8.19.2010

Little shitting, snotting angels

A few blocks from the new apartment, there’s a restaurant I’ve wanted to try for some time now. It’s a combination diner and bar – which deserves to be on the male fantasy top ten alongside things like “nymphomaniac who owns a liquor store” and “Lamborghini with a gun turret.” (Who has an erection? Show of hands?)

Giant Camel was in town last week, so we stopped in for dinner the other night. It was magical. Decade-neutral décor, so we could have been in any time in the last 80 years. One of those ridiculously extensive diner menus – eight single-spaced pages and a specials insert, including such unlikely dishes as veal Milanese and Italian rum cake. Personal, just-for-your-table jukeboxes with an enviable selection of Motown. We got the dinner special – soup, an entrée, a vegetable and dessert, plus bread. I was with someone I love, I was a little drunk, and I was gorging myself to the sound of “Please, Mr. Postman.” You can keep your clouds and harps; heaven for me is the Marvelettes, fried seafood, and a BAC between .03 and .10. It was even my favorite weather outside: overcast with light rain.

“Giant Camel. You know what? Wouldn’t it be great if this diner was a spaceship, and we could…”

“Travel the galaxy, solving mysteries with the help of a talking pug?”

“How did you know I was going to say that?”

“I’ve known you for two years, and every fantasy you’ve ever describe to me ends with either the phrase ‘travel the galaxy, solving mysteries with the help of a talking pug’ or the phrase ‘now that I am king, Adrian Brody will gleefully submit to my advances.”

“You make me sound like a dangerously unbalanced man-child warped by sexual perversion and ‘Murder, She Wrote.’”

“…I love you?”

You may love me, but when I’m king you and Adrian will OBEY me.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Only one sour note marred my evening. It was the same sour note, over and over again. About twelve feet from us sat a family with a little baby who was screaming. He seemed content and was looking around the room with bright, interested eyes… but he was screaming, with the same “a-a-a-a-a-aaaaaaaaaa a-a-a-a-a-aaaaaaaaa” pattern as a garden sprinkler.

You all know that I’m six cats and a case of the menopause away from being a fussy old maid, so you won’t be surprised that I absolutely hate loud noises. I hate a lot of things, so it’s saying a lot that loud noises are in the top five. I inherited this from my mother, an agoraphobic pacifist and devout Christian who nevertheless once turned to me in a restaurant and said, “If that woman shouting behind us doesn’t be quiet, I’m going to slap her motherfucking face off.”

(“Do you ever write about your family?” “Oh, only my mother’s threats of violence and the imaginary affair between my father and my co-writer, who is 35 years his junior.”)

So, eventually the family took the child away, leaving me in peace with the reflection: My God, I don’t like children. I’ve spent the last several years saying unspeakable things on a regular basis (for example, “retarded,”) but somehow nothing really takes the wind out of people’s sails faster.

What I say: “I don’t like children.”

What People Behave as Though I Said: “I don’t like children, but I feel compelled to have at least five to ensure the future of the Glorious White Race. If they’re too expensive, I’ll just beat them until the state takes them away. Do you have a cigarette?”

I don’t hate children on a Herod scale and I like my baby cousins, but my paternal feelings are limited to dogs. Here’s why:

As discussed, children make loud noises. I would rather be in physical pain than hear a child fuss or cry. I can’t handle loud and/or sudden noises, period, paragraph.

I am a worrier. A man who has night terrors, who pays his bills weeks before they are due, who while cooking bends over repeatedly to make sure the flame hasn’t gone out and allowed the room to fill with gas, a man who every time he leaves a friend or relative thinks “well, they’ll probably die before long,” is too worried to have children. Sharp sticks, child molesters, SIDS, asbestos, juvenile arthritis, devil-worshipping rock and roll bands, Hare Krishna recruiters, bullies, girls who develop early, chemical weapons – all these can warp, kill, or maim a child before 10 o’clock in the morning. I’d be dead of a stroke before it was three.

I am a loner. If I had a child, I wouldn’t be able to be alone for years. Spending an entire day in my bathrobe watching “Murder, She Wrote” while eating grocery store crab dip and writing for the blog? GONE.

Oh my God, the fluids. I barely bother to clean up my own secretions. I don’t think I can wipe for two, to be perfectly honest.

