Month: August 2012

  • That Ticking You Hear is Not My Biological Clock!

    My current position on kids and parenthood can be summed up in a conversation I had with a client during a break in our arbitration hearing. The client was telling me about his daughter recently giving birth to twins and how excited he was to be a grandfather. And after doing some “how time flies” reminiscing, he asked:

    08.30 (1)

    To which I responded:

    08.30 (2)

    08.30 (3)

    No, the client was not really a giant sandwich cookie. I just drew him as such for purposes of protecting confidentiality and the attorney-client privilege and all that other stuff (plus, that’s what he was snacking on while we were chatting). And yes, I meant it when I said, “OMG, no…no way. Kids are dirty!”

    Mr. Cookie Client had a good laugh and said it was great that I knew myself well enough to know that I wasn’t ready to have children. I didn’t think much more about it; I just assumed it was the way most people would react when someone tells them they aren’t ready to become a parent. But then my coworker told me about a conversation she had while having lunch with her former college classmates, and how they reacted when she told them that she and her new husband wanted to enjoy being newlyweds for a few years before starting a family. In a nutshell: they did not take it well.

    Maybe it’s because I’m not married, but I totally understood where my coworker was coming from and why. The thought of having a kid in general just scares the sh*t out of me. It should actually scare a lot of people, and not just those kids on “16 and Pregnant” and “Teen Mom.” I recently met a couple who got pregnant immediately after their wedding because they wanted to be the first in their group of friends to say, “We’re having a baby!” I mean, they actually admitted this was their reason for having their baby. And the minute they posted the announcement on Facebook, all the other couples in their circle suddenly wanted to get pregnant too. Judging by the radio silence on their Facebook pages, however, none of them have been very successful. I think they might want to reconsider after looking at pictures of the first pregnant couple, because they’ve become progressively more and more raggedy since their kid was born.

    Anyway, when one of my coworker’s married-with-children friends asked her when she was going to start having kids of her own, she told them that she and her husband were going to wait a few years. And the reaction she received in response was nothing like what I got from Mr. Cookie Client. Her friends reacted as if she’d told them that she was going to sacrifice their kids to the devil in hopes of bringing Hitler back to life (that’s exactly how she described it). She didn’t understand why her classmates reacted the way they did, and neither do I. As we all know by now, just because you’re unmarried doesn’t mean you can’t have kids, and just because you’re married doesn’t mean you have to.

    I already know I’m not ready to be a parent of anything that doesn’t have four legs. Seriously, the burdens of the baby phase alone are enough to make me swear off motherhood for the next 10 years. The screaming for attention, diaper dootie duty, the drooling—oh, and the expenses! Let’s not forget the expenses. I’d probably have to swear off video games, fast food, and Groupon for, like, forever—and I’m so not willing to do that right now. In order to be a good parent, you have to selfless. Unfortunately for my future children, I’m just way too selfish right now to bring them into this world…through my vagina. UGH! Have you ever accidentally flipped to one of those health channels late at night? Their entire evening lineup is just vaginal births and surgeries. WTF?! Why can’t they blur that sh*t out?!

    BUT! I wasn’t always anti-kid. When I was younger, I used to think, “I’m going to have kids when I grow up. Hopefully a son and a daughter!” I never hesitated to accept motherhood as part of my future plans, and I had no qualms telling people this—especially to boyfriends I wanted to break up with. Yeah, I was one those bad break-uppers who beats around the bush because I didn’t have the balls to say, “I want to break up.” Instead, I took the passive-aggressive route:

    08.30 (4)

    08.30 (5)

    08.30 (6)

    Back then it was easy for me to say “I want children someday” because “someday” was far off in the future. Now that I’m older, however, “someday” is starting to become “now,” and I no longer have the luxury of being so haphazard with my statements. And I can’t use the Biological Clock Card as a dumping tool because what if the guy actually wants kids? Then what?

