perhaps there was too much pressure put on relaxing. It wasn’t natural.
Would it have been worth it if I had brought a friend? If my friend had come with me and we got to lie in bed together and catch up? Talk about our kiddos and our jobs and venting and laughing? Yes. That would have been worth it. So the issue wasn’t the money per se, it was the being alone. It’s just not in my nature.

Next time, if there is a next time, I’ll bring a friend. Or maybe I'll just stay home, take a bubble bath, drink a Chocolate Boch and watch some DVRed Real Housewives of Atlanta.

Tuesday, December 4, 2012

Hotel Fantasy.

I used to have fantasies of three large men bursting into my house and throwing a sack over me and carrying me out to the back of their car. "Where, oh where, are you taking me?" I'd protest, but only in that 1950's movie actress feigned fear sort of way. They would drive me to a hotel and carry me up to a dark room where they would throw me down on the bed, rip the phone from the wall, lock to door behind them and say "No use calling calling for help, see? No one can find you, princess, and we're not going to let you go until the morning." I'd prop myself up on my elbows, one leg bent, exposed from 'neath the high slit of my long silk gown and say, "Oh no, whatever shall I do?" Then they'd have their way with me, all the time me half-ass protesting, "No... don't... stop... A little to the left."

These days, I have exactly the same fantasy, except now the men throw me down on the bed, rip the phone from the wall, lock the door in front of them and say, "No use calling for help, princess. We've taken away your iPhone 5 and your parents, your toddler and your boss can't find you. We're going away now and locking you in this dark quiet room and we're not going to let you go until the morning. We'll send room service up. Order whatever you want." I prop myself up on my elbows before collapsing again into the king-sized bed, washed and made by someone other than me, a single tear runs down my cheek. "Thank you," softly escapes my lips, "For the love of all that is good in this world, thank you."

I've been living back home with my parents for eight months and things have been great. We all get along well. I love my job. I'm occasionally get out and socialize while my parents watch Kiddo. It's really an ideal situation, in many ways. But I also get up at 5 AM every day and usually don't sit down again until after 8 PM, not counting driving an hour to and from work. People say, "Oh you must hate that long commute," to which I reply, "Not at all, it's the only time I'm ever alone." Just me and the radio and my Waze. (See? Even then I'm never really alone.)

I'm not someone who needs a lot of alone time. But lately I've been craving it more than usual. More that the aloneness itself, I've been craving something I couldn't quite put my finger on. And then I got a call from my best friend from Austin, TX saying he was in town on business and staying at a hotel in the Loop. "You've got to come over," he said, "This executive suite they put me in is ridiculous. There are two-levels."

I went over and as he opened the door to his suite, I knew instantly what it was that I was craving. Fantasy itself. The play-pretend of possibility. He poured us some wine and we sat on the couch in the living room. We heard thunder. We pulled two armchairs up to the 20-foot window that overlooked the Chicago River, the city rising around us. We sipped our drinks and watched lightning hit the Sears Tower (I refuse to call it Willis, whatchu talking about??) and the rain come down over the fleeing Lollapaloozaers. In that moment, we weren't us. We were hired assassins, having a drink after going over our plan for the next day. We were feuding cousin heirs to our family fortune, resigned to our loneliness and the bitter entrapment of our Grandfather's estate; a blessing and a curse, that bastard! We could have been anyone.

I booked a room. Not a suite, mind you. Just a basic room. But it was enough.

I told my mother that what I had done and that I was going to put Kiddo to bed then head downtown for the night. I'd be back in the early morning. She stared at me.

"You're going... by yourself?" The tone of her voice told me she did not believe that I was going by myself.

"Yes." I said. I knew what she was thinking. "I wish I could say I was really going to meet a secret lover. But I don't have a secret lover."

Her look said she didn't believe me.

"Why would you do that, then?"

"What? Go to a hotel by myself? I don't know. To be alone. To relax. To be fancy. It's like a mini-mini vacation. By myself."

"Ok, whatever" She was clearly annoyed. "I just don't... get it."