I have the attention span of a retarded developmentally disabled fruit fly. While writing this post I have:

- Gotten up to make bread

- Gotten a beer

- Put the beer back because I have to work tomorrow

- Decided to have the beer anyway and gone back for it

- Made bread

- Made corn

- Written “made bread” twice because I forgot I already said it

- Read a chapter of a murder mystery

- Set my alarm

- Watched an episode of “King of the Hill”

- Peed

Is this a man with the wherewithal to raise a child until it was eighteen years old? Eighteen hours old?

I drink too much. Mix up your Tom Collins thermos with the child’s apple juice Thermos even once and it’s an “incident.”

I have weird opinions. “Class, who can tell us who our state’s governor is? Yes, Grace?”

“An inbred, glass-jawed shitsplat who should be making license plates in a Moldovan prison camp with a dozen live scorpions nailed to each testicle.”

“Class, who can tell us what the United Nations does? Yes, Grace?”

“Daily makes God regret allowing Noah to build an ark.”

I’m weird in general. My son would be the only six-year-old boy dressed as Lizzie Borden. Not for Halloween, just, you know. Out for the day.

I swear a lot for someone as polite as I am. The kids wouldn’t know which was which. “Would you be so kind as to give me a lollipop, you fucking prick?”

Let’s face it, I have a hard enough time interacting with adults. I call it putting the “Er…” back in “Asperger’s.” (Yeah, I went there.) This is how weak my understanding of human interactions is (tampon cannon, Dad): once, after a late night, I woke up in a friend’s guest room. There was a naked man in the room who, when he saw I was awake, got into bed with me. My first thought was, I swear to you, “Oh, I guess he’s cold.” I didn’t understand his intentions until they were… beyond apparent. (“He sure is friendly!”)

The secret, especially selfish reason I don’t want to have children is this. If I had children, they’d know they were going to inherit and not necessarily coddle me in my own age. If I dangle an inheritance over my baby cousins and make them compete to see who gives me to most comfortable living in my declining years… and then give it all to the NRA, I’ll totally get the last laugh!

35 comments:

lemon said...

I hate kids too. and i hate when people think that when you say you hate kids your really don't mean it. i do.

Lydia said...

Oh my god I don't want kids too, and every time I say this people look at me like I'm the Antichrist! It's not like I go out of my way to kick every child I see - I love my nieces and nephews. I just love being able to give them back more.
I don't EVER want kids, because I enjoy things like walking around my house naked, swearing, being able go out whenever the fuck I want, and not having to deal with another person's vomit and feces. All of which are not possible with a child. And yet every time I give this speech to someone, (usually a stranger in line at the grocery store) they tell me "It's different when they're your own," which is the worst argument ever, since I know parents and they complain about this all the time. So then the stranger threatens that it'll happen to me one day whether I intend for it to or not, and I usually like to respond with, "Should my IUD fail, I promise you I will abort that thing faster than you can clutch your rosary and say a Hail Mary." Surprisingly, they never have a response for that.

Jessica Ellis said...

While I don't share your hatred for children (I am currently growing one in my womb), I will say that my child will most certainly answer questions in school the same way that yours would. And the answer for "Who is our state's governor?" is the same for my state now and probably will be for my child's entire life (I am in Texas).

A. Rue said...

I felt no judgment about the "I hate kids" tirade, but that's mainly because I was focused on salivating over the diner/bar concept. And yet you never mentioned the joint by name! What a tease.

Sarah said...

As far as being a worrier goes? You didn't even consider that the kids might do something to YOU!

I know a family who adopted 2 kids from Russia who tried to put Draino in their fruit punch to kill them.

Yet another thing to add to the list.

Amy said...

Just last night, as I was swiffering the floor and waiting for my water to get hot enough for tea, I thought to myself "I am one howling tea kettle away from being a miserable old bat." Then I thought (swearsies) "I bet the good folks at 2Birds1Blog would love the name "Howling Teakettles" for a band." Then today you did that whole "fussy old maid" thing and voila. Here we are.

Anyway...kids. Yep. You pegged 'em. Got one of my own and love him like crazy. Got one on the way, too. It's like I live in an alternate universe of hating children yet continuing to breed my own.

