Skip to main content
 Who's got Game?

Last month we took the kids to the National Zoo in Washington DC. All through the zoo, #2 the aspy, would rattle off facts and observations about the animals he saw. Though sometimes he has a rough time distinguishing between pure fact and his facts. What we saw over and over again was that the males in any species were prettier than the female counterparts. In my one class in Genetics, I learned that the males are prettier because they are trying to attract the females and spread their DNA to attain the goal of Mendelian Fitness.   "Hey mom, the male peacock wants romance", said #2 as the peacock opened his feathers to full display.  Peacock's got game.

So what the hell happened with people? How come with humans, the females are the pretty ones and the pretty men are men's men? It makes it harder to find suitable seed when the playing-field is laden with so many undesirable variations. If the males primal need is to spread his seed, and he doesn't play for the NBA, then he has to get game somehow. Living with your parents and mastering video games isn't the way. Nor is eating like a 15 year old. If there is one thing we've learned from Jerry Springer, it's that if the first guy that comes your way doesn't have teeth, there might be a winner in the next trailer. I just don't get it that women fight over men. Really?  Looking at half those guys that are the middle of a cat fight, do you really want to perpetuate their genes? Eeeww. Well, someone has to live in the trailers.

Some guys hit the gym and work on the moves to actually find a female to reproduce with. Many move to suburbia and have kids and that is when they start to go downhill fast.

We moved to Baltimore three years ago and joined the pool each summer. The majority of pool patrons are families from a pretty homogeneous neighborhood with a few tokens thrown into the mix for good measure. My observations are as followed: The women tried to look good, at least some of them worked out and owned that swim suit. The guys however, all looked like the centerfold of Dump magazine. Really, put that shirt on. Your boobs are bigger than most of the ladies. It seemed that once they had kids and "spread the seed" they let themselves fall into a state of decay, much like a flower after it has been pollinated. If you looked hard at them and at their kids, you could find traces of the attractiveness that used to be, but it is hidden under at least one layer of Krispy Kreme.

Those type of guys are usually the same ones you see trying to pick up the "barely legals", that you and your friends laugh at during Girl's night out. I remember those guys that used to hit on me in my early days. They'd moan and complain that they weren't getting laid or serviced and how their wives shut down. Well, if you looked like a doughnut covered, shadow of a man, you used to be, I wouldn't be knocking on your door either. Stop whining and get your fat ass to a gym and go buy your wife some fucking flowers, asshole. It's not her, it's you.

This weekend when the pool opens, I will get to see all the puffy men and pretty women and for some, I'll look at their youngest child and mentally do the math as to how long it has been since they had sex. And for others, I'll see the cumulative effort of all their gym days. Nonetheless, it should be fun to see all our neighbors half naked. Well, at least they all have their teeth.


Popular posts from this blog

Zipping and Buttoning in the new dimension

We just bought #1 jeans for the first time. At the age of 14, he just mastered how to zip and button pants. Yes, I am crying.

In the last few years, he has grown considerably. In just four years, he went from a very cute 10/12 to an adult extra large. His feet are a men's size 12. We have big people stock. 

I had the moment when I realized that he has outgrown most of his clothes, so I had to take him shopping. I let him select colors and types of clothes; hoodies, t-shirts, sweatpants, and then I selected a few pairs of jeans to try. He hasn't worn jeans since he was a toddler because once he had to zip and button them himself, he couldn't. He just didn't have the strength or dexterity in his hands to do it.

In the fitting room, I told him, "We're going to try on some jeans, just to see." He managed to button and zip each pair I handed him, ON HIS OWN. I was thrilled.  Once we found the right size, colors and cuts, we tired on outfits, and he liked his r…

A letter to my fellow special needs moms

Dear fellow mom of a special needs child,

I want you to know that when I met you,  there was something about you that made me want to become friends with you. It wasn't the fact that your kid also had a disability, it was that I sensed that there was so much more to you that I wanted to learn about. Your kid sharing the same diagnosis as mine, wasn't a factor in my choice.

But it seems lately, that that is the only thing you want to talk about.

As you know, every single one of my five children have a developmental disability. It is a hard and draining journey and it makes life really difficult most of the time. When I get to leave the house, the goal is to spend time with people who make me laugh and refresh my spirit so when I go home, I can be a better person. I don't want to talk about my kids, I don't want to talk about therapies, or school problems, I just want to be me. I want to shelve the problems I experience every day and just take a break.

The problem is, al…

Diary of a music mom

Since fifth grade, both #1 and #2 have been playing instruments; #1, the saxophone and #2, the trombone. #1, Autism classic, plays the very same saxophone that I started on in fifth grade. I  teach him daily and we go once a week to our new sax teacher and they work on jazz. #2, the aspy is a lot more autonomous and he doesn't require my attention when he practices and gets by with his weekly skype lessons from grandpa and his private teacher.

Every year, our school district hosts a solo and ensemble festival. The kids have roughly eight weeks to choose a listed piece and then perform it with an accompaniment. Every year, I make the boys participate even though it means I need to spend more time with #1 to make sure he doesn't sound like a moose in the wild and more like a saxophone player.

It always turns out like this:
I choose the new piece and we trudge through it slowly and painfully.
I second guess my choice because I think it's too much, too hard, too intricate for …