Yawn…it’s early. I’m kind of sweating. I don’t have anything too interesting to write about today. Well, that’s not entirely true. My baby shit his pants in the most horrific way this morning. Firstly, when I walked into his room it smelled like someone had stuffed balloons full of peanut butter and set them on fire. Then, the diaper was completely, completely full. If you think of a diaper, when it’s removed as shaped more or less like an hour glass, that entire area was nothing but shit. Edge to edge to edge to edge. His pajamas were drippy…it was awesome.
It’s interesting. Having a kid sounds like it’s terrible, right? It’s just this never ending fountain of shit that you’ve got to get up and dance in at like six in the morning and then you’ve got to get all the outlets plugged up, and get all the books and knick knacks and shit off the low shelves, because man, if that little fucker gets hurt, it’s on you. You will be ridiculed, put in jail, described as ‘unfit,’ banished to the couch with no hope of blowjobs ever again. Oh, god help you if your little thing happens to hurt itself doing any of the monstrously stupid things that it does all day. I mean, fuck, man. Touch the stove? Crawl right off the bed? Pull yourself over and into the toilet? What a bunch of well thought out activities. Sheesh…They’re expensive and they scream and…excuse me, what? What am I doing this weekend? I’m going to bed at nine and dealing with a baby all day. That’s what I do. And the best part? In a few years this kid is going to tell me to go fuck myself. Good times.
BUT, you know what? It’s actually great. People have been saying this since the dawn of time, right? And what’s the general feeling regarding this? “Nope. You think being a parent sucks, but you can’t say that out loud and now you’re just bored and looking for someone else to go to breakfast with at seven thirty and someone else to have early dinners with and go home by 8…You don’t think it’s great. YOU KNOW IT SUCKS. YOU FUCKED YOURSELF AND NOW YOU’RE TRYING TO RUIN MY LIFE TOO!”
Well, that’s part of it for sure. Nah. I’m kidding. The thing is, it’s so easy to talk about the downsides of parenting. The visceral image of scraping human feces from under your fingernails is a lot more engrossing than talking about how awesome it is when a baby looks at you and laughs. That kind of shit doesn’t play, man. It’s just cheesy. It’s the kind of schmaltz that some dildo in some movie for women who use weight watchers says. Then, all the weight watchers chicks put down their ice cream spoons and go “aaaaw”. But who wants to entertain them? Who wants to be entertainment for middle aged women, I ask you again. Oprah. That’s who. Woah. Wait.
Okay, so I guess that goes to show that those ARE probably the best people to entertain, career wise, huh? I mean, Oprah is rich as shit, man. All this time I’ve been making music and writing blogs for teenaged white people and you know what I’m realizing? YOU DON’T HAVE ANY MONEY!!!! I should be telling inspirational stories to your fucking moms about how I built some furniture and redesigned a fucking kitchen using all found objects and then I revitalized some old silver using a homemade varnish and then I took care of my baby while cooking dinner (a delicious, high protein, low carb meal that I got from US weekly. It’s one of the meals Angelina used to lose the weight after the twins. )
Oh yeah. This shit just got interesting. No more rumors about Danzig or stories about getting drunk and telling someone to go fuck themselves (although I did shove a guy in the bathroom at the L and L this weekend [he was touching me while I was trying to pee, which is, in all cultures, a big no no) No sir. Oh, wait. Excuse me. No MA’AM. It’s all gonna be shit about how to make sure your drapes look like expensive European originals, but really they’re just Joanne Fabric samples and a little bit of ingenuity. Fuck. I already feel so much richer. Okay…uh Hmmm…I’m out of here. It’s an economic crisis out there, folks! I’m just looking out for me and mine. So, til tomorrow, toodleoo! Come back to BSC tomorrow where I’ll spill the beans on a sinfully delicious tuscan chicken sandwich that only has 3 grams of fat and 200 calories!