Tag Archives: money

Fear Factor: Babies

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I was a baby once. I don’t really remember it though. I was probably drunk. But I like babies. They’re cute and soft and smell good 2/3 of the time. You can buy them stuff and they laugh at your jokes as long as you end them with a belly zerbert. Though to be honest, that works on my mom, too. You can teach them to like what you like and hate what you hate. You can teach them how to hug, how to walk, how to potty and how to say curse words. And these are the things you don’t want them learning on the street. Super fun! It seems recently lots of my friends are either knocked up or just finished birthing. So it kinda puts babies on the brain. Now, don’t get it twisted. It doesn’t make me want to have a baby. (Sorry, Melanie. I know you’re holding fast to that fading torch.) But it makes me think of all the reasons why babies scare the ever living hell out of me.

(Dude. Stop looking at me like that…Seriously…Stop it! You’re freaking me out.)

The Body

So I have learned through my sister and friends that the joys of pregnancy actually suck. Of course, there’s the obvious weight gain and emotional crap pregnant women go through. And we all know how I would hate to destroy my hawt physique or super stable psyche. But you know what else happens? Stretch marks that make your gut look like a freaking topographical map. You become the before picture for a Proactive zit commercial. You get hemorrhoids to your knees. You can’t sleep on your stomach (my fav). You have nightmares. Your hair goes crazy (not my hair!). Your teeth get soft because the baby’s sucking all your nutrients from within. You leak pee-pee. Your boobs get veins that rival your stretch marks. And all of this before the damn kid even arrives!

(The demon who did this to me? We call him Skippy, Jr.)

Now, I saw my sister give birth. It was not cute. To bring your bundle of joy into the world, they give you an episiotomy. That’s a cut from ummm…Point A towards, ummm… Point B so you don’t literally tear yourself a new one. Oh my freaking Lord! Then, you most likely will take a giant crap on the table in front of your doctor, nurses, husband, flower delivery guy and so forth. And just when the fruit of your looms makes an appearance and you think “thank God that’s over”, you learn…it’s not over. You have to spend another God knows how long birthing “placenta” or the sack o’ nasty your baby has been living, breathing, eating and pooping in for 9 months without a bath. Wow, bringing a new life in the world is a beautiful thing.

Depleting Resources

Now of course, as most non-reproductive people do, I have to talk about money. Babies/kids cost a damn lot of money. And babies aren’t like bills. You can’t play Bill of the Month Club with them. “Oh, sorry electric company. You lose. Better luck getting paid next month!” I can do that. Try telling a kid, “Well, it was food or clothes this time around. Enjoy your corn nuts. You can wear your birthday suit to school this week. Mommy loves you!” People will call the cops on your ass for that shit. Baby clothes cost some mad cash. One time, I was looking for an outfit for one of my friends who had created precious life with her soul mate-of-the-week. Baby clothes cost just as much as Christa clothes! And since I was buying something for the kid, I didn’t want to feel left out, so I had to buy something for me, too. I mean, why should the baby get all the presents? It won’t even remember what I got it. I’m important, too. And if I had my own kids, this mode of shopping could bankrupt a gal with a quickness.

(I know it’s itchy, but blue makes Mommy’s eyes pop!)

And that’s not counting stuff like toys, diapers (who the hell pays $30 for a box of fancy paper towels for a baby to crap on?), safety gear, medicine, doctors, pictures, cleaning fluids…and that’s not half of what these beings require to survive the first month. I could go on. But I won’t. But I could.

Emotional Damage

Babies like to cry. Some people think it’s because the kid wants something. Like food or love. I know better. Babies cry because they like it. They can’t read, they can’t change the tv channel to something they like, they can’t fix themselves a snack, they can’t drive to the movies and they have no money (see above). So how can they entertain themselves? By making the big people run around like a bunch of idiots to see what they can do to make Baby stop making that God awful noise. HI-lariousness! I will be straight up with you right now. The sound of a crying baby makes my ovaries turn themselves inside out and shrivel up like raisins. Look kid, cry alone in the bathtub with a bottle of Pinot like the rest of us. Quit the public dramatics already.

(This is my lady parts…this is my lady parts on crying babies. Any questions?)

