It's Not Amazing, It's Genderiffic

I know something you don't know.

I know something you don't know.

I know something you don't know.

(!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

Seriously, I know something you don't know.

On Tuesday, August 16th, the gender of our twinners was revealed to me and to my wife. The ultrasound tech obviously knows, but she's been sworn to secrecy by the HIPAA monster. She did mention the genders to our OB/GYN out in the hallway while my wife and I were cooing over the ultrasound picture print-outs, but I guess HIPAA doesn't cover release of medical information from ultrasound techs to OB/GYNs.

Of course, if I find out one day that it does, I'm totally suing that bitch.

See, here's the thing about this whole gender issue: Mrs. Apron decided, when we both said that we wanted to find out what the genders of the twins are, that she wanted to keep the information secret from the rest of the world. Well, the rest of the world that gives a sparrow shit. Her reasoning is that she doesn't want us, and, consequently, the twins inundated with a bunch of gender-assigned gacky shit in traditional boy/girl/lemur colors.

And I can understand that, and I can respect that. And so I am understanding that and respecting that by going along with Mrs. Apron and not revealing the genders of our twins until such time as they see fit to enter the glaring spotlights of all those papparazzi camera flashbulbs as they exit my wife's vagina, or stomach, whichever way this thing plays out.

I've got to say, though, watching those two goofballs rolling around inside her womb on that ultrasound screen was pretty amazing. And I don't use that word lightly, or even often, because it has the propensity for being annoying.

"Oh, that Bee-Gee's coverband was UH-MAZE-ING!"

"Whoa, trans-gender Thai prostitute, watching a streaming video of you having sex with that semi-retarded donkey was UH-MAZE-ING!"

"This two-for-one deal on Chobani yogurt at Genuardi's is uh. maze. ing."

That Ron Popeil Flavor-Injector you're always threatening to violate me with?

(Amazing.)

But, really, I suppose any expectant father (of TWINS! GAAHH!!!) is permitted to use the "amazing" word when staring at grainy, blue-tinged representations of his children bumming around inside of their expectant mother.

What are they going to be like?

What are they going to talk like?

What are they going to be into?

What are they going to want on their birthday cakes?

What are they going to think of their Christian friends who go on about Santa Claus?

What are they going to think of... me?

(Not to be a fucking amazing narcissist or anything, but...)

(Oh, God...)

(Sorry.)

I'm already in love, and you know how I know that? I think about them all the time. Sure, sometimes it's more worrying and less thinking, but, one way or the other, they're always on my mind. Always. Constantly.

It's kind of perseverative.

Kind of Aspergian.

I'm sort of like that.

I'm listening to "Comfort" by Deb Talan right now, and that plays frequently enough on my computer to make me wonder if I have Aspergers. I'll bet Pandora does that to lots of people.

Stupid bitch and her fucking hot box.

I suppose that what I'm trying to say is that, yeah, I don't want this to become a Daddy Blog, and I'm pretty sure I said that they day I announced that we were knocked up, but I do want this to be a place to celebrate those two nutter-butters doing somersaults and tumblebumps inside of the woman I adore.

'Cuz, let's face it, this is all pretty fucking amazing.

What Do You Expect?

Last night, I got an email from one of my precious few readers who has the misfortune to know me not just as a blogger but as a human being. The email directed me to a post on a blog called "The Art of Manliness" and the post was called What Can Manly Men Expect of Women.

You can read it here, if you're the bookish, sensitive, intellectual type of person who likes to know both sides of a story before just blindly trusting me and letting me touch you in the dark while you're asleep.

What?

The post makes the argument that men ought to be manning up, in many various ways, but that women ought to be expected to follow suit-- by feminizing up, as it were, because that-- like the handlebar moustache and the word "hosiery" seems to have gone out-of-style.

The article even quotes some "professor" as stating the following:

"But the younger generation is looking at getting dressed up and making their mark,” Mr. Cohen continued. “It’s a real generation gap here. I teach at three different colleges, and I am amazed how dressed up some of the students are. Girls still come in their hoodies and pajamas, but boys come in their suits.”

That's funny-- I care way too much about my suits to come in them.

But seriously, folks-- where the fuck does this guy teach-- the Sorbonne? My freshman year roommate barely attended class and, when he did, he sported a wifebeater and track pants, if he was feeling chipper. The amount of smelly, unshaven, hair-across-the-eyebrows guys who came to class wearing flannel pajama bottoms and hoodies outnumber the amount of recall notices on the Ford Pinto.