    08.30 (7)

    08.30 (8)

    When I told Mr. Cookie Client my reasons for not being ready for children, he said I had a good head on my shoulders (he also said, “If your man tells you he doesn’t care about the weight you gained during pregnancy, he is lying. We all care, we just don’t say it out loud.” Bwahahaha!) And while raising a family was one of the most difficult things he’d ever done, it also brought him exponential amounts of joy. But he had all those positive parenting experiences because he was ready for parenthood. Readiness is a definite requirement for good parenting, and that’s true whether your married or not.

    So until I’ve attained that level of readiness, my biological clock is just going to have to remain on snooze mode. And if someone acts all dramatic when you tell him you’re not ready to have kids yet, print giant versions of the following pictures, tape them on a sign, and then bitch sign-slap him until he gets it.

    08.30 (9)

    08.30 (10)

    08.30 (11)

  • My Sh*tty Morning

    I had a rather rude and traumatic awakening yesterday morning:

    08.16 (8)

    Ah yes…nothing like starting off your day with a face full of “What the f*ck?!” Breakfast of champions…

    So what was it that messed up my morning? Let me set up the scene for you with a bit of back-story.

    As you know, I have three cats. Turnip is the orange one, Pepper is the tortie, and Walnut is the grey one. The protagonist in today’s story is Turnip. He’s super sweet and loves meeting people (unless they’re veterinarians), and almost everyone who sees him will tell me things like, “He’s gorgeous!” and “What a beautiful kitty!” And then they see Walnut and Pepper and give an obligatory, “They’re cute too,” followed up by a “But Turnip is such a handsome cat!” *sigh*

    Turnip is generally very good, but he’s got really bad habits and they all tend to result in property damage. The most troublesome one is biting thin stringy things like electrical cords, the little rope you pull to raise your window blinds, my hair, brooms, etc. If it consists of anything thin and string-like, it’s fair game.

    08.16 (3)

    Although a majority of the items he’s chewed on weren’t at all meant to be consumed by any living creature, Turnip’s never gotten sick as a result. The worst thing that happens is that sometimes I’ll find one of his poop kernels outside of the litter box because it was attached to a piece of hair that didn’t make it out all the way. If you need a visual, imagine a daisy chain (not the electrical engineering one, but the one with actual flowers) is coming out of his butt, except the chain is actually my hair and the daisies are doots. Anyway, the doot kernel falls off the hair it was attached to and ends up on the floor. But it doesn’t stay there for very long because I always, always immediately sweep it up with a little dust pan and broom that I specifically bought for that purpose, and then drench the area with Lysol disinfectant spray. Overdoing it, you say? We’re talking about poop, people, POOP!

    Luckily, the clean-up isn’t a big deal because the stuff is usually small and solid. The kernels I found outside of the litter box last month, however…

    08.16 (1)

    On the outside they looked like typical cat poop–i.e., solid, peanut M&M’s-shaped brown things–so I just took my little dust pan and broom and started sweeping them up.

    08.16 (2)

    Peanut M&M’s my ass! Those turds turned out to be f*cking Cadbury Creme Eggs, and I ended up painting sh*t on the floor!

    I know I designated the little dust pan and broom to be cat doots only, but now it was seriously sh*t-specific. Not that I needed a reminder or anything, but still…

    Flash-forward back to yesterday morning: I was sleeping when the sound of cats at play woke me up.

    08.16 (4)

    I tried to ignore it and go back to sleep, but the ruckus kept going.

    08.16 (5)

    Then I felt something land on me, so I sat up all grumpy-like.

    08.16 (6)

    And then I noticed that lying on my blanket was the thing that had landed on me.

    08.16 (7)

    08.16 (8)

    And you know what it was? DO YOU KNOW WHAT IT WAS?!

    08.16 (9)

    The f*cking doot broom! Dammit! DAMMIT!

    P.S. Is this why roosters crow “cock-a-DOOdle-DOO“?!

  • My “Are You F*cking Serious?!” Moment

    I had a really bad “Are you f*cking serious?!” moment two days ago. Like, really bad.

