‘upon seeing yourself in the window,’ ‘honesty as *a* policy though not necessarily *the* policy,’ ‘sadbearhugs, inc.,’ ‘yo’ momma’s so fat (redux)’ and ‘parenting advice from a 45-year-old divorced man with 3 trash dogs, no children’

upon seeing yourself in the window

You have to imagine it the way a bird would see it:

You’re flying you’re flying you’re FLY-ING!!!

Nothing can get in your way today.

Nothing can bring you down!

When…

Suddenly…

Like out of nowhere…

It appears.

It’s you!

On a collision course with… yourself!

Wings spread, eyes wide, every muscle in your body twitching, trembling.

Waiting for the embrace.

To hug you!

To hold you!

To tell you you’re not alone anymore.

It’s like those videos of twins separated at birth.

The parents who never stopped looking for their abducted child.

This whole time, the struggle, the self-doubt, the waning faith in the face of debilitating existential dread.

It’s all been the journey to now.

To find me!

You!

Us!

And then… SPLAT!

You’re dead.

And your reflection’s dead.

[Experts say that the astronauts on the space shuttle Challenger were alive right up until they hit the surface of the Ocean.]

Whenever I imagine those people dying their terrible deaths, I imagine the bird.

And the window.

And the way reflections distort in water.

Bracing for impact with the self.

How beautiful and confusing and terrifying it must’ve been all at the same time.

Man, death can be so messed up sometimes and so tremendously hilarious all at once.

honesty as *a* policy though not necessarily *the* policy

Nobody starts out saying: I’m gonna be honest with you…

And then finishes it with: I really do still love you madly.

Actually, I am as attracted to you as the day I met you.

I’m gonna be honest: I am not actually having an emotional affair with Gary from work.

Big dicks really are overrated.

Why won’t you believe that I do so love giving you blow jobs?

Frankly, you’re the most generous lover I’ve ever been with.

No, I’m not faking it at all when I pretend to have an orgasm every time we have sex (sometimes two or three from how well you know how to read my body).

No, no, no, we do it the exact right number of times a week for a couple as madly in love with each other as we are which completely satisfies my sexual needs as a woman who is not yet 40.

No, I don’t regret having wasted my peak sexual years watching you putting on 100 pounds.

Where did you even get the idea that I’ve spent half my adulthood trying to make you mature into the half the man I thought I could make you when I married you?

And no way do I blame you for everything that I hate about myself.

No, your snoring totally doesn’t keep me up nights.

I’m dead serious when I say I’ve never had fantasies of smothering you with a pillow in your sleep.

Because, and I’m going to be totally brutally honest here, you are the love of my life and I can’t imagine a future without you.

I would honestly truly seriously rather die before I left you for another man (from work with a larger penis and actual abs and life goals and self-respect who is 10 years younger and 75 pounds lighter named Gary). 

Babe, just look at me, no, look at me, look at these eyes, look at this face, these lips, this mouth, this nose, and be honest now, is this the face of a liar?

sadbearhugs, inc.

Like those people who get paid to snuggle with people and those other people who pay people to snuggle with them, but instead they would pay me to bear hug me as I sobbed into their warm bosom about all the sad sad sadnesses I can no longer bear.

I would baptize them in the tears of my self-pity. 

I would reaffirm the value of their roles in this world by contrast to my trash existence.

Woe is me, boo hoo hoo, I’d cry and cry and cry, rubbing my snotty nose onto their shirt collars. 

Honey/darlin/baby/bae/boo, oh, how you’re everything I’ve been missing in my life.

And suddenly their lives would feel purposeful.

For an hour.

Once a week.

I’d call my services SadBearHugs, Inc.

I’d patent it and become a billionaire. 

And still never find solace.

I couldn’t, wouldn’t, shouldn’t.

On account of my business model.

yo’ momma’s so fat (redux)

Yo’ momma’s so fat…

[How… fat… is… she?]

She’s so fat I have real worries about her mobility as she gets older.

Which is just going to make things even harder on her.

Her heart, you read all these studies about the pressure all that weight it puts on your heart.

I just love your momma and want her to be happy and healthy, she’s already beautiful to me. I like some curves, a little shelf, some junk in the trunk, cushion for the pushin’.

But I worry the effect of her dying early might have on your own eating disorders. You remember how bad they got in high school. You weighed like 60 pounds soaking wet.

And honey, that look’s not gonna attract the right kind of women or men.

Signed –Yo’ Daddy

parenting advice from a 45-year-old divorced man with 3 trash dogs, no children

Everybody knows that having a kid makes you grow up in a hurry.

If your kid doesn’t make you grow up quickly enough, then shoot it.

Try again.

Try a different sexual position this time.

Try for a boy.

Everybody knows boys need strong male role models in their lives.

Everybody knows that boys need fathers to teach them to hunt and gather and shoot a gun.

If your boy can’t bag a buck to bring home for venison, shoot him.

Try again.

Try for a girl this time.

Girls need unconditional love. Everybody knows.

If your girl tells you that they hate you or you hate them, hug them. Make them hug you back.

If that doesn’t work, send them to Sunday School so they can learn God’s love–unconditional and free.

If that doesn’t work, shoot them.

Get you a good sturdy icebox.

Kids are little, everybody knows that.

Stack those little’uns tight criss-cross-applesauce like Lincoln logs.

Parents need to be creative problem-solvers. Ask anybody (vis-a-vis dismembering).

Make a game out of it, Tetris for example.

Get you a hacksaw. Get a vacuum sealer.

Everybody’s seen that one infomercial. They solve all your refrigerating and freezing needs.

If you’re a good parent, you need to know how to get your hands dirty but also how to keep hands clean.

If this isn’t for you, then maybe you weren’t set out to be a parent in the first place.

Plenty of people don’t have kids and they become perfectly productive members of society.

Maybe get a dog. A cat. A hamster. A fish. A boa constrictor to spoon you every night in bed.

It’s like God says: Everything happens for a reason. When I close a door, I always open a window. [Wink-wink].

Ever read the story of Sarah and Abraham?

Maybe that’s you?

God’s chosen ones.