I didn't try to explain. I packed my bag, tucked Kiddo in and hopped in my car.

Oh man. I am writing this from the king-sized bed in the Fairmont Hotel. The same one Obama stayed at on election night. This is my room:

photo-3

I’m on the 37th floor and my view is pretty awesome. You can totally see into people's condos, which I love because I'm a total creep.

photo-2


I took a bath and Family Guy is on.

photo-1


I texted my Mom.

photo

My Bourbon Old Fashioned and Hot Fudge Brownie Sundae AND White Chocolate and Vanilla Bean Cheesecake just arrived. Yes, both. I'm sorry, what? I can't hear you judging over the sound of my eating.
photo

This was a really, really good idea.

Or... was it?

(to be continued?)

Wednesday, November 14, 2012

How To Get Out.


You tell yourself it's just a bad day. A bad week. A rough patch. You make excuses. He has a lot going on. He's stressed. He's taking it out on me, but I can take it. You rationalize. He had a bad childhood. You'll prove to him that not everyone leaves. What real love is. You tell yourself that you're a tough cookie. You're smart. Smarter than others, maybe. You of all people can make this work.

It doesn't get better. You find yourself avoiding family and friends so you don't have to lie. So you don't have to become That Woman. So you don't have to say That Word. If The Word is never spoken, by you or anyone else, then maybe it won't be true. You can still have a handle on it. Have some sort of control of the situation.

People will think you are a victim. And have all of the stigmatic characteristics that come with that word. People will not understand why you stayed. What they don't understand is that it's not about you having low-self esteem or believing that you somehow deserve this. It's not about believing that you are worthless or that you can't do any better. It's about the complexities of love. It's about the in good times and in bad. It's about loyalty and working through things. It's about believing that this is something that can be worked through. It's not about being weak. It's about trying to be strong. It's about wanting to help someone who is sick. It's about believing that you can fix it. That everything will be ok. What people don't understand is that it is about hope.

It gets worse. The screaming. The name-calling. The tearing-down, piece by piece. The avoiding everyone. The isolation. The weight loss. The reading of your emails, the taking away of your phone. The threats. The gun to the dog's head. The waking up every single morning with a pit in your stomach, not knowing if it will be an Alright Day or a Very, Very Bad Day.

I will not let my child grow up in this. I will not let my child grow up in this. I will slit his throat in his sleep so that my child will not grow up in this.

And then you realize that it is time.

Here's how you get out.

You tell yourself you don't have to live like this anymore and you believe it.

Listen to me.

You tell yourself you don't have to live like this anymore. And you believe it.

You go to the police. You tell them the truth. All of it.
You call one person. You tell them the truth. All of it.
You get an emergency restraining order.
You let people help you. You let go of the burden of hiding this. Of managing it alone.
You put one foot in front of the other and go from there. One hour at a time. One day at a time.

And then one day, you are out. The worst is over. There may be memories, there may be flashbacks, there may be a particular song or smell that triggers a bad feeling. But it is behind you.
You begin to rebuild. And it becomes your past, not your present. Not your future.

This is how you get out.

If you are thinking that maybe you should get out, you can. You can do it. Tell someone. Tell one person. Anyone. Today. Right now. Do it.

It is so much better on this side of the fence.

Tuesday, November 6, 2012

It's Election Day.


It's Election Day! Thank goodness it's finally here for the following reasons:


1) The tension is killing me.
2) These robo-calls are killing me.
3) Everyone everywhere is freaking out and this atmosphere is so caustic and divisive that our national wounds will never be able to heal like this.

I have always been an avid follower of politics. I remembered closely following the 2004 US Senate race in Illinois, when my friend's U of C professor was running against Jack Ryan, and then when a scandal knocked him out, batshit crazy Alan Keyes. I paid less attention to the Obama guy and more to Keyes who was busy talking about dinosaurs and man walking the earth together back in 1492 or something. Now THAT was a fun campaign to follow.

