About The Funk...

Observational Spittle from the mind of a man of color in his 40s, without the color added (most times). Come in, laugh, and you may learn something...

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Sunday, November 9, 2008

Damn, I Wish I Was As Handsome as My Sons Will Be

My sons are really, really, hot.

OK, before you start comparing me to the "Jesus Juice, Shamon!" 50 year old man-child that was once a superstar (and seems to like little sausages in his bed; wait, he was not guilty...but karma is a female canine...ask O.J.), you gotta let me lay down the framework for this latest ejaculation from my mind...

I was thinking today back about 3 years ago, when my oldest son was a curly hair top ball of cuteness. We were in a Target (I like the "Tar-Jay" pronunciation, as that it makes it sound fancy and French like a Paris Hooker), and we are like waiting in line (not sure what I was buying...tampons, gunpowder, whatever). This lady comes up behind us in line, probably in her mid 50s (the type of woman you wouldn't sleep with if you had a corpse's man member), and she says...

"My goodness, you have a handsome young man there!"

Now, as that I've heard this ever since I saw my oldest come out of my wife's woman tunnel (which, during the delivery, split like a 7.4 earthquake hit her hoo-hah) about this boy, I wasn't surprised about her compliment. He's cute, he's gonna be a lady killer, he's gonna have a big old log roll in his shorts...wait a minute, before you do a reverse look up of my IP address and call the local child protective services on me, the only reason I know this is that after he got his first "extension" in the bathtub, it was like seeing a phone pole in a river....no Jesus Juice jokes...let's move on!

Anyway, this woman is rubbing my kid's head (I cannot stand when people touch my kids; for all I know, that is your wiping hand, and you just had your fifth case of diarrhea), admiring his perfect curls. My oldest just shys away, as if he can smell that this woman didn't get to the Imodium fast enough and her pudding explosion went through the tissue paper and pasted her palm. She then reaches into her purse, and offers the kid a lolly pop. Not wanting to be rude (and wanting her scent of undigested corn hand away from my child's head), I smiled, said thank you, and accepted the gift.

The oldest, who is excited for the candy, reaches to take the gift from my hand. I, of course, told him no, which in turns causes a mini-temper tantrum. So, as that he didn't understand that you don't accept gifts from strangers, I purchase him a similar lolly pop to appease him (and truly, to get him to shut the *#(@ up).

I have 2 boys now, both of them very good looking kids, and I am sure both of them will grow up to be very good looking young men. Both are smart as a whip (and as conniving as I once was), and they will be a danger to every pair of lacy undergarment wearing females in the Midwest and abroad.

And I am more jealous of those two than an Ethiopian looking through a packed restaurant's window.

Now I can understand where they got their good looks from....their mother is a good looking woman (she was a former full figured model, and she has a simple beauty about her that I love). I, of course, ever so often wonder if she went to a sperm bank to get pregnant, and their real father is Enrique Inglesias (or some Hispanic that makes a mean pot of rice). I mean, if I stuck those boys with a Hispanic family, you'd be convinced their last name was Rodriguez.

I am sure that it sounds ridiculous that I would be jealous of my own offspring...hell, for all I know, the oldest could become a priest (nah, they boy is gonna be hung like bank robbers in the Old West, and the youngest, Down Syndrome or not, can just look at you and it would make bras snap off like broken rubber bands). It's funny, because during most of my formative years, I struck out with women...regularly...sort of like a woman's monthly cycle. I know it was a lack of confidence on my part, not necessarily my looks (I am not a super "hotttie", but I have been told I am like warm bread from time to time...hey, I was a virgin till I was 18; back then, I'd take butter on my loaf whenever I could get it, ok?) but I had no concept on how to talk to women...I was convinced I had no chance, which defeated the attempt before I even tried.

Back in my days in "Da Bronx", NY I had 3 major crushes; Cynthia R, Pamela G, and Juliet G. The first (Cyndi, an old friend now) was I guess my first "love". I chased after that girl like a stalker fresh out of prison. We "went out", for a couple of weeks back in the 7th grade, but if you call waving across the street as dating, then I might as well of made myself a eunuch from the jump. Pamela G. was very attractive, but after striking out with her (chasing her from 10th till 11th grade) all I did was cry in front of an auditorium of several hundred high schoolers as her friend, sent as a proxy, advised me "she don't want you , bitch!"

Nice.

Finally, Juliet G. Now, I love my wife, and she is my girl for life, but Juliet G. was the big f-up. Beautiful West Indian Girl, and that body....wow! She was one of the few 8th graders who actually had a good reason to wear a brassiere. I, with my football-head dimensions, had no shot in hell. 3 years later, however, we ran into each other again, and we actually dated for about 4 to 5 months. I finally got the hot girl, and she had a heart of gold.

