THE UNBEARABLE LIGHTNESS OF BEING AWESOME

One Doo Over the Poo-Poo Diaper: Part 1

2012-01-11T14:46:00.001-08:00

The exciting drama of my first day out of the womb was followed by months of boredom. I mean, sure, there were more nipples, and I fought a daily battle with the damnable soft blanket. But overall, it was nothing to write home about.

Author’s Note:

I realize my last sentence might be a little confusing. You might have read it and thought to yourself, “Is he writing this memoir to his home?” Well let me just explain that myth away right here and now.

I am not writing this memoir to my home. My home is a building and has yet to master reading.

I am, however, writing this while in my home. You know what, that just makes it even more confusing, so I’ll leave it at, “I am not writing this memoir to my home.” Which I’ve now stated twice, so don’t send me any emails asking if I’m writing this memoir to my home. I refuse to explain myself any further.

I will delete all emails with a subject line like “Are You Writing to Your Home?” or “How does one actually write to a home?” or “What kind of a psycho are you? Writing to your home. What’s next? Writing to your work place?” I suppose you could try and trick me by using a subject line like “Good Times” or “SURPRISE?!!!!!!!!!!” or “ILOVEYOU” or something, but be assured, the email will be deleted no matter how cleverly you try to disguise it!

Did I do that?

It wasn’t like stuff didn’t happen. There were quite a few people who thought that I caused the New York City blackout. But I was barely a week old at the time, and we lived in Texas, so that seemed impossible. However, they claimed I had used my powers of telekinesis (which I don’t have because it isn’t a real thing), but I was never officially charged. I did, however, help the N.Y.P.D. catch Son of Sam using my powers of telepathy (which I do have because it is a real thing), but I was never officially rewarded.

Also, I pooped a lot.

Do Babies Dream of Electric Nipples? Part 3

2011-11-26T10:47:00.001-08:00

Hey! I bet I could do that
with the alphabet!

I, of course, mistook the burp as the exodus of my esophagus, stomach, and small intestine. But after a second of frantic sucking (to try and reverse the horrors I assumed the nurse had done to me), I realized that my insides were still just that, and that I was actually feeling a pleasant, most enjoyable sensation rather than the searing pain I had been fearing. After a moment of quick soul searching, I decided I quite liked this burping.

So I did it again.

“My, my, big boy.” said the nurse.

Recognizing her obvious attraction towards me, I tried to wink. But my eyelids decided to feel heavy, and I was too tired to wage war with them.

The nurse placed me gingerly in the plastic bucket/crib, and wrapped the infernal soft blanket around me. As I drifted off to sleep, I realized I had ended another chapter of my life by falling asleep, and I vowed to try my hardest never to do that again.

Do Babies Dream of Electric Nipples? Part 2

2011-11-17T16:09:00.001-08:00

After giving that nipple the business and drinking most of the delicious white liquid the bottle contained, I noticed a large plate glass window stretching across the far wall. On the other side, I could see the faces of what I could only describe as a gathering of inbred hillbillies. I noticed a familiar face amongst them. It was my father, the man who very nearly robbed me of my most precious appendage. As he spoke with the gathered rednecks and boonie-folk and they laughed and slapped him on the back, an unspeakable horror began to dawn upon me. These slack-jawed yokels were my kith and kin.

Actual Family Portrait

How could this be? I was sure that I was of a noble breed. There was no way in hell these brainless, slobbering, imbecilic, back-woods bumpkins shared the same bloodline as I. But they did, and do to this day.

I should pause for a moment to say that I love my family. But they can be quite dumb.

As I lay there reeling from the comprehension that I was not born unto Kings, the nurse came back, swooped me up, and began to pat me on the back. At first, I mistook the patting as a form of condolence. She was simply attempting to console me after my earth shattering discovery concerning my lineage. But a warm sensation began to rise in my chest, and I realized that the nurse was actually trying to pat me so hard that my stomach would exude forth from my mouth.

The bitch was trying to murder me!

What was that wonderful tasting white liquid? Had she poisoned it with some sort of really awesome tasting poison? Why would the hospital hire a murderess to give nippled bottles to newborn children? These were the questions racing through my panicked mind.

