Sunday, July 27, 2008

An open letter to the cool successful independent first-time moms

You know, my old female friends from the college Feminism class or some sort, it’s actually legal for you to be pregnant in L.A. last time I checked. We can even hold a Ph.D. in Gender Studies and still buy an open crotch French maid set in the Valley here. That’s what’s lovely about L.A. You just can’t do the same in San Francisco, you know what I mean? So lady, you don’t have to always emphasize your pregnancy is “an accident” to everybody except your mom. After the 30th “victim” told me her pregnancy was also “an accident”, I started realizing the pattern of all those usual stories of “a serial accident” happened to so many self-claimed independent professional women is really not just an accident… No, it’s not X-file…

Let’s face it. You’re not that hot in L.A.’s standard. We don’t really talk about it aloud but we all know where we stand. You do okay in school and find a guy who’ll drink your pee to marry you before your biological last call. It’s about 2 weeks after your last period now. You know what’s gonna happen. You let the guy put his thing in you and stay there long enough to reach your reproductive goal. Then 2 weeks later, you don’t have another period.

You call this carefully designed and executed plan “an accident” just because you had done that before and the first 2 times he didn’t knock you up?! Aw, wait a minute, did I really know you from college?

Then 7 months later, you’ve already done with your Babies “R” Us shopping, baby shower and all that crap. Your home looks like a kindergarten.

Then that little thing grows and your life becomes a million-dollar marathon marketing campaign that advertises for years, more successful than the AT&T’s. Non-stopped online baby photos with professional touch ups. Custom designed greeting cards for ALL holidays, ALL occasions. Baby voice recording machine greetings that last a damn hour, make us want to just hang up. Endless virtual live reporting about his first word; his first walk on both feet; his monthly anniversaries; his first tooth; Halloween baby costume; Christmas baby costume; sudden ethnic baby costume for the Kazakhs New Year. Goose bump inducing repetition of the melodramatically tear breaking “a mother’s love is the biggest love of all”; “he’s an amazing baby; he just makes me cry”; “baby bearing is the most amazing thing in life”; “Chick, you’ll never understand it until you become a parent”; “oh…I’m so proud of my baby…”; “say ‘hi’ to Auntie Chick”; “say ‘bye’ to Auntie Chick”; “come on, give Auntie Chick a kiss”…

You ask me what I’m doing; who I’m seeing. I tell you I’m doing what I choose; I’m not getting married soon. Then you look at me with that infamous “married asshole’s stare” telling me you thought I’m crazy.

Sheesh! Will you just shoot me?! No, I don’t fucking want a baby and I certainly have no interest whatsoever in reproducing a life like yours. You get it? God, even my mom in Little Rock gets it.

Since when have you been so on the case of keeping contacts with everybody anyway? Where were you when you’re busy chasing the nerdy guys that couldn’t find a girlfriend in our college years? We used to call you all these years but didn’t hear back from you. Are female friends just your human accessories like a breast cancer rubber bracelet or a pink ribbon charity tee? So finally one of the nerds agreed to marry you. We were wondering if we should buy you an 8 foot leather whip with stainless steel reinforced handle for your wedding. You want black or brown? The floggers are complimentary. All top quality good stuff wrapped in foil pouches from Pleasure Chest, the best local sex shop. Won’t break or discolor the underwear. Careful, don’t kill the nerd though.

Don’t pretend you are one of those women who are great artists, intellectuals, creative chicks, have a quality pool of male lovers, never get married, never have kids and still look good in bikinis in their 40s then fall in love with another woman who’s like themselves in their 50s if you are not, alright? You don’t have to be one. It’s okay if you’re not but just don’t fake it, please? Trying to be cool is very uncool.

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t discriminate against babies. It’s the obsessed pretentious moms I can’t stand.

Your single friend,
The crazy chick who got your “you’ll find somebody” stare

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