Tips on Gittin Sum 101 - this one's for you, boys!

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Duck, Duck, Duck.... Goose! (or Fuck, Fuck, Fuck.... Oops!)

Once upon a time in my early 30s, my body was invisibly snatched by raging female hormones on a baby mission. It was eerily parallel to Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, complete with a marriage to a repressed homosexual (since flushed, though still requiring a vigorous plunger every week or two). Before I knew it, the only thing louder than the ticking of my biological clock was the buzzing of my loyal vibrator.

Thankfully, my sexless nuptials committed suicide shortly after my uterus started crawling out of my body and whispering into my sleeping ears that it wanted to manufacture yet another human sequel. So I was promptly ejected back into the dating pool in search of a new mate, only to discover it was a shallow sludge heap of questionable genetics. Natural selection, you are sorely missed. What a shame that survival of a species has so little to do with intelligence, hygiene, and manners. Look at cockroaches.

In this fast paced day and age, there are many ways to find a partner - speed dating, cultural events, social mixers, political protests, study groups, craigslist missed connections, playgrounds (single parents seeking DILFs/MILFs, tap that!), bars, churches, prisons, alleyways, etc. None are without both benefits and perils. When it comes to online dating, here are my observations for the naively inexperienced:

Pros:

1. No need to waste your drinks giving douchebags facials.
2. No need to get dolled up to meet someone who didn't deserve your effort.
3. No physical limitations to finding The One, for while he may be thousands of miles away in a remote African village, he is but a quick message away! If he's even real, ha ha ha! Sigh.
4. "Block," "Ignore," and "Delete." Why oh why can't we have this in real life, too?!
5. For you grammar/spelling lovers, now you can easily eliminate 95% of the eager peckers out they're vying four you're attention...
6. May finally awaken long-awaited lesbian tendencies.

Cons:

1. The realization that there's a reason why they are still single.
2. Losing all hope for humanity.

I opened up an OK Cupid account with the best intentions of finding a suitable suitor to fill my voids... but my profile quickly devolved into a lengthy diatribe of dating experiences worthy of either America's Funniest Home Videos or American Horror Story. I wrote endlessly about my encounters, hoping potential candidates would think twice before alerting me of their unworthiness. I tried to teach clueless eager males some valuable tips on how to woo the sea of single pussy out there, but it was in vain. Ladies - do yourselves and all of us a favor and don't settle for anything except your own personal Indiana Jones. And please, for the love of the human race, don't breed with anything less worthy! Recessive members of our species need to die out already!

For the sake of dissemination (pun unintentionally a propos), I shall blog a separate entry with excerpts from my OK Cupid profile.

As it turns out, my online dating rants didn't scare away all sausage. One particularly persistent penis did properly penetrate my protective prose. On our first date, even... multiple times! He turned this bitter old maid into a skimpy french maid. He swept me off my feet and got me on all fours. We went from single, to double entendre... Together, we left our balls and chains with the ex-spouses, and opted for more liberating flogs and rope. For those of you who can't swallow my innuendo, allow me to whip it out so you can take it in better. The 70s didn't have as much shag as us. We put bunnies to shame. We made Viagra jealous. In our world, "spork" became a verb to describe mutual spooning and forking.

Don't get it yet? We had sex! Lots and lots of it. Copious amounts. Oodles. Googles. You'd need goggles to ogle unscathed... Ok, I'll stop. You get the picture.

But I must give my hunny more credit than just our physical connection. We became instant friends right from the start. He saved my life the first time just days after we met. He even courted me with a bouquet of bacon. Without him, I would bitterly despise this song. We are like high school sweethearts but in our thirties... Smitten like adolescents but having way better sex, with the stamina of youth and the desperate frequency of ones approaching mid-life.

And suddenly... we're pregnant! Like stupid, horny teenagers but with the adult ability to self-facepalm. I'd like to say it was a pleasant surprise, but it was more of a "d'oh!" moment, followed by a lengthy "no, d'uuuuh." Followed by "hey, we don't have to worry about getting pregnant anymore!" Followed by clothes being ripped off, spanks being doled out, neighbors rolling their eyes and turning up their TV volumes, and so on.

Granted, this whole impending baby business threw us both for a loop. We were still getting to know each other three months into our relationship when this third wheel showed up. Like many people out there, we faced tough choices. Having had my previous child with what turned out to be an abusive, passive aggressive sociopath who is forever chained to me by our progeny, naturally I had some concerns. How could I be trusted to make the right decision? My past was cluttered with jaw-droppingly shitty taste in men, my happy ovaries were blasting hormonal fireworks through my body, and I was in the horny throes of falling in love. Not a trace of sanity or logic was to be found!