I tried to calm myself, to look for an escape. I thought maybe I could try to choke her, but realized that I was still too weak from the journey through the tunnels and canals of my mother’s nether regions. I decided I should try and reason with her. Surely if I simply explained to her that I was the greatest human being to ever be born, she would see the err of her ways and stop the infernal patting. But I caught myself before speaking. If I were to but open my mouth, I would most definitely speed the process of my innards becoming my outtards. At this point, I lost most of my hope.

I looked to my relations, and lost the rest of it. Many of them were simply staring at me, stupid as a pack of really stupid dogs. One of the older ones was leaning against the wall, reading a pamphlet about diabetes. Another looked to be daydreaming about fishing on the lake. Most of the women were waving at me. Why were they standing by while my life was being horrifically patted out of me by this foul femme fatale?

I felt the heat rising to my throat. My world was growing dim. The end was near. I resigned myself to my fate. I said a quick prayer, thanking The Almighty for my penis and for allowing me to live this short but eventful and exciting life full of nipples. And then...

I burped.

Do Babies Dream of Electric Nipples? Part 1

2011-11-12T10:54:00.001-08:00

No prisoner escapes from Stalag 13!

Some time later, I awoke in a strange plastic bucket. I have since learned that this is called a crib. Somehow, the soft blanket became unraveled a bit, and that led me to break the brutal bonds of sleep. I was just about to start showing my penis off when I realized that I had been clothed in a blue, cotton jump suit. This being the late seventies, a jump suit made of cotton would have been considered a fashion faux pas, but thankfully there were no paparazzi in sight.

Having been thwarted in the showing off of my penis, I decided to study my surroundings. It was at this point I realized that there were other babies in the room. I thought to myself, My God in Heaven! My parents have placed me in some sort of newborn concentration camp!

I then realized that I had no idea what a concentration camp was, so I started to use my amazing deductive powers. My first action was to split the term into two words, “concentration” and “camp”. Three seconds into deciphering the meaning of the word “concentration”, I lost focus. A nurse was approaching me with a bottle. It had some kind of rubber stopper on the skinny end. I knew the word for it was “nipple”. And I didn’t need to do any deciphering to know that I loved nipples. It’s a love affair that continues to this day.

Out of the Silent Vagina

2011-10-26T11:47:00.001-07:00

Here I come to save the day!

It was a dark and fuzzy blight. It took up at least two-thirds of my field of vision. I immediately thought to myself, What in the hell is a blight? Then I thought, What in the hell is a thought? That led to, Who in the hell am I?

And that’s when I became sentient.

The blight turned out to be a doctor. I forget his name. But I would venture to guess that he was (or is, he could still be working today, for all I know) a fairly capable physician. He had the distinct pleasure of being the first human being to make contact with me (if you don’t count my mother’s womb or my father’s sperm).

I wonder if he realized it at the time, how important he was. It’s doubtful. In my experience, no one really knows the importance of an event at the time the event occurs. Except me, of course. I knew literally seconds after I was born how important I was and every minute of my life was and is and always will be. Amen.

The doctor/blight held me out as my father/overseer used a pair of surgical scissors to savagely slice in twain the fleshy cord connecting me to my mother/prenatal RV. For a few seconds, I harbored resentment towards my father for this action. Why would a man do this to his first born child? Did he not realize that his offspring was already sentient and thus greatly aware of the searing pain that the slicing scissors inflicted upon me? But then I realized that the cord that had been cloven was not my penis. I breathed a sigh of relief and decided never to jump to conclusions (even though I had yet to learn what jumping was or what conclusions were or the correct usage of the words “to”, “too”, and “two”...oddly enough, I was already keenly aware of how a tutu showed off a girl’s butt).

As soon as I realized my penis was intact, I wanted to show it off to everyone. But a nurse wrapped me in a soft blanket, and I started to drift to sleep. Even to this day, a soft blanket will cause me to drift to sleep and will dampen my desire to show my penis off to people. Yes, soft blankets are the bane of my existence.

I vaguely remember the blanket nurse handing me to my mother. I think she said something about how cute I was. That’s Mom, always stating the obvious. It seems to me that Dad said something too. Probably a quick lesson on the importance of hard work. Whatever happened immediately after that, I can’t tell you. I had become bored for the first time.

It would not be the last time.