Four years later, I followed the 2008 campaign and like many people broken and bruised by W. Bush's post 9-11 world, was swept up in Obamamania. Hope and Change! And living in Chicago, I was at the epicenter of it all. I went to the election night victory rally in Grant Park on November 4th along with thousands of others. My Mom was sad that Celine Dion cancelled her concert in Chicago to which she had tickets that night, but understood it was probably for the best. I remember the warnings of potential havoc and the hundreds of police dressed in riot gear. But there was nothing but happiness and, as corny as it sounds, peace. Pure joy. Everyone was hugging everyone, black, white, Northsiders, Southsiders, young and old. Even the police officers in riot gear were smiling. It was like nothing I've ever experienced. It was a moment in time; it was something you read about in history books and I took a mental photo that will last the rest of my life. We wanted to harness that feeling and infect the nation with it, move mountains, heal the world.

But of course, feelings don't last.

During this time, I moved to downstate Illinois for two years. The culture was starkly different from Chicago. I learned just how much people there feel alienated and marginalized. Most of the rest of Illinois hates Chicago. So much so that they root for St. Louis sports teams over Chicago sports teams, feeling more akin to Missouri. Many wished that Chicago would "secede" and become it's own state. Now it's easy to say in our smug Chicago fashion, "Oh those John Deere-riding, Republican hicks down there, with their Southern accents clinging to their guns and religion. They don't know what their talking about." But I learned a lot from my time downstate. They have some very legitimate points. If people feel marginalized enough, they're going to react. This is how movements like the Tea Party are born. And by brushing "Them" off as something "Other" than "Us" only adds to this great divide which we find ourselves in today as a country.

The past four years have been rough. The economy is slow to recover and the two-party system has radically factioned into Tea Partiers and Occupy Movements, right-wing religious nuts and extreme left liberal douches. The middle ground is disappearing, you're either on Team Red or Team Blue. And if you are on one, you vehemently hate the other. Unfortunately, despite what Obama said in his 2004 keynote speech, there IS a liberal America and a conservative America, NOT a United States of America.

One day I woke up and I couldn't listen to NPR like usual. I listened to The Eric and Kathy Show instead. I went home and couldn't turn on the news. I watched The Real Housewives of New Jersey instead. I couldn't read a magazine or any of the blogs I regularly followed. I couldn't even watch The Daily Show or Colbert. Something froze up in me. There was too much game-playing, too much spin, too much political cock-blocking, too much venom, too many jokes. Politics now come before Solutions. Politics as Sport. Politics as Entertainment. THIS IS OUR COUNTRY WE ARE TALKING ABOUT. THIS IS ABOUT PEOPLE'S LIVES. I just couldn't take it anymore. I turned it all off.

For about a year I was shut off. I've slowly started to turn on the radio again. I have always tuned in to it all, CNN and Fox News and NPR and all the rest. To watch the debates and even join in on the Facebook live commenting fun. I am still upset by it all. But I've realized something else.

It's all going to be ok.

The explosion of Us vs. Them sentiments that permeates our nation, pouring out on TV and in our Facebook, dividing friends and family, has made me worry about our future. But then I think of how left--leaners thought the world would end if Bush was re-elected, and it didn't. And now right-leaner are feeling the same if Obama is re-elected, while left-leaners are panicking of the outcome if he isn't. Just like people worried if FDR could "fix" the economy and lead them out of The Depression. And then the war. Remember the great financial panic of 1819? Me neither, but we survived it. By no means am I downplaying the suffering that is going on today, or the unique set of issues we face as a nation. These are difficult times. But they are times, which is what history is made of. A collection of ups and downs that attempt to bring us together and tear us asunder. Whatever the outcome tonight, as we all stay up late to watch, we'll survive. Whatever the ebb and flow of the political or social tide, we will all be ok. Everything is going to be alright. It will.

That being said, now come on, Obama, and beat the ever-loving piss out of that smug, out-of-touch, robotic motherfucker.

Monday, October 15, 2012

The Bank, or, Mrs. Rebecca Pauslson Will Not Be Happy About This


Why Silent !!!