And you know what, as cute as babies are, they don’t stay that way forever. Babies turn into adolescents, tweenagers, teenagers (oh my). You think baby crying was bad? Wait until they’re old enough to cry louder, harder and yell, curse and hate you for weeks on end without stopping. Oops, there goes those ovaries again. I didn’t like adolescence when I went through it. Why the hell would I want to go through it again with the person who gave me hemorrhoids that still haven’t healed in 13 years? That’s right. I don’t.

Selfless vs. Selfish

I’ll be honest. What most of this comes down to is I’m a selfish bitch. And I’m ok with that. I love that on an airplane, when they give the oxygen mask speech, they tell you to put your own mask on first and then help a kid. Because that’s what I’d do regardless and I don’t want to be getting the stink eye on a crashing plane for looking out for Number One.

(So, can I like use you as a flotation device? You know…just in case.)

It takes a super selfless person to be a parent. I’m not necessarily that person. I like my life. I like going out when I want. I’m pretty sure giving my kid a shot of Nyquil with a Benadryl chaser so I can go to All-80’s-Karaoke-Night-Drinks-½-Price-if-You’ll-Sing-Huey-Lewis, is a bad idea. You know, the cop thing again. I don’t want to watch my damn, hell, ass language. You also have to teach kids stuff. I’m a crappy teacher. I get so frustrated with stupid people. “What do you mean, I have to teach you how to feed yourself? You’ve been out of the womb for like, months now. Geez, look it up.” Also, what if I hate my baby? What if it’s an asshole and I don’t even realize it. It happens to people all the time. Or worse, what if I do realize my kid’s an asshole? What do I do? Should I tell him? Or pretend he’s cool? I don’t know which is meaner. And again on the selfish thing, this child probably needs a father figure. Someone to be strong, kill bugs, avoid uncomfortable situations like sex talks and smack the kid around if it needs it.  I don’t want to have to smack my own kid when she’s being a douche. I would be her world and it might scar her or something. Whoopins are so a dad thing. My dog would be a good protector and listener and she’ll walk away if you’re boring her like a dad. She’s hairy enough. But she’s a girl. And I can’t ask Brian to do everything for me. And I sure as hell am not pretending to love some loser so he’ll play daddy to my kid. I’m going through enough pretending my kid’s not a jerk-ass, serial killer in the making. Ugh, I need some me time.

So, we can all see now why a baby just isn’t my “thing”. I’ll never say never. Except for there, where I totally just said never. You never know what the future will bring. (Damn, there I go with the “never” thing again!) My mind is open. But I really just can’t see it. I love, love, adore my nieces. And I love my friends sweet, cuddly little bay-bays. But when all is said and done, I am damn glad to accept those adorable hugs and kisses then hand them over at the end of the day when they’re tired and cranky and I’m through filling them with sugar. All hail the real heroes…MOMS and DADS!

(He’s hungry, dirty, wet and pissed at the Republicans. Thanks for letting me babysit!)

Peace, babies!

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6 Reasons Why Divorce is Awesome (for Me)

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I was married for 5 years and I’ve been divorced for 10. So I think I’m far enough removed from the situation to be able to make fun of it in a humorous and slightly bitter way. You may (or may not) be thinking, “Why would you eschew the sacred vows that you made before the Almighty and the one pastor in town who didn’t fondle young boys?” Well, it’s like this. I…

(Yes, this is really me.)

was married to this.

(There have honestly been many comparisons of my ex to Jiminy Glick.)

And he cheated on me with this.

(Oedipus ain’t just some dead Greek guy. It’s a complex!)

Ergo, I divorced his lame ass. Not for cheating on me. But for not cheating with someone hotter than me.

Reason #6: No Pressure!

It is so awesome that I am no longer pressured to get married or have babies. My marriage, thankfully, yielded no progeny. God has a sense of humor but He’s not mean. So if crazy old Aunt Jo or nosy co-worker, Tammy, asks “Why isn’t a pretty girl like you married?” or “Why haven’t you spurted new life through your loins?” My sister or another co-worker will answer in a loud stage whisper, “She’s divorced!” This will elicit a sad smile and nod of sympathy that completely gets me off the hook for explaining why I have no interest in having a whining, crying, money sucking, snot-nosed leech in my life. Or why I don’t want kids.

