I have a weird name.
Those Negative Nancys that say you have to flush your social life once you procreate are as full of shit as the poop they’re pouring on your parade. You don’t get the luxury of telling the rest of the world to kiss your ass as you hunker down in your baby bunker for the next 18 years; you’re just no longer allowed to CHOOSE the faces that will drive you to drink on a daily basis.
No, once you pop out a pup you are forced to mingle with OTHER mom-like beings. And once that little manure machine gets to preschool… THEY pick the moms FOR you.
Having other children around to keep yours out of your ass for an hour or two is fantastic… having to make small talk and compare diaper dramas with adults you’ve never done body shots off of in your last, KID-FREE life is freakin’ exhausting.
I’m not ashamed to admit I’m antisocial. In fact it’s one of my best qualities; people are gross. Unfortunately my daughter is one of those proverbial social butterflies. She has cronies at all corners of the city, and none of them are orphans. They all come equipped with unique blends of moms and grandmas that want to shoot the shit over endless steaming cups of liquid laxative while the little ones frolic gaily and I contemplate how to gnaw through a major artery without interrupting my coffee companion’s riveting Pap smear story.
I’m not trying to rush the whole growing up gig; we all know it goes WAY too fast on its own. But I crave the day that one of my kid’s classmates can come out without the constant companionship of their guardian-types. There’s nothing worse than asking a fellow forebearer if their kid can come to play and having them say, “Sure, WE’LL be over soon.” You can’t just rescind your invitation; suddenly you’re the WING MAN for your progeny’s play date, and chances are the two of you will NOT be as compatible as your kids.
I can appreciate the puny people. All they want out of life is to have fun and eat junk food; admirable ambitions, if you ask me (which you didn’t). But ADULTS… I can’t deal with us assholes. We feel like we always have to TALK, and SMILE. That shit is ANNOYING. Silent stoicism gets a bad rap, but I assure you, it is bliss.
So, as I have yet to find a mom-mate that I mesh well with, I have composed a personal ad that will hopefully find me a suitable partner in play dating:
MOM SEEKING MOM, FOR LONG-TERM ALLIANCE. MUST BE ABLE TO SIT DOWN AND SHUT THE FUCK UP FOR HOURS ON END. WILLINGNESS TO LEAVE THEIR OFFSPRING IN MY SOLE CARE ON OCCASION A PLUS… I HAVE KEPT MY OWN KID ALIVE FOR 5 YEARS, YOURS *SHOULD* SURVIVE THE AFTERNOON. MUST VOW TO NEVER DISCUSS THE WEATHER, POLITICS, RELIGION, OR GREY’S ANATOMY. SERIOUS INQUIRIES ONLY. APPLY ONLINE AT http://kimmydee-pitchabitch.blogspot.com/.
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Fuck you Romance, with your roses and sweets,
Everyone’s got a PET PEEVE. Some shit that just ruffles your feathers and gets your eyes redder than a mandrill’s ass. It’s dreadful, and can range from your Mother-In-Law’s pesky habit of breathing to the synthetic death grip of your too tan, control-top pantyhose.