And then Abby gave birth to an alien….

If you know me at all, you know I hate babies.  #babiesareassholes is probably my favorite hashtag.  And by “hate”, I mean, I usually hate the screaming, smelly, poor parented toddler who you would rather beat with a stick rather than cuddle.  I never understood the fascination with babies.  I love when my friends have kids, well, because THEY are happy.  And I am happy for them.  But as for the “awwww, I just want to smooch it”…. nope not me.  I have always thought babies looked like small, emotionless aliens.  They smell, can’t make facial expressions, and their heads resemble Dan Aykroyd in Coneheads.  I am in constant fear when holding one that I will drop it and somehow it will land perfectly on that soft spot and it will explode like a grapefruit.  Yet, unlike a grapefruit, I can’t offer to buy the owner a new one at Whole Foods tomorrow morning.  Or I could, but we probably wouldn’t be friends anymore.


So today while talking to my friend Abby about the joys of menstruation and birth control,  babies were apparently the next topic on the discussion list.


Me: My baby space is FUCKING killing me.  God damnit!  Eve was a bitch.  She ate that apple and I have to pay?  What the shit?!?


Abby: Get on Depo, you won’t get cramps.


Me: Depo makes you gain weight, right?  That’s the last thing the world needs.  I’m already pissed off that I have to deal with this every month.  Let’s just add 10 pounds to the equation and people can make bets on how quickly I kill someone for a piece of chocolate.


Abby: Some people gain weight, I lost weight…. years ago.   BUT…. No periods!


Me: Yea that would freak me out.  I like the period…ya know…to know..for sure.  It’s like a miserable safety blanket.  A crampy, nasty, miserable safety blanket.


Abby:  **laughs**  I guess.  I don’t feel anything kicking, so I’m good….right?


Me:  If YOU have a baby, it will probably lay silently, plotting the world’s demise…  Wringing it’s tiny, creepy hands together like Mr. Burns.


Abby: Very true.


Me: Then, without notice, it would spring out from inside you.  Like that creepy thing from the movie “Aliens”…. Give us the finger… And hopefully kill Justin Bieber on daytime television.

I have friends in spite of myself.

And this is how my friends and I communicate.


John: Wondering is “fully clothed, alone in bed, in complete darkness at 6:30 on a Friday” is a paint color I can get at Sherwin Williams?


Me: Be warned, I have a blog. This is going on it.


John: Haha. Support! In my defense, I took off one shoe before getting into bed.


Me: Does the one shoe negate the fact that you probably aren’t wearing clean underwear?


John: I am thinking that this conversation can only get sadder with pink wine. And they’re “clean”…That’s all the context you get.


Me: Well at least you are wearing underwear.


John: I mean I do have a job.


Me: And the Chinese guy in the dildo factory has a “job” too.


John: And god bless him. You realize that eventually our friendship will grow to the point that I will bitch about girls and you’ll have all new material?


Me: Don’t you already?


John: Well the girl I took to the wedding isn’t talking to me. It’s very frustrating. I was super gentlemanly. I even let her call me her husband when our highschool gym teacher decided to hit on her.


Me: And now nothing? Not even after saving her from a lifetime of gym shorts and foot powder?


John: RIGHT!?!?!


Me: Don’t worry, there are a lot more cunts in the sea.


John: God damn words to live by!

And you just puked in your mouth a little…didn’t you?

After reading the previous post, who wouldn’t?  “How sweet, her boyfriend got her a blog…blah blah blah.”  It’s true though.  There was so much sweetiness going on in that post *I* nearly ended up in a diabetic coma.  But alas, that is how this endeavor will start.  A birthday gift. An abstract accommodation. A place where I can vent, share stories, and hopefully change the world. 

And by “change the world”, I mean make my friends follow me and realize that I am going to publicly display every ridiculous conversation we have.  You’re welcome.