(Babylon 5 was canceled. Hold me!)

Reason #5: The Cat

I got the cat. You may not have a cat. But there is something that every man loves more than life that you can take away with you when you leave. Mine was the cat.

(This is Buttons aka Buttony B aka The Diva aka Princess Pretty Paws)

The year before we were married, my ex gave me a kitten on Christmas eve as an expression of his love for my boobs. When we split, I took nothing with me but my clothes and the cat. He said, “But don’t you want (insert meaningless object here)?” And in my best grandma guilt trip voice, I’d say, “No. We bought that (dish, towel, tv, porn). There is no more we. You keep it. It means nothing to me now.” Good stuff, huh? Yeah. Except the cat. I adore my cat. So does he. He was like, “But I love her and I bought her.” Yes, you bought her for me and she hates you now. The only person she ever bit in her life was your whore when you brought her to the house when I was out of town and she clawed holes in your air mattress when I kicked your sorry ass out of our bed and made you sleep in the hall. So not only does she come with me, but bitch gets fresh shrimp and lobster the rest of her days!

Reason #4: Ex-Husband Jokes

Ex-husband jokes are gold! I have a friend who calls her ex-husband “needle dick the bug fucker.”

(Steve? Is that you?)

Everybody laughed. Because that’s some funny shit right there. I could go on for hours about my ex. I wish I could be nice but I’d rather entertain friends and strangers talking mad smack about my Dungeons and Dragons loving, Star Trek watching, Oedipus complex having, he thinks doggy-style is super naughty ex-husband instead!

(There’s a third sex position? Is that legal?)

Reason #3: Money

Holy shit! I have money! My ex was a high maintenance babe. Comics, Everquest, Pinkie & the Brain tees and Magick cards don’t come cheap. I remember an argument over the action figure collection that was purportedly worth thousands of dollars. Apparently, one still-in-the-package wookie was worth $300. Really? Then sell the damn thing and we can use the money to pay the electric company and maybe they’ll give us the cat back.

(Being held hostage blows.)

But, “NoooOOOooo! I can’t sell it. It’s rare!” Then you know what? It’s worth NOTHING! Since my divorce, I have money for everything I want-bills, clothes, liquor, shoes, porn and food. I have money to take care of me, which leads to the super awesome…

Reason #2: Not Being a Wife

I was a good wife. I cooked, cleaned, worked and gave 3 blow jobs a week. And I did it with a smile on my face and a song in my heart. No more, baby! I work for me. I clean what I dirty. If I want to eat Fruity Pebbles for dinner and drink vodka for breakfast, I will. And if I give a b.j. it’s because (a) someone bought me an expensive steak dinner and (b) I wanted to.

(And now, onto dessert!)

I can even do laundry when and if I want. Dirty undies? No probs. I don’t have to do laundry. I can buy new ones! (See above entry re: money) And speaking of undies, the very, very best part of being divorced is…

Reason #1: SEX

Divorced sex is the best. There is no thought of “Could I marry him?” Or “He might be a good dad.” NO! It’s about getting some of that sweet, hot, freaky, monkey love. 23 positions in a one night stand. Do I love him? No. Do I like him? Who cares. Do I know his last name? Unimportant. As long as I’m getting some. I don’t have to wait for the presidential address to cut into the Star Trek Voyager marathon so I can get laid. Right after my divorce, my main goal was to cut a swath through town of as many dicks as possible just because I could. The 19 year old grocery bagger who just shaved for the first time yesterday-he gets this sweet action. As does random club guy, the mechanic, the cable guy, his boss, the vet and his best friend. The point is, I will give it to everyone EXCEPT HIM! So climb back on your mommy doppelganger, because I’m having the time of my life doing things you can’t even imagine with whoever I want. Life is good.

My mom always said, “It’s not about looks or money. Go for personality. Look at the man inside.” Well, sorry Mom. That ain’t gonna happen. If I get ever get married again (which is highly doubtful) it will be to this guy

(I would say hi but I’m mute. Just fuck me.)

Or this guy.

(You were my only beneficiary, baby.)

God bless the institution of divorce!