Dolla Bills, Ya’ll

Janie and I have been trying to save money for the past several months. We spent all of our liquid assets during our recent road trip, doling out the lettuce for necessities like gas, snacks, hotel rooms, hookers and booze. We’ve stopped eating out (not really – but we talk a lot about it), buying useless things (like vegetables) and have skimped on birthday and anniversary gifts (everyone gets a single bite from a chocolate bar that I wrap and re-wrap…). With all this saving, we have amassed a hefty lump sum of $37.56, minus what I just paid for cupcakes (totally necessary expense).

What has really struck me lately is how much demand there is for my hard earned money the moment I begin to save it. Suddenly people are celebrating birthdays when I don’t remember them doing it the year prior. Cousins I never knew I had are getting married, the government wants special “fees,” the cats need money to go to the mall, my wife needs a few bucks to buy “gas” for the “car,” and those pesky lenders want their mortgage payments. No one seems to see how their needs are getting in the way of my needs, and I don’t like that one bit. What about me?

Well, no more. I’m going to buy some things with this green stuff my bosses give me for staring out the window all day. I’d say I’ve earned it.

First thing I purchase will be a bathroom monkey. Then I will get one of these:


I have been told, however, that those baby-things require a lot of money – and they never stop taking it. Even when they’re ten.

We have been talking about having babies. It’s an exciting thought, the possibility of outdoing our stomp-happy neighbors upstairs and their constantly howling dog with a louder and angrier baby who doesn’t have anything better to do. It’s not like we’d have a baby to love or be good role models for – seriously folks, gays as role models? I hear that’s impossible. No sir…we do it for the right reasons, we do it because we hate our neighbors.

We’ve long had a sperm donor profile saved for the day we decide to drive to the Sperm Bank of California (who wants Washington sperm when you could get sunny, golden California made sperm?) and our road trip originally seemed like it could have been be a perfect opportunity. We imagined how we would tell our child about the night of conception:

So there we were. Your mother rushed from the sperm bank to the car. We drove to the nearest Howard Johnson and got a room, paying by the hour because we were supposed to be in Santa Barbara before the end of the day. Your mother forgot to pack the turkey baster, so she had to run to the grocery store to buy one. She came back to the room all out of breath and wild with glee, holding that baster in her hand like it was the Holy Grail. Afterwards, we watched COPS and shared a bag of Doritos from the vending machine.

It didn’t work out and we left California exactly as we entered it – spermless. We did decide that 2008 would be the year we get going on this baby thing. We’ve found the right doctors, started saving our dollars, picked several names that no one likes but us and planned how we’d convert half the office to a place where that screaming thing will go when we get tired of of it.

The number one question that people ask us when we mention having children is: “Which one of you will be the mom?” When I point out that the entire lesbian relationship thing makes it pretty clear that we both will be, they hem and haw and ask if we’re adopting or, you know, doing it “naturally.” I like to say that we’re absolutely doing it naturally. We try and try every night and it just hasn’t been our time yet, but I’m confident that one night, when my beautiful wife and I are stripped bare and doing exactly what nature intended homosexual lesbians to do, that baby will grow out of the love we share. And by the love we share, I mean sperm donor number 6269.


  1. November 29, 2007

    That’s what we’ve been missing – hookers!

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