Dear Jill,
  
How are you my dear, it's been a while i heard from you,hope you are alright...well i just mail to know if you are still with me in accomplish my mission because it's been a while i heard from you and i will want to know if you have sent an email to the bank because i do receive an email from them and they do tell me that they've not heard from you.I will appreciate your response to my email.
God bless you

Regards,
Mrs Rebecca Paulson
----------------------------------------

RE: Why Silent !!! 
Hello Mrs. Paulson!

I am so glad to hear from you! I have been worrying that I may never hear from you again! How are you feeling? Are you still in hospital or have you been able to move home to convalesce with your children and your nurse?

I am sorry that I haven't written the bank sooner. I was busy having a few abortions. Pesky abortions! But that is all taken care of now and I have emailed the bank this very morning. I will wait for there reply.

Please let me know how you are doing.

Love,
Jill
----------------------------------------------
Re: Re: Why Silent !!!

Hello Jill,
  Greetings to you in the name of the Lord my dearest one,how are you and the entire people around you....I'm very happy to read your mail that you have already contacted the bank and i will want you to response to them as soon as they get in touch with you.
 I will anxiously be waiting to read your mail.
God bless you

Regards,
Mrs Rebecca Paulson
---------------------------------------------

A Friend of Mrs. Rebecca Paulson

Hello,

I am looking for Dr. Reginald Ihejiahi who is the Director of Fidelity Bank. I was told to contact him by Mrs. Rebecca Paulson in order to help obtain her money so that she may give alms. She is currently very ill and covered in tubes and wires and therefore cannot contact you herself. Though she can contact me... which is strange. But I think we may have a special bond, not unlike E.T. and Elliot. Have you ever seen the movie E.T.? It's about a little boy who discovers an alien hiding in his backyard shed. He rolls a ball into this shed and E.T. the Extra Terrestrial rolls it back, and Elliot is all wtf lol? And then he lures him into his house by leaving a trail of Reese's Pieces candies (Do you know what those are? They are delicious.) to his bedroom. Then he and Eliot become best friends and his little sister Gert teaches him to talk, but then the FBI discovers him and turns their house into a big plastic-wrapped science center, and E.T. and Elliot both are real sick, but Elliot gets better while E.T. gets worse, and Elliot is all, "E.T., stay with me, please!" and E.T. is all "Stay, Elliott, stay, stay, stay." and they separate and E.T. dies, but not really. Oh my god it is SO sad. But really, really good. I don't want to ruin the ending for you if you haven't seen it  yet. Anyway, I'm not saying me and Rebecca Paulson are like THAT, but I do empathize with her and want to help her if possible.

So, what do I have to do to help her?

Also, I think that it's really great that as a major financial firm you have a yahoo AND a gmail account. That really makes me feel like I can trust you. You're not uppity, like those other banks what with their professional bank account names and email addresses. Maybe one day we can chat.

Thank you,
Jill 
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ATTENTION: THE BENEFICIARY: JILL XXXX
FIDELITY BANK NIGERIA PIC
WE KEEP OUR WORD


No 2,Kofo Abayomi Street,

Vitoria Island, Lagos.


From The Desk Of Mr. Reginald Ihejiahi
Managing Director Fidelity Bank Plc
Direct line: +234-708-029-XXXX

ATTENTION: JILL XXXX,

  We acknowledge the receipt of your message Dated 1ST OCTOBER 2012 concerning Mrs Rebecca Paulson funds and we are very sorry for her about her condition and we also glad to read from you and finally have someone coming out as a next of kin to Mrs.. Rebecca Paulson. Be informed that we are also careful concerning you contacting us, and claiming a fund that is huge.

  So we will go ahead and do everything we have to officially and have the confirmation letter sent to you and your response will be needed as soon as possible and have funds released to you as requested.

  Be informed that Mrs. Rebecca Paulson worked and transacted with us for so many years and you will need to present us with the information below so that we will have your information in our company central database system.

1)NAME..............
2)AGE.................
3)SEX.................
4)OCCUPATION.......
5)PHONE NUMBER...
6)RESIDENTIAL ADDRESS.....
7)MEANS OF I D e.g Copy of driver's license or international passport............
8)Scan Copy of Certificate of deposit.........

