The Intricacies of the Jew-fro, S-Club 7 and Other Pearls of Wisdom

While Max rated the adopt-ability of various ethnic babies last week, I got to thinking a lot about parenthood. While I know exactly where my baby will come from (it will spring from my loins in a mess-free, 30-second delivery while bluebirds sing on the windowsill and I glow both with new motherhood and the Evian my husband will be liberally misting over my once-again taut body) I've also been thinking about the raising of said little peanut. However, before I can even think about rearing a child (ha. rearing.), I must look to myself and my wisdom of 27 winters.

As a moderately adult woman, I've experienced my share of rises and falls, one-strap overalls, show choir trophies and good old fashioned setbacks. I am a result of my childhood and the result is an unconventionally attractive Jew who makes up for her lack of toned muscle with a winning sense of humor and a small amount of street cred amongst Southeast Asian gang hopefuls. However, in order to achieve this delicate balance, I had to chart some murky, murky waters. 

I've learned some valuable lessons in life, love and personal grooming, but at what cost? I resembled a frizzy paperclip with internal organs until the age of 21 and appreciated the song stylings of S-Club 7 for just a little too long. My adolescent turmoil could have been helped had my parents known what to do with a tragically un-hip daughter being raised in the middle of Lowell, Massachusetts, home to crack dens, Bloods and tween moms. It was the late 90s and everyone was high on Crack Street...but not me, I was high on Stephen Sondheim and Life as a non-huffing, undeveloped gal.

Now that I've learned my lessons, things my own parents couldn't possibly have seen coming, I plan on ingraining them into my daughter's mind before she has even a second to contemplate cornrows (very brief. two days. sleepover with my cousin. OKAY?!) My father's greatest lesson to me was how to make pancakes. My mother's was how to tweeze my eyebrows at the age of 7. My lessons to my daughter are as follows:

On a scale from 1 to Blue Ivy Carter...

While cruise ships tipped and Republicans battled, so far the biggest news story in 2012 happened in Beyonce’s uterus. On January 7, a day that shall live in infamy, Blue Ivy Carter was delivered into this world; bringing with her the hope for a new order and an onslaught of copycat attempts (see: Woman Gives Birth on January 8th.)

However, the biggest shock came when I found the staggering truth behind the buzz. Now this may come as a surprise to most of you, but it seems that Beyonce isn’t the only woman to have “given birth.” It’s true. In fact, I did quite a bit of research on this topic and it turns out that women appear to have babies every day. Like all the time. All around the world. Like even right now, babies are being born! Can you believe that?!

BREAKING NEWS TO STRAIGHT CHICKS: Homos are Lying to You

Or

That Top Really DOES Make You Look Fat

As a gay man, I have a lot of straight girl friends. And while society nowadays makes that seem completely natural, it’s sort of like when the turtle and the hippo become friends at your local zoo. Sure, there’s a lot of it on YouTube, but it’s still a weird pairing when you actually think about it. Gay men are pretty much the farthest removed from straight chicks considering we have absolutely no relationship with the female psyche, and straight chicks definitely don’t know what it’s like to be a man - if they did, women of the world would have staged a jealous riot decades ago (hint: it’s awesome.) And, sure, I guess we both share a common interest in men, but that’s sort of like when your mother used to set you up on play dates with the neighbor’s son because he was also developmentally delayed. A common bond, yes, but how far can that really stretch?

Despite this, the straight chick/gay guy relationship is a pretty standard fixture in modern times. And while I don’t see it as a novelty anymore, it blows my mind that straight chicks still regard their gay best friends in a manner similar to how Roman citizens must have regarded the oracles. No matter how little or how well I know a straight chick, at some point in our relationship she’s going to ask me a question that is way, way beyond me and assume that I have the answers. And not because I’m smart, but because I’m her gay best friend.

I can’t pretend like I don’t know where this comes from. Our culture is saturated with the idea of the “omniscient gay best friend,” fueled by the fact that smarmy gay men have been lying to straight chicks for centuries- pretending like we know the answers to their problems, pretending we know how to help them. Even today, people like Nate Berkus and Clinton Kelly make their fortunes off of force-feeding women the Kool-Aid. But the discerning eye can easily tell you that this is a load of bull. We’re supposed to believe that gay men know how to help women?! Please, how could we do that? We don’t know the first thing about you! At least straight dudes are trying to figure you out to get you into bed with them, ask them for advice!

So I've decided, here and now, that I'm not going to sell this snake oil anymore to all you ladies. And maybe I'll spoil it for the rest of the money grubbing liars out there, but I think it's time for the truth.  Homosexuals of the world, the jig is up. I give you:

Things that gays cannot help you with: