Monday, June 7, 2010

The Real Gamble

This past weekend, me and some friends of mine rented a car and drove out to the beach. The city was rolling by us as we headed to the highway, which of course led to traffic. Summer weekends in NYC are similar to a ghost town. Everyone who has a house somewhere, goes there, and those who don't either rent, share, or vacate to wherever they can go, just to get out of the sweatbox that is Manhattan. Even rooftops become wildly utilized, affectionately known as Tar Beach. But we skipped Tar Beach that weekend and headed to the beach that actually has sand instead of asphalt and the sound of crashing waves instead of sirens and honking horns. But first, traffic. Always traffic. Of course the conversation turned to dating, men, sex, and the like. One of my friends has a baby with her live-in boyfriend, but their relationship wasn't always mushrooms and roses. Just like the traffic, there was gridlock in their relationship and a time where they lived apart and visitation and child support became the issues on the table instead of their love for one another.


We started joking around about the beach day being her get out of jail free card. How she was given a break to hang out with the girls, leaving the baby with his dad. I was in the middle of shouting, "I's free!" for the third time when she commented that she was just thankful they were in such a good place. That the situation didn't start off as they planned, but because they not only loved each other, but liked each other, they were able to make a family for their son. A happy one, at that.


It got me thinking. Forget loving or liking your baby's father or mother, how about liking the people you go to bed with period. As fundamentally simple as this statement seems, you'd be surprised by the number of unliked people who jump into each others pants quickly with something that looks like affection veiled over them. But it isn't. Think about the last person you slept with. Did you love them? Did you even like them? Could you imagine sharing a child with them for the rest of your life? Having them around for-ev-errrrrrr. I don't know about you, but when I thought about it that way, I almost threw up. Not because I'm not a baby gal, but because the last person I slept with drives me utterly insane. I barely liked him then, like him less now. I couldn't imagine being pregnant with his child or forcing myself to deal with the aftermath, a life raising a kid together or a life being pissed because he can't seem to step up and be a dad. But even with the guys I liked, hell, loved, I have yet to meet someone I'd want to see in the genes of my child every single day for the rest of my life.


And it goes both ways. I can't tell you the number of guys I know who have babies with women who are insane, crazy on a good day. They are tethered to these women whom they can't stand, because they "liked" them for a twenty minute window where the condom broke or they just decided to press their luck and raw dog it, screaming "no whammy, no whammy" with each pump. There's a reason the phrase "Baby Mama Drama" exists and why jokes are centered around the words "Baby Daddy." Despite all my antics, the traditional order of things is still good in my book. Boy meets girl, boy marries girl, boy and girl enjoy life, boy and girl have baby. Marriage and children add more layers to a relationship anyway, why give yourself more complication by skipping the marriage part and making a baby with someone you can barely stand when the lights are on? Everyone should take a minute and ask themselves, before dropping trow, "do I like him/her? Could I have a baby with him/her," because let's be honest, sex is lovely and feels grrrreat, but it's purpose is to procreate. If everyone truly gave that thought a quick review, there'd be farrrr less baby's mamas/daddies, STD's, and higher condom sales. Maybe even abstinence... at least that's the route I think about going when remembering the last guy I did the baby-maker with. Ugh...


That bitch stole my line,


xoxo

Blackie Collins

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