Mommy queerest
Yesterday, I had a dream that I was pregnant.
Did I say dream? I meant nightmare. Once I awoke, it took me a good half hour to shake off the feelings of dread and panic.
Deep terror aside, it's an absurd notion because:
a) Becoming pregnant would require my engaging in sex with someone besides myself;
and
b) The kind of sex I like to have doesn't generally result in pregnancy, unless someone brings along a jar of David Crosby's jizz.
Since no one I know is on one-eyed-handshake terms with Mr. Crosby, I can assume I'm safe for the moment.
So what brought on this incredibly unlikely and scream-inducing bout with my subconscious? It's hard to say, exactly. I often sleep with the TV on, so it's possible some knocked-up bitch's drama on the screen was leaking through into my sleeping brain. It's not like I have some secret longing to be a mother. In fact, the very thought of it makes me want to guzzle a six pack and throw darts at a giant inflatable penis. My maternal instinct extends as far as my cats, and even then, I draw the line at breastfeeding.
Don't get me wrong; I don't dislike (most) children. In fact, I get on quite well with the crayons-and-Play-Doh set. I'm probably not any more mature than the average fourth grader. But when I've reached my limit, I've reached my limit, and it's essential to me that I'm able to make a graceful escape when that time comes, to retreat to my sophisticated adult world of drinking beer, watching reality TV, dressing my cats as hookers, and having the Play-Doh all to myself. When it comes time to eat, I don't want to be sharing my dip with someone who's probably just had his or her fingers knuckle deep in a nostril before reaching into the chip bag. And if I had my own kid, people would likely look down on me if I didn't change a diaper now and then. Fuck that - I've never changed a diaper in my life, and I intend to continue that trend until I reach an age where I have to start changing my own diapers. Unless I can con some hot little nurse into doing it for me.
At least at my age, and being single now, people have finally stopped asking me when I'm going to have a baby, as if I've been playing the overture all my life and everyone is waiting for Act I to start, wherein I push a 9-pound squirming human out of my screaming lady bits, let it maul my nipples mercilessly for a couple of years, and am thus fulfilled as a woman, finally. You know what? I think I'll just go stand over there, where the man batter isn't flying around the room. Thanks.
Just to be on the safe side, though, from now on, I'm using a condom when I masturbate.
Did I say dream? I meant nightmare. Once I awoke, it took me a good half hour to shake off the feelings of dread and panic.
Deep terror aside, it's an absurd notion because:
a) Becoming pregnant would require my engaging in sex with someone besides myself;
and
b) The kind of sex I like to have doesn't generally result in pregnancy, unless someone brings along a jar of David Crosby's jizz.
Since no one I know is on one-eyed-handshake terms with Mr. Crosby, I can assume I'm safe for the moment.
So what brought on this incredibly unlikely and scream-inducing bout with my subconscious? It's hard to say, exactly. I often sleep with the TV on, so it's possible some knocked-up bitch's drama on the screen was leaking through into my sleeping brain. It's not like I have some secret longing to be a mother. In fact, the very thought of it makes me want to guzzle a six pack and throw darts at a giant inflatable penis. My maternal instinct extends as far as my cats, and even then, I draw the line at breastfeeding.
Don't get me wrong; I don't dislike (most) children. In fact, I get on quite well with the crayons-and-Play-Doh set. I'm probably not any more mature than the average fourth grader. But when I've reached my limit, I've reached my limit, and it's essential to me that I'm able to make a graceful escape when that time comes, to retreat to my sophisticated adult world of drinking beer, watching reality TV, dressing my cats as hookers, and having the Play-Doh all to myself. When it comes time to eat, I don't want to be sharing my dip with someone who's probably just had his or her fingers knuckle deep in a nostril before reaching into the chip bag. And if I had my own kid, people would likely look down on me if I didn't change a diaper now and then. Fuck that - I've never changed a diaper in my life, and I intend to continue that trend until I reach an age where I have to start changing my own diapers. Unless I can con some hot little nurse into doing it for me.
At least at my age, and being single now, people have finally stopped asking me when I'm going to have a baby, as if I've been playing the overture all my life and everyone is waiting for Act I to start, wherein I push a 9-pound squirming human out of my screaming lady bits, let it maul my nipples mercilessly for a couple of years, and am thus fulfilled as a woman, finally. You know what? I think I'll just go stand over there, where the man batter isn't flying around the room. Thanks.
Just to be on the safe side, though, from now on, I'm using a condom when I masturbate.
Katy Barzedor proclaimed this to be so at 11:02 AM
12 of you felt the overwhelming need to say somethin':
How about looking at it in a less literal way? Are you pregnant with your "new self"? It sounds like you've been indulging your creativity lately...are you about to give birth to a fabulous new piece of creativity that will take you in a new, but scary, direction?
Good call on the condom. I mean, you never know where your fingers may have been. Safety first!
You're funny. And your dreams are weirder than mine. Which is saying a lot.
Better stop sitting on toilet seats too. I hear that's a risk factor as well ;-)
...even then, I draw the line at breastfeeding.
That would be something to see on one of those hidden camera shows.
Let me paint the scene for you:
It's a crowded waiting room at some vet's office. Some lady comes in with a kitten and while waiting her turn, proceeds to (through some set up where she has a bottle under her shirt or something to that effect) breastfeed her young one. Can you imagine the reaction of the other people in the room? Of course you'd have to make sure that the staff is in on the joke so they can play along like it's no big deal.
Pure comedy.
Eep! Dreams where I'm pregnant are definitely scary! ;)
You're single?
You're hot!
I have a partner, but if I didn't....
Just want to pass on some lurve.
HTGT - I sure hope you're right! I just hope the "baby" doesn't turn out ugly and inbred. ;)
Eclectic - No, I never do know. The left hand is blissfully ignorant of where the right hand's been.
Carol - heheheh, I've been having the weirdest dreams this year. They rival my childhood weirdest, which culminated in a joy buzzer up the ass.
Chia - I'm a mad hoverer.
Joyce - if I could get the employees to play along, I'd be totally willing to do that.
CKelli - probably even scarier for you, since you actually know what you'd be in for!
Anon - why thank ya! Anonymous lurve beats the hell outta no lurve at all.
I remember hearing about the joy buzzer dream. Of course, what was weirdest about that one was when you woke up, but we won't go into that here.
You know, you really have a poetic way of describing childbirth. Makes everyone wanna go out ant make babies.
Big deal. I use a condom all the time during masturbation. Thank God I have a really large freezer. If there's ever a cataclysmic event that requires repopulating the world, we're set.
Yes, use the condom, Bucky. You certainly don’t want to give birth to a plastic Bucky doll.
And I wouldn’t worry too much about that nightmare. I suspect it’s just your biological clock screaming at you.
Have you ever seen any of those It's Alive movies?
If I have children I want them to turn out like that.
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