Possessed with doubt, HCG, and a humanoid parasite, I took a step back and examined the situation. I had two abortions under my belt, one which I never regretted, and one which I did. I also raised a wonderful little boy despite his father's toxic genes and influence. I survived an excruciating miscarriage, which was a blessing in disguise I am still thankful for every day. Basically, there wasn't a single reproductive dilemma I hadn't faced. And here I was again, poised to potentially eject another personal sequel into the planet. The only difference was that the man I was with was unlike all others. Thoughtful. Selfless. Loving. Respectful. Talented. Well-hung. Yes, these unicorns are out there! Whatever challenges lay in the future, here was someone who I knew I could face them with. A man who still saw beauty in my ugliest moments, who could read me so well I couldn't even hide from myself. A man who challenged me, taught me, and learned from me. Whose naturally persistent erection never once wavered in the presence of my constantly changing body. A man who made me proud and grateful. A man who made me coffee, even before making his own coffee. And if that last one isn't a blowjob-earner, I don't know what is!

So we chose to have this little consequence of our kinky appetites. The first few months were a bumpy road, and not just from all the humping - we moved out of our single lives and moved in together. We blended our families, consolidated all our stuff, and prepared for the baby by having as much nookie as possible before childbirth. We figured if the fetus could survive mommy and daddy's vigorous recreational activities during gestation, it earned some serious tenure on the outside world upon eviction.

Finally, the day arrived to welcome the fruit of our sexual side-effects, just one day shy of our first anniversary! Labor was completely natural, with zero pain meds, and no tearing or complications. I must have thanked the baby for not destroying my vagina at least ten times in those first few hours. And of course, I thanked my beloved as well, for his very active role in keeping my girl bits elastic! Little did we know that fateful day when we first met, that exactly one year later we would be celebrating by giving our son his name. How some things change!

Of course, now we're back to the initial dilemma of thwarting pregnancy again. Hopefully, better birth control and a coitus-interrupting screaming baby will improve our odds? Some things never change!

You're pregnant! Fuck!

Once upon a time in 2004, I distinctly remember finding out about my first pregnancy. It was nothing like all those pregnancy test commercials, where you pee on the magic stick and all your dreams of having/not having a baby come true.... Boy, I'd love to sue those companies for false advertising!

It was my birthday, and just a few short hours after being fired from a job for reporting my boss for stealing company property and being highly inappropriate with his staff (Corporate America Lesson #273: Don't report unethical behaviour from supervisors, chances are they are covering worse things being done by THEIR bosses). Sitting at home, depressed, dejected, in the middle of moving, and exhausted from climbing up 3 steps, I figured my incredible crap birthday luck (a yearly tradition) was not entirely spent yet. Why not do a pregnancy test, just for laughs? Whilst still on the porcelain throne, the two lines of the pregnancy test become clearer and clearer, like two erect middle fingers wishing me a happy 25th clueless year on the planet. No. Noooo. NOOOOOOOO!!! (for full effect, that last one should be in slow motion and lower pitch, like the sound of someone drowning with cement block feet)

Why don't those pregnancy test commercials keep it real? Oh right - we women are only supposed to show joy and happiness at discovering our fertility status! We always get what the answer we want - of course, we are women! We are never disappointed in anything, ever. It's supposed to be:

"I'm pregnant! Now all I want to do is wear pastel pink floral-pattern tents, sit on a rocking chair and stare at the sunset with a placid, vapid smile of contentment and ultimate purpose while my body turns into a blimp and I lose my identity!"

or

"Woo, I'm not pregnant! Honey, let's keep fucking with wild abandon indefinitely! Wink wink!"

What I would give to see something more realistic, like:

"I'm not pregnant... again.... WAAAAHHHHH! Why, god, whyyyyy? I'm so sore from banging all the time I can't sit down, why won't it take?!?!"

or

"I'm pregnant! Dammit. Well, at least we don't have to worry about birth control for 9 more months. Honey, let's keep fucking with wild abandon indefinitely (for now)!"

or, as was in my case

"Pregnant?! How the fuck did that lousy orgasm-devoid coital gesture negate my birth control and inject me with a parasite?? That was practically immaculate conception, WTF. Ortho Evra - you owe me child support!!"

Yes, pregnancy. The most stereotyped and undignified moment in a woman's life - if she so chooses. And I will state, for the record, that choosing to have a child can be just as difficult as choosing not to have a child. I respect a woman's decision, whatever that may be, without judgment. There is no right or wrong decision when it comes to procreating - it is what one does with that decision that makes all the difference.