 We will get back to you as regards to the release of the funds to you as the new beneficiary owner of it and next of kin to Mrs Rebecca Paulson.

We are anticipating your honorable response.

Thanks for your understanding.


REGARDS

 

FROM: Mr. Reginald Ihejiahi
MANAGING DIRECTOR:
FIDELITY BANK PLC.

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Re: ATTENTION: THE BENEFICIARY: JILL XXXX

What up, Director Ihejiahi,

Just wanted to clarify that I'm not the next of kin of Mrs. Paulson. I'm just a complete stranger she randomly contacted via the internet and wants to give me control of all of her money. She wants me to give it to charity. I want you to know that I am planning on tricking her and keeping all of this money. I am going to spend it on superficial things only for myself, like expensive shoes, jewelry, bras, and jewel-encrusted shoes and bras. Don't tell her, ok?

Is this still ok?

Love,
Jill

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Re: Re: ATTENTION: THE BENEFICIARY: JILL XXXX


FIDELITY BANK NIGERIA PIC
WE KEEP OUR WORD


No 2,Kofo Abayomi Street,

Vitoria Island, Lagos.


From The Desk Of Mr. Reginald Ihejiahi
Managing Director Fidelity Bank Plc
Direct line: +234-708-029-XXXX

ATTENTION: JILL XXXX,

  We acknowledge the receipt of your message Dated 8TH OCTOBER 2012 concerning Mrs Rebecca Paulson funds.As you stated in your mail does not really matters to me since she was the one who directed you to us and we will go ahead and do everything we have to officially and have the confirmation letter sent to you and your response will be needed as soon as possible and have funds released to you as requested.

 You will need to present us with the information below so that we will have your information in our company central database system.

1)NAME..............
2)AGE.................
3)SEX.................
4)OCCUPATION.......
5)PHONE NUMBER...
6)RESIDENTIAL ADDRESS.....
7)MEANS OF I D e.g Copy of driver's license or international passport............
8)Scan Copy of Certificate of deposit.........

 We will get back to you as regards to the release of the funds to you as the new owner of it.

We are anticipating your honorable response.

Thanks for your understanding.


REGARDS


FROM: Mr. Reginald Ihejiahi
MANAGING DIRECTOR:
FIDELITY BANK PLC.
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Re: Re: Re: ATTENTION: THE BENEFICIARY: JILL XXXX


Dear Director Ihejiahi,

Thank you for your email. I am very glad that you don't care at all about the well-being of your clients. You Nigerian banks sound a lot like our US banks! See? We really are just One International Family. :) :) How did Mrs. Rebecca Paulson of England come to bank with the Fidelity Bank of Nigeria, anyway? Oh wait, who cares! Right?! Ha ha, that was a good one.

Here is my information:

Name: Jill
Age: Old enough to know better, young enough not to care! Ha ha, that's just a little joke to brighten your day. 29
Sex: Yes, please! Just kidding, that's another joke. Female.
Occupation: Steelworker
Phone number: 588-3200 (EMPIRE)
Address: 702 Southwest 8th Street, Bentonville, AR 72712  

(*Walmart's corporate headquarters)
Copy of Driver's License: Please see attached copy
Copy of Certificate of Deposit: Please see attached copy

Love,
Jill


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CONFIRMATION !!! FUND RELEASE NOTIFICATION: 5 MILLION US DOLLARS


FIDELITY BANK NIGERIA PIC


WE KEEP OUR WORD


No 2,Kofo Abayomi Street,

Vitoria Island, Lagos.

From The Desk Of Mr. Reginald Ihejiahi

Managing Director Fidelity Bank Plc

Direct line: +234-708-029-XXXX



ATTN : JILL XXXX,


   We acknowledge the receipt of letter dated 11th of  October 2012 and it is well noted and understood. We will like to Congratulate you and let you know that the required transfer code for the funds has been released by our affiliated bank in your name and we have verified your payment file as directed to us and your name is next on the list of our outstanding fund beneficiaries to receive their payment and we made full confirmation of it and it is complete and  It is our modest obligation to write you this letter as regards the authorization of your payment through our most respected financial institution FIDELITY BANK PLC (WE KEEP OUR WORDS).

