Stop With The Ticking…A Woman’s Biological Nightmare

Seems like a bunch of people I know are having babies.  They are insanely happy with talking about the sex and decorating and preparing and diaper genies.  I am so NOT even remotely involved in caring about this subject only because…babies freak me out.  There.  I’ve said it.  And it’s not like I’m going to go ballistic everytime I hear about the miracle of childbirth or anything, but I just can’t understand why a woman would want to spit out a brat that will eventually cite them for every little thing they’ve done wrong since the day of their birth.  I also don’t get the cozy, fuzzy, warm feeling that women gush about…women with kids.  It’s almost like a club that a single woman in her thirties must belong to lest she be considered a spinster for the rest of her life.  You know: the annoying side-glances that the married-with-children give singles as though you are just some sort of sad pathetic loser who hasn’t yet come to know the greatness of the GIFT OF LIFE.  I personally think that this is really a crock; a method by which marrieds can manipulate others into sharing the hellishness of their own regretful existence.  Almost as if they want to dupe you into experiencing their misery firsthand because they secretly loved their single lives and finally succumbed under familial pressure and now want to pass this merciless horror onto you to make themselves feel better about a choice that they can no longer take back.  Yeah.  Well, I see no reason to add this dimension into my life because of the following reasons:

1. I Don’t Like Responsibility - I am barely responsible for myself and I’m learning that adding another human being into that equation would make me nuts.
2. Children Grow Up - In the beginning, I’m sure I’d be the bee’s knees and all, but eventually, the kid will grow up to blame me for their childhood and ask to be divorced from me (citing: Irreconcilable Differences).
3. I Like Sleep - From time to time, I am extremely lazy and don’t even want to take the dogs out.  Imagine not changing a baby’s diaper or forgetting to feed the baby?  And seriously…crying babies aren’t my thing.
4. Other Young Parents Are Miserable - I see the wonder and the magic that eventually fades when a young person realizes how much babies cost and how unprepared they are to be a parent.  Anyone who says that they are completely ready are rich with live-in nannies and au pairs.
5. Could I Ever Play Good Cop, Bad Cop (Without Laughing Out Loud)? - There is never a happy medium.  Either the parent is overindulgent, or diabolically strict.  I don’t want to have to choose.
6. I Would Not Be Able To Handle The Mimicking Stage - Years ago, there was this neighborhood kid who used to repeat everything I said.  That neighborhood kid stopped doing it when I smashed it’s face in with a toy truck.
7. I’ll Take Cursewords for $200, Alex - Yeah.  I can’t stop myself from cursing like a sailor every chance I get.  Can you imagine being told by your own kid, “Well, mommy does it. Why can’t I?”  It’s a compelling argument and as a parent, I’d have to give it to the kid.  So, there goes politeness in grade school.
8. Um, All My Eggs Have Dried Up - It would have to be an immaculate conception at this point.
9. Mini-Me Was Cute In Austin Powers - But in real life?  Seriously?  C’mon!
10. I Would Drive The Child Mad - Mad I tell you!  Mad!  Mad!! Mwahahahahahahahahahaha!!!!!

So let’s just say something funny like, I wouldn’t want to be de-flowered.  Or, no one should visit my precious garden but me.  Um, except.  Eww.  Bad imagery.  But I just don’t see me starting any baby books ever.  Never ever?  Nope. Forever, never.  Not that there’s anything wrong with a woman who finds parenting a mysterious treasure-trove of Cosmic greatness that makes her at one with the universe or anything.  Good for her who does.  Kudos and all of that.  Just as long as that Mother of the Earth is not me. So be fruitful and give birth all ye who can and will! I don’t mind being an auntie, just as long as I can come home to my idiosyncratic blog rants and late night munchie attacks in front of the tv.  Don’t think that eerie tv glow would serve as a good night-light for an infant.

It Must Be A Full Moon

You know that it’s a full moon when strange things start to happen without your input.  Today was no different.  Found out that the reason for no hot water wasn’t a frozen pipe, but none other than a broken water heater.  It wasn’t even the fact that no one in the building bothered to tell us this itsy bitsy fact that affects, oh well, EVERYTHING.  Nope.  It was the matter-of-factness in its delivery.  Something like so:

 Carl - Hey do you guys have hot water downstairs?

Patron - No. The boiler’s broken…

Carl - Which one?

Patron - Must be yours.

Carl - You think?! Nice of you to tell me.

Patron - Got PSE&G to look it over on FRIDAY, they couldn’t fix it so we had to shut the hot water off.

Carl - So nobody bothered to let us know, huh?

Patron - No.  Guess not.

Carl - So when are they coming to fix it?

Patron - Couldn’t get a repairman until Monday.

Carl - Thanks a lot for letting me know, pal.

So here I am, no hot water.  Then, I was kind of on a downward spiral of depression when I had to do my favorite chore and take out the dogs.  The walk, as usual, was a bit difficult because of Bear’s insistence that he is HDIC (Head Dog In Charge) to which I kept resisting with hard tugs on his leash.  This always results in a tug-of-war situation that he wins (mostly)…he’s so damn strong!  But as we were heading home with me cursing like a sailor under my breath, this odd fellow came out of his apartment and proceeded to stare at Bear.  Not just stare, but behave as though he were deathly afraid.  So naturally, to comfort the gentleman, I smiled a little.  This sparked a worse reaction with the guy yelling something out that I couldn’t comprehend since I’m going slowly deaf (damn impacted ear!).  So I continued walking and began to cross the street noticing a car approaching the stop sign.  Even though the driver clearly saw me, he/she still thought it vital to their existence to honk the horn anyway. At. The. Stop. Sign. For no apparent reason other than to spark that quick heartjump feeling that you get when you feel like your in danger.  Even though I wasn’t, the heart jumps anyway.  I think they call it “flight-or-fight response” which I don’t understand because I wanted to do neither.  Seriously, if I want to fly, I can’t anyway because I’m not Superwoman.  Or, Wonder Woman in her invisible helicopter that everyone could see her in anyway as she’s clearly flying though the air in the seated position.  Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of being invisible?!  I’m just saying…Also, I don’t want to fight.  Like Michael Jackson, “I’m a lover, not a fighter.” Except, I’m not a lover of little boys like Michael.  So maybe what I’m trying to say is I’m not like Michael Jackson at all.  Instead, it was a horrible, horrible frame of reference and I would like to just crawl into bed and forget this night ever happened.  Agreed?