Shortly after I found out I was kidnapped by an alien, I walked over to my closet and promptly had a fashion funeral, knowing I wouldn't be able to wear all my adorable clothes ever again. Goodbye, midriff-exposing tank tops! Adieu, tight pants and hourglass waist! Dear god, was I going to need a bra now?? How could this happen.... my beloved vanity, snuffed out in one quick, lousy routine lay...

Little did I know back then what it meant to be pregnant in the United States. Having been freshly fired, I had a clue that my employability was inversely proportional to the size of my growing belly (I have giant rants about this, to be shared later on). What I didn't know was that the fashion industry had a very specific opinion about what women should wear while they are baby factories - basically pink, red, white, black, baby blue, floral, and pretending the human tumor protruding from your midriff wasn't really there. No yellow. No orange. Green? No. Sexy clothes? Bwahahaha fuck you, mom-to-be, your attractive days are O-V-E-R! If you are pregnant in America, you are supposed to look like a delicate fucking flower, and should be treated as such. That's what you get for having sex, shameful hussy, cover thy sin with purity! In this society where female innocence and virginity is the biggest marketing tool, daring to show the consequences of feminine sexuality is a direct threat to corporate profits being raped reaped by insidiously sexualized advertising. It's sickening. No no no, ladies... cover that shit up! Men want to fuck you - they don't want to think of what might happen beyond that! Tsk tsk.

After going maternity clothes shopping - well, no. Let me rephrase. After crying my eyes out in yet another futile attempt to find any maternity clothes that didn't reduce me to a sexless blob or clean out my bank account (talk about a scam targeting a specific female demographic), I rebelled against the forced fashion stereotype and went back to all my cute clothes, completely at peace with baring my belly in social protest. I'd be damned if this kid was going to cramp my style! Fuck that! Thrift stores were also a treasure trove of interesting non-maternity clothes - I highly recommend! With some selective shopping on a budget, I found clothes that fit better and looked better than all the overpriced mall garbage. I also wrote to Victoria's Secret and asked them "howbout making a sexy maternity line for all those women who you helped to get laid?" To which they actually replied with an apology and that it was not their concern. Anti-motherfuckers!

But then I found myself with another annoying predicament of this culture. Apparently, a visible pregnancy bump has an irresistible gravitational field. Random strangers will be powerless to stop themselves from grabbing and rubbing your bump.... Nay, they will swiftly hurtle towards you with grubby paws, demanding personal information because... well, shit, lady, you're sticking it out there! You're not a person anymore, you're public property! A personality-free vessel answering the same damned questions in an endless loop. Yes, people, everyone asks: What are you having? What's the name is going to be? When we are due? Did we crave pickles and ice cream? Like it's any of your business. I'm telling you, it's like fucking deja vu every 15 minutes. The Twilight Zone was probably the brainchild of frustrated pregnant ladies. But for the inquiring minds, my general response to the usual Qs was always: "Definitely liberal, hopefully gay," "Rhino. Yes, Rhino," "Not soon enough," and "That stereotype offends me deeply. Fetch me bacon or I shall cry." We did not end up naming the kiddo Rhino after all... but it's close!

I got pretty good at smacking away entitled hands reaching out to touch my belly bump. But my kung fu chops were not enough to thwart the inquisitive, touchie-feelie fuckers from invading my personal space. So I dyed my hair green, in the hopes that it would either 1) distract from the baby belly, or 2) inform others that I was a punkass (I'm really more of a hippie, with bite), and/or 3) clue people in to the fact that I was ready to chomp any hands getting near me. Oh, and of course, 4) it made me look cute as fuck. My last few months of pregnancy were spent in adorable anti-social bliss.... What a relief!


I must say, I got hit on a lot when I was building baby from scratch. You'd think peckers on the prowl would consider an impregnated female off limits, but I was pleased to learn otherwise. I can only attribute that to one thing: pregnant women are voluptuous, curvaceous like all delectable femininity, and sexy goddesses to be revered and desired. Even men cannot deny that in this pro-eating disorder world. We are ripe, flush with life, and undeniably powerful. We are Mother Nature in all her creative glory! Who wouldn't want to tap that?

Be proud, MILFs - show your beautiful, growing selves to the world! I'll be damned if this country is going to force me to cover any of that incredibly fabulous shit up, and you shouldn't either. Taking pride in your body now is a lesson you will teach your babies for the rest of their lives. So start with you!