Then I got greedy, breaking things off with her and chasing another girl who ONLY SAW ME AS A FRIEND. Even at my 17th birthday party, when Juliet G. wanted me back, I blew her off.

Hello....a guy with no self confidence, this gorgeous woman is saying "hello, you can have me back, you test-tube baby!" and I blew it.

Ok, enough self healing.

If I looked like my oldest (assuming that his looks hold as he gets older; for all I know, he may end being destroyed by zits...wait, he is half black...we call 'em "blackheads"...self racism...ok, I'm done) back in the day....

I WOULDN'T OF NEEDED TO CHASE ANY OF 'EM!

Hell....what did Eddie Murphy say...I'd had kitty falling out of my pockets! I'd been laid more than Perdue Chickens! I'd of been popular, the man, the girl watcher, not the girl chaser. I would of had Juliet G. and the hot Hispanic female (who, by the way, turned out to be like a sister to me, and sadly I've lost touch with).

My life would been so much different...the women, the self confidence, the cool time in high school...the big brass ring.

Or...

I (probably)would of been...a total ass, with 14 different baby mamas, and working at a local fast food restaurant.

I wouldn't be the guy who figured out after the social disasters of high school (and college; I fell in love with a redhead who was paralyzed from the waist down, and that ended up with her decapitating the stuffed animal I gave her and nailing it to my dorm room door...that's another psychiatric session in itself), that women could actually find him interesting, went through his man-whore period, and went from meeting a girl in a club (thinking no more than a sexual encounter) to 2 great kids and a pretty good marriage.

Oh yeah, 2 mortgages and broke.

Yeah, I am a self-bummer at times.

It's funny, because my oldest, who is now 6, doesn't have that much self confidence, even though he is one of the smartest, funniest people I know, to go along with the good looks. In a lot of ways, watching him struggle (he has some anxiety issues) reminds me of...well, me. I don't know if he will grow up to be a man-whore, or just a nice kid, dating one woman at a time, maybe getting his heart broken, and perhaps coming to me for advice. And the youngest, well, due to ignorance, he may grow up "hot", but people may not give him a shot (especially the ladies), because he's different.

As I was...rather, as I am.

So, in the mornings, after I try to get my nearly 40-year old "hungry, hungry hippo" body out of bed, "make water" like Hoke in "Driving Miss Daisy" then brush my teeth (hell, don't you know that if yo don't put the lid down on the toilet, it can spray up to a 10 foot radius...geech!) I look in the mirror at my face. Sometimes I laugh, as that well, when my hair is cut and my goatee is trimmed nice and neat, I am not that bad looking of a guy. Before I "retired" (another word for marriage) for a few years there women found me interesting (probably because they thought I was funny, and I can do the alphabet blindfolded with my tongue). And I did marry my best friend, after she dated a NFL Player, who was quite handsome (yeah, I'd be his bitch in prison, and who knows, like it).

So yeah, while it would be nice to have the great curly hair, the fair skin, and the cool laugh and smile, I didn't turn out too bad...well, except that flatulence problem...I am barred from open-pit barbecues from that mess.

I hate that...I love ribs.

4 comments:

Tug said...

I so need to marry a girl with some color. Otherwise my future kids might inherit my pasty complexion and won't be so blessed as to have anything resembling a "phone pole in a river." :]

Ellie said...

Yeah, your boys are cuties, alright.

I didn't know you could buy gunpowder at "Chez Tar-Jay"...

And as for the barbeque incident...some things are far better left unsaid!

So Not The Bradys said...

Now, that was some writing. I'd love to know more about the decapitated stuffed animal, but I'm demented like that.

In 7th grade, did you "go out" or did you "go together"? In IN, we did the whole "going together" thing. I guess, which in some ways, is as silly as saying you're going out when you're 13, because hell, you can't drive, and you have a really early curfew, so it's not like you're going anywhere together.

My kids always said they were "going out" in those younger grades, and my husband and I would look at them as ask where they could possibly be going. This annoyed the piss out of them. Mission accomplished.

That reminds me of the I.D. bracelets. You really weren't someone's boyfriend until you were wearing their I.D. bracelet back in the day. That was before class rings wrapped in angora, of course.

Chat Blanc said...

I love cute kids who aren't cocky about it. It makes them even more adorable. I have to say tho, I probably would have run far, far away from that lady in Tar-jay. I have a low ewww threshold. Which, now that I think about it, is also in part why I don't have kids! :D