Eggs

Most women my age are getting to the point where they’re concerned about their eggs.  I’m not sure what it is about female thirty-somethings and eggs but most of the women I know are obsessed with them.  I’ve never put a lot of thought into my eggs.  Mostly the mentioning of them, by other women, just makes me feel bad that I’ve not pondered eggs at all…unless they’re in omelet form…which I think about a lot…because omelets are delicious.  Anyway, what I’m driving at here are children and the possibility of one crawling its way out of my vagina in the future.  Seeing as I’m a thirty-something, it’s probably time for me to figure this out.

I love babies.  Wait…that came out wrong.  What I meant to say is that babies terrify me.  Nope, also inaccurate.  Herein lies my problem.  I don’t know anything about babies.  People seem to have them a lot – I see the pictures on Facebook.  Listen, I’m not trying to be a baby racist or anything but all those mother fuckers look the same.  I’m starting to get concerned because I thought I’d have baby-feelings by now.  Also, from what I understand, babies typically follow a marriage and I’m not having marriage-feelings either.  Instead of being depressed because I’m not married and I’m not filled with baby, I’m depressed because my indifference to such matters makes me feel like less of a woman.

You may be familiar with the American Dream.  Typically it consists of a house, a husband and children.  This all seems lovely, but as of right now my biggest goals are to figure out what Gluten is and to not get holes in my pants.  These goals may not seem particularly lofty to you but I assure you, they’re taking up all of my time.  Today by about noon I was experiencing high self-esteem based on the fact that I didn’t have any holes in my pants.  Moments later, I went to smoke a cig only to realize my pants were see-through.  I CAN’T WIN!  Based on this information, it seems unlikely that a) anyone other than the homeless vagrants downtown would want to marry me and b) I have any of the necessary tools to keep another human being alive.

A friend sent me a plant recently – I killed it.  I haven’t had toilet paper in my apartment for several months.  I view walking without falling down to be a challenge.  Do you believe in God?  I believe he exists but that he is trying to kill me.  With all of these quandaries to sift through, I haven’t had time to mourn my loss of eggs – and lost they are.  I can’t keep a pair of sunglasses for more than three weeks.  God only knows where the fuck my eggs have managed to run off to. 

My point here is that I’m going to try harder to want babies.  My lack of concern surrounding this issue is alienating me from other women – that and my propensity for banging other people’s significant others (Sorry girls!).  I am a woman God damnit!  I should want a baby!  What better way to right all the terrible wrongs I’ve experienced in my life.  My baby is going to be the shit!  My baby will fit into pants!  My baby will be responsible!  My baby will live in an apartment that has rooms!  My baby won’t drive a car manufactured by a company that also makes toasters!  My baby won’t have road rage!  My baby won’t kill plants!  MY BABY WILL BE THE QUARTERBACK FOR THE CHICAGO BEARS!!!!!!!!  Shit…my baby isn’t going to like me at all.

Bathtub Diving

Many years ago, I lived with three men in an apartment that had one bathroom.  In that bathroom was an oversized bathtub.  I believe it was this bathtub that led to the most successful relationship I’ve been party to, thus far.  Enveloped by a sea of bubbles I fell in love – with a couple.   

I like to get drunk and go swimming.  You may view this as a safety hazard – I view it as quirky.  A decade ago, when I still believed in love and the whiskey flowed like cocaine, I used to get drunk and invite people back to my house to “go swimming.”  There were a slew of problems with this scenario.  For starters, I didn’t have a swimming pool.  I did, however, have an oversized bathtub which I found to be wildly exciting and avant-garde.  Furthermore, this bathtub was connected to my roommate’s bedroom and I liked to burst through his room while running and jumping into the tub – “Bathtub Diving,” if you will.   

One evening I invited my co-workers, John and Natasha, to participate in the diving festivities.  We all worked at a nightclub together and had already gotten off of work and closed down a 4am bar.  John and Natasha lived together and had been dating for a while.  They were one of my favorite couples because they never made me feel like a third wheel.  Several hours later, we were swimming in my bathtub.  Several hours after that, I was navigating my way around a vagina.  OH BIG DEAL!  GET OFF YOUR HIGH HORSE!  Fine, John, Natasha and I had participated in a threesome but I’ll be damned if I let you cheapen this beautiful love story with your sick lesbian fantasies.  WE WERE IN LOVE OK?!  CAN I CONTINUE PLEASE?!  UGH…ANYWAY…

The next morning, John went to work and Natasha and I spent the day chain smoking and watching Lifetime movies.  We had so much fun that we opted to rerun the same scenario that very night…and the night after that…and the night after that.  After a few months, I found myself to be desperately in love with John and Natasha and stopped dating all other people.  If I were at a bar and a man asked for my number, which used to happen ALL THE TIME, I would decline and inform the man that I was in a relationship.  I was monogamous except for the times when I was banging two people simultaneously.  OH PUH-LEASE WOULD YOU LET IT GO?!  YES, I HAVE THREESOMES SOMETIMES.  THAT DOESN’T MEAN YOU’RE BETTER THAN ME!  

The problem with me and booze is that I can’t always control what’s going to happen to me after I’ve downed a few Budweiser Tallboys.  A few months into dating John and Natasha, I found myself in a bar (shocking) and I accidentally slept with a stranger.  This was not unlike me, although it did mark the first time I’d cheated on a couple.  The morning after, as I was gathering my belongings, the strange man handed me a key and said, “You live here now.”  I was hesitant but that bed sure was comfortable and if I were actually living there I wouldn’t have to get up – so I didn’t.  Thus began a new relationship.  I broke up with John and Natasha and ended up living with the mystery man for over a year.  (He was nice.  I wonder what ever happened to him…)

In the years since, I’ve never been able to recreate the deep emotional connection that I had with John and Natasha.  The other night I was feeling nostalgic and decided to take a bath.  It was terrible.  For starters, there were no other people in it.  Secondly, it wasn’t positioned in a way that would lend itself to Bathtub Diving.  And thirdly, it didn’t result in me dating a couple – a couple that strived to make love to me concurrently while I waded through bubbles.  WOULD YOU LET IT GO YOU SICK FUCK?!