Oh...and we have a pug. Trust me, they are everything they're cracked up to be. He's fabulous. Very few secretions, very few loud noises. And a space traveler

Mademoiselle Hautemess said...

I hate kids...and as a human with ovaries and an alleged womb, people expect me to pop out a little monster. People just LOVE to judge a woman who has no desire to make a little replica of herself. Well, Fuck em! I will maintain my girlish figure, travel more, stress less, worry less, read more, have more fun, drink more, and never have to wipe shit off of tiny baby parts! Win-Mother Fucking WIN!

Amanda said...

is the diner you are talking about silk city?!

Meredith said...

It's ok, Chris. I didn't realize that a friend of mine wanted to sleep with me, despite the fact that he got into my bed, put his hand up my shirt and was removing my clothes with his teeth. Until he explicitly stated his intentions, I was under the impression that it was some sort of elaborate game.

Anonymous said...

TOTES silk city, has to be.

Anonymous said...

So you pretty much just described me (minus the drinking). I also have an aversion to children and loud noises.

Anonymous said...

utterly fantastic post. thank you sir.

Anonymous said...

good job bringing the funny, TC. also, props for finally putting the "tampon cannon" warning into effect. totally helped to pick up this ass-boring day.

Meghan said...

After being subjugated to 30 torturous hours a week watching two bratty boys this summer, I really, REALLY dislike children. I'm hoping someday down the line that will change, but seriously, I've never hated children more.

Anonymous said...

1. Don't feel bad. Most kids suck. I hate every single child on the planet except for my own. I had him in January and I just kept thinking "I hate kids!" and "What if I hate my own kid!?" It's different when it's your own. I didn't believe it but it's true.

2. Is there a grosser word in existence than "womb"? *vomit*

Princess said...

Chris finally has a post that made me half laugh! YaY TC.

Can't wait for Jersey Recap

Anonymous said...

I'd rather hang out with a bunch of babies/toddlers than hang out with a bunch of college-aged brats.

At least they look cute and don't ramble on about how they're going to make a difference once they graduate.

Abbie said...

I had to make a list of the things I wanted to comment on because there were so many. So, item #1: Chris, you have become an exceptionally funny writer. At first, I was scared of change, and a lot of your posts were kind of all over, and then just *ended*. Awkwardly. This however is truly fantastic, please keep up the good work. #2: I have a 19-year old cat. My issues with fluids have completely been absolved. I have never, NEVER, had to clean up so much bodily waste. There are days in which urine, feces, blood, and vomit are all involved. Usually in rapid succession. If only now they made mute babies I might be set. #3: Grace is your hypothetical child. Hilarious.

Andrea said...

Wait, am I the only one who doesn't think a bar/diner is odd? Maybe its because I like alcohol and food so much and I'm a fan of multitasking, or more likely because I live in rural Wisconsin, but pretty much every diner around here is a combo diner/bar. The only exceptions to that are chain diners like Perkins or Denny's, and even some of those are connected to bars.

Also, grosser word than 'womb'...

moist

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Steph P said...

npf??? noooooooooooo

Anonymous said...

@Andrea

"moist womb"

AHHHHHH I really don't think it can get worse.

Anonymous said...

This post was incredible. TC you are hilarious and an excellent writer. I don't know what it is, but in the last 2 months this blog has gotten even better and funnier! Didn't think it was possible!

Lauren said...

No post friday??? I've been looking forward to this week's jersey shore recap since last week!!! I also just got home from happy hour and might be a liiiiiitle drunk.

Cali said...

My Friday was not complete without T.G.I. Hagman. Alive? Dead? Installing solar panels? We depend on you for this information, Meg.

Anonymous said...

Hagman is DEAD, isn't he? ISN'T HE?!?!

kirstyb said...

lovely blog xxxxxx

Anonymous said...

NPF makes the baby Jesus cry.

Anonymous said...

I would like to exchange links with your site www.2birds1blog.com
Is this possible?

Tom Johnson said...

Christ...I tried writing a blog entry on why people should think twice(at least twice, but the safer money's on infinitely) about having kids...but this post just blew mine right the fuck outta the water...lol...amazing writing, please keep it up...:)

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Anonymous said...

Постепенно, он стал эгоистом, стал насмехаться нужно мной и т.д.

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