Closed Captioning for the Jive Impaired: Sometimes I Feel Like A Childless Mother (beep)

Helllooooooo possum!

Well after a summer of sordid scandalous behavior, mummy has decided to close it out by joining the Mile High Club. That’s right comrades I am on a United Airlines flight cruising the friendly skies at 30,000 feet en route to Chicago. And I am doing it! Okay so I’m not shagging anyone under the thin blue blankets they give you--but I am sitting next to an attractive Asian man who is watching Mulan on his Ipad. Boy you can’t make this shit up. An Asian watching Disney’s version of His-Story?? Hilarity. But he’s cute. And really tall, olive skin, with salt and pepper hair. And he smells like oud wood. Hmmm I’m tempted to ask Fumanchu if he wants to go in the bathroom with me find out with Seoul Food really is. Not sure quite sure where he falls in the Asian diaspora but no matter. We can still re-populate the world with a bunch of little violin playing-nail filing- chicken licking-thug but really good at math blasian children...yah run those little Kimora Lee kids right the fuck out of town. Yes, I can see our kids kicking Kimora’s kids asses! LaCreesha Yuriko Yamamoto. Or how about DaLaronte Hyundai Xiang? Oh no. Shit. Fuck, shit. He knows I’m typing about him. Dammit...um

...Yes, so in closing Asian cultures are far superior to all other cultures. And Asians live longer, and Tiger Balm is good for the soul.
Phew he’s looking back at his movie now. I wish I had an IPAD right now. Because there is a terrible Jennifer Lopez in flight movie right now that is giving me a series case of the runs. She’s with yet another white boy, and trying to have a baby. I want to kill myself. Jesus fuck, when is this girl gonna stop making bad films? #stop.

I’d do anything to watch the Bad Girls Club right now. There's something comforting about watching the degredation of 20 something year old asshole women. Somehow it makes me feel like my life has not been an epic failure. Don’t get me wrong, I have a rich and splendid existence. I’m blessed, healthy and naturally happy. But I have moments where I look around and think “Jeeze, I thought by 30 something I’d be rich enough to have kids and a big house. Or at least pay my taxes. But here I am in the bathroom of the so and so hotel shoving melba toast and those really expensive guest towleletts into my purse..." I’ve stolen--no, appropiated items from the most expenisve hotels in town. Wink to the the Chateau Monmarte and Oceana Hotel.

What the fuck was I on about? Oh yes, bad girl behavior. So this weekend my I celebrated with my bookclub for our 7 year anniversary (Hey hookers in the LLBC!!). We had a fab weekend starting with sunning ocean side, a epicurean dinner, and a swank hotel stay in Newport Beach. Yeah Bravo, screw your "Real Housewives" shows...My show is called the Real Juicy Tomatoes of OC. Its about a group of front page beauties that work hard, and drink even harder. I mean, we read books.

My book club is awesome. We have lawyers, actors, writers, producers, and of course moms. We laid in the sun with our bathing suits, free of laptops and cell phones. We kinda discussed the book, The Help but we were more interested in talking about the latest celubutante to show her twat and gain an acting career, or how a 9 year old girl gets a rap deal, why Gabby Sidobe is on the upcoming cover of Elle Magazine,--y’know all the stuff that makes you go “the fuck??!”

We also had poingnant convo’s about life, love, careers, race gender blah blah blah. But then the conversation inevitablity turned to babies. Several of our girls are mothers--some of them new moms so we chatted about the joys of motherhood.

But for those of us without kids...those conversations can be a wee bit uncomfortable. Nothing major--okay I'm lying. It causes a total panic attack. Like when you are for certain that your tampon has failed you think from the waist down you look like Carrie. You duck out of your meeting and trundle to the bathroom only to find out, your panties are daisy fresh. You splash your face with water and talk yourself off the ledge. You are safe, clean, and stain free.

I always marvel when I go to couples homes for dinner, and they say “yes, we’ve been trying to have a baby. Its really hard, but we're happy to make the effort?" And of course my response is: “Shiiiid I’ve spent most of my adult life tryin NOT to have a baby. What the fuck are you people talking about? I mean how do you try? Every time you busts a nut, seems like a kid should get planted in there. But then what do I know? Hey, mind if I have some more of that melba toast?" #asshole

Then there are the gory details concerning the miracle of childbirth and raising babies...A brief overview-- The chick goes into labor and the little fucker splits her vagina in half to come out. And if that isn’t enough, you have to breast feed the little lizard...and okay, that doesn't seem so bad right? Right. But then from what these girls told me, the milk fills and fills you pump it out and fills and fills, you feed the kid and the milk fills again and then--wait for it IT SQUIRTS. PROJECTILE MILK! When you are NOT feeding. So it’s like 9mons of craziness, the baby mutilates your vagina, you wait 6 weeks for the stiches to come out, then there is progress. The baby finally sleeps for more than 30 minutes, you see your man, he sees you and you mount him like a stallion. You are riding you riding your way to glory and just when you think you’ve sweated up a storm having sex, you discover it ain’t sweat--it’s breast milk! Yes! Milk that shoots from your breast. During sex. The fuck?

The song in my had playing right now: Baaaa I'm not sick, but I'm not well!

Last week I had 3 friends on Facebook say “Oh Yay! My kid is starting High School today” and then my reproductive system goes “What the fuck Slick? Tick tick tock lets get some babies in this tummy!” and then I yell right back at “Listen you mothafucka--you not getting no sperm in you okay? First of all it’s only about 7 eggs left, and I’m more than willing to part with those eggs, sell them to some able bodied couple, so that I can go and buy some Giambattista Valli trousers that give me a fashionable camel toe. Fuck you eggs! I'm not splitting my vagina in two.

I don’t know if its the dehydration from champagne this weekend or the recycled bubonic plague air on this airplane that made me type this horrible blog entry. In 7 minutes time I’m managed to alienate a good portion of my readers. The Asians hate me now, the blasian children feel made fun of, and now all of the mommy’s are gonna hurl breast milk filled Molotov cocktails at me. But for the remaining 3 lepers and whores willing to walk with me on this journey, thank you friend. That’s very christ like of you.

Well--the pilot says we're making our final descent into Chicago. And so amigos, adios!

Your Disciple in Tom Foolery,
Slick