No Fucking Way
I just pissed all over my fly when using the bathroom. If I was a writer I would say that is somehow a good metaphor for this week, but unfortunately I don’t have the literary prowess to pull those thoughts together. Sorry I haven’t rapped at you in a while, things have been a little busy at the Casa de Tool. BigChurch.com is still blowing up my Inbox like Al Qaida, but sadly enough I haven’t even ventured over there as of late. Possibly the funniest for you (and saddest for me) recent event was that my mother called about three weeks ago and told me that if “you are not married in a few years you should really consider adopting”. Not only was this out of the fucking blue, I still haven’t figured out why she thinks she has a say in this process at all. Granted, I did pop out of her vagina, but I don’t really think that gives her any sort of input on me bringing some Ethiopian or Chinese kid back to my 1.5 room apartment.
It is not that I am against adopting, personally I think that every kid deserves a great childhood and I am even happy that those out there attracted to like genitalia are getting the chance to adopt (at least outside of Texas) because kids need loving parents. That being said, how the fuck do I even remotely fit into that equation?! I am 27 years old. While I can see having kids some day, when I think of “some day” I think of some time in the distant future, not signing a release form tomorrow. I have noticed a strange sense of grandparental entitlement in adults with kids above 25. We know that having kids was something you enjoyed and that some of us will probably get the same joy out of it (whatever the fuck that means). However, lay off. There is nothing more fucking annoying than people who can’t have kids anymore telling people who are still young enjoy for binge drinking and casual sex to not enjoy those things. Hell, I just started to do the things I was “supposed” to do in college. I am still waiting for my first STD, I haven’t felt that burn the films in sixth grade warned me about. Maybe next time I should just tell mom how every now and then I enjoy a nice J- I think that would shut her up for a bit, or at least make her think I wasn’t quite ready to be rearing a toddler.