The post then goes on and on to whine about the "double standards" that exist in this world that have heavily stacked the deck against men. Well, let's all just back away from our monitors and have ourselves a good old manly cry about that, why don't we? Of course, if you look at the media, you start to see that it's true. Look at any situation comedy. You've got a rail-thin, high-titted, intelligent, world-weary wife inexplicably married to some semi-retarded, usually obese fuckjob whose job makes inappropriate choices like it's his job-- if he has one. You want to rise up and say, "Hey, wait-- that's not fair!" until you realize that all of these fucking shows were created and written by men.

Oops.

The post then goes on to point out the following contradiction:

"Could we perhaps say that equality shouldn’t mean embracing and outdoing men in things that were traditionally considered masculine? That making out with other chicks for attention and lifting your shirt for beads and getting smashed and burping the alphabet and dressing in sweatsuits really has very little to do with being “liberated?”

Wow. Sounds like the writers of this blog (apparently a hubband-and-wifey team-- awww!-- almost makes them immune from critique, don't it?) have been watching too many "Girls Gone Wild" videos, or at least too many episodes of "COPS: Live & Tasin' at Mardi Gras" to me. What percentage of the population of 18-24 year-old women behave like this, I'd like to know? And, while we're on the subject: how many of them have webcams?

The article also makes lots of claims, presenting them as fact but without citing any sources or evidence, such as "did you know that 2/3 of divorces are initiated by women?" Well, define "initiated." Does that mean the actual legal proceedings? Does that mean bringing it up at the breakfast nook? Does that mean that she was the one who took her ring off first?

Oh, and does that figure include all the instances of divorce that began due to the husband's sticking his dick in a hole where it didn't belong at a Motel 6 during his lunch hour?

The post ends by asking a very simple question, though, and I think it's a question that I should be answering on this here blog of mine because, really, I have a big mouth and sometimes I feel like I need to use it for something important.

And the role of men and women in our society is important. Isn't it?

Here's what I expect from women as a whole:

Nothing.

And I hope to God they expect the same, or less, of me.

You know why? Because I'm a human being, and I fuck up a lot. I say the wrong thing and I use the steel wool on the bundt pan and I zone out at work and I can't spell "synagogue" correctly without really thinking about which vowels go where and I spend too much time fantasizing about owning some impractical, crazy fucking car like a 1973 Mercedes 220-D with tan leather interior and wood inserts on the dash and I have anxiety about dying all the time and I'll never play the banjo as well as Steve Martin.

We're all hopeless, even those of us who make it big. Especially those of us who make it big. Christ-- look at Steve Martin. If you think his Inspector Clouseau is funny, you can just un-follow this blog right now, because you're dead to me.

Actually, maybe I mis-spoke a while ago when I said that I don't expect anything of women. I guess maybe I expect them to not be assholes. You know what I mean-- the kind who feel they are entitled to things. When a woman budges in line at the post office or reams me out at work, she's a bitch. When a man does the same things, he's a dickhead.

But those are just words-- they're just names. Would I be some kind of kerchief-mouthed revolutionary if I started referring to annoying women as "dickheads" and annoying men as "bitches?" Look, I'm too tired and too insignificant to start reinventing the wheel. I already tried that with "LMT" and "Keep Fucking That Chicken" and I don't think it worked.

I just want people to be good to each other, for Christ's sake. Figure it out, people. Start fighting fair with each other. Stop accusing and blaming, take responsibility. If one of you doesn't like doing laundry, then make that your thing. She'll walk the dog or iron your pants. Who gives a shit? Stop looking for excuses as to why your life is so unfair and why your race is so downtrodden and why your gender is so maligned. Stop complaining to each other over cosmopolitans or coffee. Stop writing into Dear Abby. Actually, don't do that.

Today, my wife and I went outside three times and did battle against a foot-and-a-half feet of snow with a shovel each. First we dug out her car, and then we dug out mine. She shovelled the walkway, I shovelled the sidewalk. Why? Because we're goddamn partners. I didn't go out there myself because I felt the need to prove that I'm "the man" with my big dick and balls, and she didn't do it to prove that she's a modern, empowered woman with a clit of steel and a snarky New York-state-of-mind disposition.

Man-- fuck that.

Gender roles and gender stereotypes are what we make of them-- they were invented long ago and we insist on either inventing new ones or perpetuating the old ones. Either way, we do a disservice to each other when we do it. What do you expect of women? What do you expect of men? You have to start smaller, by expecting things of individuals. We wouldn't permit, as a polite society, reading a post entitled, "What Do You Expect of Blacks?" or "What Do You Expect of Jews?" would you? Let's just take each other one at a time.

And those of us who are lucky enough in this life to have partners, well, we can start there.