    It started when I discovered a nasty-ass fly had infiltrated my personal space…

    08.02 (1)

    I hate flies. They are like bees except instead of spreading pollen, they spread fecal matter. (Man, I really want to insert “pollination versus germination,” but germination doesn’t have anything to do with germs.) And given that I have three cats, there was a very good chance that this fly would eventually find a way into the litter box and land on a doot kernel that would also be its lunch. It would then be covered in contaminates and dootier than before because it probably came in already covered in poo and pee.

    Anything that fly landed on would be tainted, and I knew I had to stop it. I grabbed my electrified bug swatter and tried to electrocute it, but it always flew away before I could even attempt a swing.

    08.02 (2)     08.02 (3)

    Flies are pretty fast, but this one was way more agile than those I’d dealt with in the past. Even exhaling seemed to set it off–which would then set me off and I would end up chasing it around my house.

    08.02 (4)

    After losing sight of it a few times, I found the fly had returned to the dirty sauté pan where it first introduced itself. 

    08.02 (5)

    I took a swing at it…

    I know in my heart and soul that I would have succeeded in killing it, I just know it. And I could have gone on with my life if only I had not thrown the swatter down right before it hit the pan. But I did because at that moment I had a sudden epiphany: “Electricity on steel pan!”

    08.02 (6)

    (Holy sh*t! I almost electrocuted myself…maybe? Okay fine, maybe the result wouldn’t have been so dramatic, but I’m pretty sure the outcome–whatever it was–would not have been pleasant.)

    At that point, I realized for sure that I was not dealing with an average fly. This one was smart. This one knew it could dodge my swatter attacks by landing on the pan. But there was one thing it didn’t know:

    I was smarter.

    08.02 (7)

    That’s right! I was going to use a dress to attack the fly when it was in the pan, and the swatter when it was out. Eat a d*ck, Fly! My genius was able to negate the protection of your sauté shield!

    …Unfortunately, said genius was not enough to overcome my really bad aim.

    Dress fail:

    08.02 (8)

    Bug swatter fail:

    08.02 (9)

    FAIL! FAIL! FAIL!

    08.02 (10)

    After about an hour of this futility, I was done looking retarded and decided to admit defeat. One of my cats would eventually kill it, or maybe it would freeze to death when I had my AC on. The fly was going to die eventually…just not by my hand.

    I consoled myself with some coffee, which I drank using a straw. Yeah, yeah, hot coffee and plastic straws don’t mix, but the potential health risks are nothing compared to the hell I went through when I got my teeth whitened two weeks ago. I had a Groupon for “Zoom! II” laser whitening, and although the procedure worked for me, the pain and agony that followed made it an experience I never, ever want to go through again. So if I have to drink coffee through a straw to preserve the results, fine. I’ll pick PABAs or whatever the hell over “Zoom! II” treatments any day of the week.

    Anyway, as I was saying: I decided to console my failed attempts to murder Super Fly with coffee. Just as I was about to reach for my mug, I noticed something:

    08.02 (11)     08.02 (12)

    There, sitting on the rim of my coffee cup and batting its wings in what I can only guess was “F*CK YOU” in Morse code, was that damn fly.

    I was pissed–and rightfully so, I think, because you know as well as I do that the fly was rubbing its victory in my face. It knew I was incapable of killing it, and that the most I could do was wave it away from my coffee…which I did in a rather peaceful manner.

    08.02 (13)

    I picked up my mug and took a sip of coffee from my straw…a sip…which I swallowed.

    08.02 (14)

    And then I saw something…

    08.02 (15)

    Before I go any further, let me stress again that the sip of coffee was in my stomach and there was no way I could get it out because I can’t throw up. Even when I have really bad food poisoning. So there was nothing I could do but wait for the coffee to pass through naturally–and this detail is important because right then and there I saw one of the most horrific things I’ve ever seen in my entire life.

    08.02 (16)

    THAT F*CKING FLY WAS IN MY COFFEE! MY COFFEE! ALONG WITH ALL THE SH*T AND PISS IT WAS COVERED IN! AND I DRANK SOME OF IT!

    08.02 (17)

    WHY?!