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This morning, while reluctantly leaving my harem of pillows, I stepped barefoot onto a Monopoly hotel & immediately understood why King Kong had been in such a rage. I bet he started a pot of coffee in the breakroom & came back from his office to find some greedy, inconsiderate donkeyfart drank it all, too. Add the fact that there is currently no statute of limitations for how long one can use his shitty childhood as an excuse for being an Asshole-loser & yes, I can see why a genetically mutated ape would destroy a city of screaming, spastic, pointing morons or why rutting deer bust through glass windows & hoof old ladies to death, because being horny can be really tough, too. Hey, you know what's awesome? Not having leprosy. But sometimes in dealing with life's customary pitfalls I lose focus & forget & THAT is where King Kong & I sell ourselves short.
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So Mom calls to tell me that Grandmother wanted me to know that you can get diseases from tattoo needles. I kindly told her to tell Gram I would only go to a tattoo parlor that uses brand new needles & implements safe/sanitary practices, as opposed to the Crack Shack or the Aids Hut. She tries to then reason with me, her argument being that tattoos are sleazy, that she would never date a man with tattoos (as opposed to Fuckhead Fred who still brings his laundry to his mom’s house on Sunday), but I slammed down the ace of how I remembered a Billy she dated back when I was around 7 with a TEAR tattooed under his eye, to which she babbled scalded…I…well I…that was such a short time I was with him…I…never would’ve married him or anything n’ uh-huh uh-huh what kind of dressing would you like on your foot Ma?

I try to pinpoint exactly when mom lost her super-powers, when I began to challenge her omniscience. Maybe it was back when in a fit of anger she shouted righteously, index finger rigid as a church spire “everything you waste is…*flabbergasted look*…WASTED!” & how the customarily smug demeanor she maintained in moments such as these, twitched, shifted to reveal a glimmer of culpability, though my siblings & I exchanged incredulous looks. The humanizing of the goddess to demi-goddess, to mortal. I believe it brought her closer to us…made her touchable & easier to love. Awkwardness is charming to me. Gracelessness, endearing. A child falls & is instantly magnetic. We rush to the fallen cooing. I try as best I can not to pretend to be infallible or wear armor around my little ones, lest they find the chink. They are hawkeyed little imps. I try to imagine we are all children still, but in our years we’ve simply taught ourselves to hide it.

I believe that too many people think that one must be fail-safe to raise a child, yet would still agree that there never existed a perfect parent. So far, if I could give any advice at all it would be that parenting is about willingness & courage as opposed to "readiness." The house, the marriage, the high-paid job can all easily be lost in a matter of moments. Though those things may increase one's willingness & courage to rise to a challenge they should never quantify his/her devotion. Do not depend on nubile bliss, financial support, college credits or some formulaic asset equation to see you through a child's upbringing. Depend on yourself, your resilience your propensity for survival, for scenery changes & to fool yourself into thinking you can always keep it from doing so is a disservice to you & those involved.

Born of adversity I never once felt like a burden. My children were born in quite difficult life circumstances, & I have never regretted my decision to keep them. They enrich my life & I theirs. I will even go as far to say they have saved it considering the pot-holed path I'd trod before the conception of my first.

I think I feel like saying this now because I've been feeling like a minority lately on LJ & have been reading much disdain towards having children & single parenting in general. These views I've seen are not necessarily always presented as personal opinion as much as they stress a point that my lifestyle is commonly & stereotypically reproached. Maybe I'm just being too sensitive but, take it from one of "those people" you've never been or wanted to be; Guess what. I'm just fine! Single parenting is not as horrific as some may think or make it out to be. What I do is rewarding, enlightening, & sanctifying.

Plus I had no hips before I had children. From behind I used to look like Elija Wood.
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No, no Maria I’m not in a relationship, because, well because
I think men feel uncomfortable around ladies who are funnier, smarter, cuter, hotter, crazier, more fashionable, nicer-assed, more fascinating, tougher, buxomer, sparklier, better liquid eyeliners, rufflier, getting more orgasms, tinier, longer-haired, bigger-boobed, fuller-lipped, better read, faster runners, higher jumpers, badder assers, awesomer slam-dunkers, more un-untie-able knot tiers, more agile wrestlers, sexier dancers, beautifuller singers, better at french braids, softer-mouthed, finer-boddied, gracefuller, nimbler gymnasts, more intelligent scientists, wittier, more clued-up about music, cleaner, experter, more experienced in checkers, more certified to operate spaceships, shinier-fingernailed, butt-punchinger, hotter lovers, articulater, prettier-eyed, intenser prayers, not as dumb or hairy as, better dressed, handier, more aromatic, better founders of organizations, smoother-skinned, craftier, generally more amazing & more skilled in all forms of martial art
than they are.

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concretekiss

August 2010

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