Fattening Up the Rabbit
Rabbit,
Where to start?
Not only am I a huge fan of the "thirty-something childless whore" demographic, but I'm also a member.
Love your thirties. They kick ass on any of the previous decades through which we’ve muddled. Remember when we were kids and older people were always telling us “enjoy it now, it’s the best time of your life.” Was that not the biggest load of crap they ever tried to feed us? High school, in the parlance of the time, “blew.” And I say that as someone who enjoyed high school. Yeah, either they knew they were lying or they were the most miserable fucking sad sacks ever. This would go quite a ways towards explaining a lot of things.
Love being childless. I have a couple of babies on my radar and it’s pretty cool watching how big their parents’ eyes get watching the baby do something amazing, like eat a pea. A friend and I recently watched a toddler go tear-assin’ past our office building, eyes like satellite dishes, his hands clutching and releasing the genius of nothing. “Kids are awesome,” my friend said. “Yeah, the first four years of your life is like being on acid all the time”. Hey, I’d love to have a kid, but at this stage of the game I can barely feed and diaper myself.
Love being a whore. The Assclown, recently assured me that every time there is sex without love, a little Baby Jesus dies. Now that’s a lot of pressure, but it seemed like sound counsel. He assured me that I would slip up, and well… You can leapfrog from dalliance to dalliance, blissfully and patiently awaiting the love of your life -or- you can sit there sexless and alone awaiting the love of your life. Either way, you’re still gonna have to walk the dog.
And go ahead; love your dog, too. Just not “too dearly.” I’ll be honest with you Rabbit, you kinda’ picked a scab. I lived with that woman for four years, and let me tell you something; there is nothing, repeat nothing, in this world more sad and embarrassing than a woman in her mid-thirties getting drunk and asking a stranger if s/he wants to see a picture of her dog. Seriously, is this kind of behavior anywhere near OK? No, it’s not.
“I'm saying we can't talk about anything with any men without making them cringe a little and wonder how desperate and sad we are.”
Oh, Rabbit, “can’t” is the original c-word. Do it, make a man cringe, who gives a frog’s fat ass? I know, I know, I cringed, and I stand by that cringe, and that cringe has value. When we finally meet at the wedding of some Proglodyte or Nexoid, you’ll know going in that I’m insufferable ass. You won’t have waste one minute of your life finding out what a contemptible piece of waste I am. Or better still, you could just ask the Captain to point me out from afar and you could avoid me all day.
If, on the other hand, you want to talk about whether or not Luke and Lorelai are right for each other or if Dean will really leave Lindsey for Rory…
Like I said, you picked a scab. Don’t think for a moment that I question your happiness. It was unfair of me to suggest otherwise. But for you to suggest that I “have a lot of sadness that (I am) not letting in” is equally absurd. I’m doing backstrokes in my sadness, shit my sadness could float the QEII. Ask around, ask The Captain, The Assclown, J-Lo, Team Blah… they’ll tell you, sadness is like heroin for me. But that doesn’t preclude me from being happy. Far from it, my sorrow makes me very happy. It’s like those kids who mutilate themselves so they can feel something, anything… it’s like that. Anhedonia of the soul is a dizzying affliction. I keep rubbing alcohol on it, the sores won’t heal. And this makes me happy.
Lucy was a bitch. Aim higher, you’re better than that.
I’m totally biting “fuckmunch.”
FM
rabbit beans her dog
with a can of god’s blue sky
it makes her happy
Where to start?
Not only am I a huge fan of the "thirty-something childless whore" demographic, but I'm also a member.
Love your thirties. They kick ass on any of the previous decades through which we’ve muddled. Remember when we were kids and older people were always telling us “enjoy it now, it’s the best time of your life.” Was that not the biggest load of crap they ever tried to feed us? High school, in the parlance of the time, “blew.” And I say that as someone who enjoyed high school. Yeah, either they knew they were lying or they were the most miserable fucking sad sacks ever. This would go quite a ways towards explaining a lot of things.
Love being childless. I have a couple of babies on my radar and it’s pretty cool watching how big their parents’ eyes get watching the baby do something amazing, like eat a pea. A friend and I recently watched a toddler go tear-assin’ past our office building, eyes like satellite dishes, his hands clutching and releasing the genius of nothing. “Kids are awesome,” my friend said. “Yeah, the first four years of your life is like being on acid all the time”. Hey, I’d love to have a kid, but at this stage of the game I can barely feed and diaper myself.
Love being a whore. The Assclown, recently assured me that every time there is sex without love, a little Baby Jesus dies. Now that’s a lot of pressure, but it seemed like sound counsel. He assured me that I would slip up, and well… You can leapfrog from dalliance to dalliance, blissfully and patiently awaiting the love of your life -or- you can sit there sexless and alone awaiting the love of your life. Either way, you’re still gonna have to walk the dog.
And go ahead; love your dog, too. Just not “too dearly.” I’ll be honest with you Rabbit, you kinda’ picked a scab. I lived with that woman for four years, and let me tell you something; there is nothing, repeat nothing, in this world more sad and embarrassing than a woman in her mid-thirties getting drunk and asking a stranger if s/he wants to see a picture of her dog. Seriously, is this kind of behavior anywhere near OK? No, it’s not.
“I'm saying we can't talk about anything with any men without making them cringe a little and wonder how desperate and sad we are.”
Oh, Rabbit, “can’t” is the original c-word. Do it, make a man cringe, who gives a frog’s fat ass? I know, I know, I cringed, and I stand by that cringe, and that cringe has value. When we finally meet at the wedding of some Proglodyte or Nexoid, you’ll know going in that I’m insufferable ass. You won’t have waste one minute of your life finding out what a contemptible piece of waste I am. Or better still, you could just ask the Captain to point me out from afar and you could avoid me all day.
If, on the other hand, you want to talk about whether or not Luke and Lorelai are right for each other or if Dean will really leave Lindsey for Rory…
Like I said, you picked a scab. Don’t think for a moment that I question your happiness. It was unfair of me to suggest otherwise. But for you to suggest that I “have a lot of sadness that (I am) not letting in” is equally absurd. I’m doing backstrokes in my sadness, shit my sadness could float the QEII. Ask around, ask The Captain, The Assclown, J-Lo, Team Blah… they’ll tell you, sadness is like heroin for me. But that doesn’t preclude me from being happy. Far from it, my sorrow makes me very happy. It’s like those kids who mutilate themselves so they can feel something, anything… it’s like that. Anhedonia of the soul is a dizzying affliction. I keep rubbing alcohol on it, the sores won’t heal. And this makes me happy.
Lucy was a bitch. Aim higher, you’re better than that.
I’m totally biting “fuckmunch.”
FM
rabbit beans her dog
with a can of god’s blue sky
it makes her happy
1 Comments:
not being childless, in my 30s or a whore, it's hard to really understand rabbit. even tho i love my dogs.
but as to kids, i'd say that the first years of being a parent is like being on acid. or, to be honest, what i'd guess being on acid would be like....
she just wrong about you having a lot of sadness you're not letting in. passion is some sort of balance between euphoria and gloom and you seem to glory in its danger...
lisa gray
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