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My Daughter, The Drama Queen

I need to make a mental note to pick up a big bottle of Jack Daniels tomorrow.  Some Cuervo Black too.

So far I’ve spent a lot of time regaling you with some of my crazy dating stories.  I’ve introduced you to The Period One, The 36-Year-Old Virgin, The Bookstore Chick and my personal favorite, The Phone Sex Operator (P.S.O.).

I’ve briefly mentioned a few more people who play important parts in my life—there’s the Drama Queen (my 12-year-old daughter) and O.C.B. (A.K.A. Original Crazy B****, A.K.A. the Drama Queen’s mom) and The Kings Fan, who has been one of my closest friends since we met 15 years ago.  The Kings Fan came to the hospital when Drama Queen was born and he was there when she was a baby and we would play pickup hockey with her sleeping in her car seat in the penalty box.

This blog is advertised as “The world of dating and parenting from the perspective of a full-time single dad raising a 12-year-old daughter.  You will usually laugh, sometimes cry and often say, “What the hell was he thinking?” So far we’ve covered the dating, the laughing (sometimes laughing so hard that you cry) and we have more than covered “what the hell was he thinking.”  Now it’s time to get into some parenting…

Long story short, O.C.B. is bi-polar.  There’s not a joke in there anywhere.  She’s bi-polar.  Her doctor told me that there is always some event or circumstance in a bi-polar person’s life that brings out the sickness and for O.C.B. it was having The Drama Queen (D.Q.).  I held the family together as long as I could, but O.C.B. didn’t take her medicine and when D.Q. was five, it was time for mom to move out, thus ending an 11 year adventure.  Since then I have had full custody of her.  The judge gave mom monitored visitation, but she rarely went.  The bottom line is that in 7 years D.Q. has seen or talked to her mom no more than 20 times and even went through a 4-year stretch with absolutely no communication.

I know that I’m not the best dad in the world, but I do the best I can and I think that I do OK, all things considering.  I don’t have a sister, so I can’t look back on memories from my childhood and remember what my parents did in certain situations.  My mom is 2,566 miles away and can help via phone, but it’s not the same.  My goal is to maintain health insurance so that D.Q. can start seeing a really good therapist; one who can balance out all the mistakes that I make!

I’ve been told that the eye rolling and attitude are par for the course with a hormonal 12-year-old.  Oh yeah, I’ve also been told by P.S.O. that all signs indicate that she’s about to have a regular visitor.  Damn.

She needs to go and get a new type of underwear—one which I am happy to say I can take off a woman with one hand tied behind my back (or tied to the headboard), but a type of underwear which I have absolutely no clue how to buy for a 12-year-old.    I need to make a mental note to pick up a big bottle of Jack Daniels tomorrow.  Some Cuervo Black too.

What’s life like at my house?  Well, I’m making chili at this moment and it’s almost done.  I told her that I wanted it to simmer for another 20 minutes or so and then we would eat.  I took a small spoonful so that I could make sure it couldn’t use any more seasoning.  It needed a touch more garlic and some chili powder, so I put them in the pot and grabbed a spoon (not the one I just ate from) and prepared to mix them in.  At that moment the Drama Queen burst into the kitchen and asked if she could stir.  I told her that she could, but to be careful as I didn’t want to have to clean up a mess.  She looked at me and said with a completely straight face but more than a hint of eye roll,  “I think that I can stir chili without any parental consent.”    Oy vey!!!!

J.R.

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