We will like to let you know that the account is dormant which you will need to Re-activate it before any transaction can be done on it.

 Take note that the funds is now laying down in our Bank and we have been instructed by the World Governing Bodies together with the Committee on International Debt and the Board of Foreign Security, Inheritance and Contract Review Panel to release your due funds with immediate effect with this exclusive Vide Transaction No.: WHA/EUR/202 and .Transfer Allocation No.:FBN/X44/701LN/WGB/GB, Password: 339331, Pin Code: 78569Certificate of Merit No: 104, Release Code No: 0876; Immediate Fidelity Bank Telex Confirmation No: -222568; Secret Code: XXTN014.

  Having received these vital payment numbers, you are instantly qualified to receive and confirm your payment with the designated bank immediately within the next 72 hours after your payment must have been received.

 We are expecting you to carry on with the transaction for us to make the payment to your designated bank as soon as possible.

The final step of having the funds delivered to you is by activating the dormant account and give us the full details of the bank which the money will be transferred.

 For the activation of the account you will be needing to pay for the following as soon as possible, so that  the account can be re-activated and the funds can be transferred to you within the 72 hours prior to when your payment is received.



ACCOUNT ACTIVATION FEE****340

INSURANCE FEE************$365

TOTAL COST***************$705(US dollar)

  
  You are hereby advised to make the payment of the fee  to our company secretary via western union OR money gram without further delay and the account will be activated and the money will be transferred to your designated bank within the next 72 Banking Hours.

Receiver's information is stated bellow.

NAME..................... BABATUNDE MICHAEL

CITY/COUNTRY.............LAGOS NIGERIA

ZIP CODE.................01234

QUESTION.................COLOR OF CAR

ANSWER...................BLUE


You will present us with all the information you use in sending, including the MTCN number and give us the full details of your bank as stated below and transaction will be completed.

1) YOUR BANK NAME AND ADDRESS:

2) YOUR ACCOUNT NAME:

3) YOUR ACCOUNT NUMBER:

4) YOUR ROUTING/ABA NUMBER:

5) YOUR BANK'S IBAN/SWIFT CODE:

As soon as we receive the above mentioned information, your payment will be processed and released to you without any further delay.

 Be also informed that you are not allowed to correspond with any other person(s) or office any longer so as to avoid conflict of information, you are required to provide the above information for your transfer to take place through Bank to Bank Remittance directly from Fidelity Bank (WE KEEP OUR WORD).

Your prompt response to the above directive is highly imperative.

FROM: Mr. Reginald Ihejiahi

MANAGING DIRECTOR:

FIDELITY BANK PLC.


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Re: CONFIRMATION !!! FUND RELEASE NOTIFICATION: 5 MILLION US DOLLARS 


Dear Fake Nigerian E-mail Scam Artists,

Can you clarify if you would like $705 is in USD or British Pounds or Nigerian Nairas? 

Actually, nevermind. Because I'm not giving you shit, you worthless pieces of shits. Dude, I sent you a photo of Old Dirty Bastard's "Return to the 36 Chambers" album cover as my photo identification. Do you know who Old Dirty Bastard was? He was a mediocre but charismatic member of The Wu-Tang Clan! He went on to moderate success as a solo artist only to succumb to an unnecessarily tragic death in 2004! He is dead! That's not really me in the driver's license photo! It's a dead rapper! Do you give so little a fuck that you can't even address this? At the very least, the button-pushing diarrhea squirt of a fucktard who is in charge or responding to these emails could have realized that this isn't going to go anywhere with this particular would-be victim and not respond at all. At the very least, you're little endeavor could be more efficient. I HATE INEFFICIENCY. And you use too many exclamation points.

If Mrs. Rebecca Paulson ever found out that you guys are complete scam artists, it would break her weak little British heart.

I hope you all get major infectious Nigerian diseases and die slow deaths. 

Fuck off forever,
Jill