“My Biological Clock Is Ticking Like This!”

            Ever see that movie “My Cousin Vinny”?  If not, I beg you to go rent it, or watch it on Netflix, or download it illegally using your favorite web site that has the power to do so.  If you have seen it, you know where I am going with the title of this blog.

            Back to the losers that didn’t see it:  The whole idea of the movie is this fast talking, leather clad, New York City (Brooklyn style) Italian couple drives to the bowels of Alabama to act as defense attorney for their cousin who was in the wrong place at the wrong time.  She (Marisa Tomei) wants to get married after being engaged for 8 years or something, and he (Joe Pesci) said he would marry her after he wins his first case.  She gets mad at one point while she is wearing this horrific floral one piece, totally 90’s, jump suit looking thing, and starts stomping her foot saying, “my biological clock is ticking like this!  I ain’t never gettin’ married!”

            I feel like her these days.  Only I don’t wear floral one-piece outfits, or have one lone blonde streak in my all black hair.  Actually, the only thing we have in common is being purely hysterical.  (Helllooooo… funny people, Marisa and me.  Were old pals).

            Anyways, I was talking with an old college friend that lives in South Carolina.  She and her partner were married last winter (I was in the wedding, which was frigging awesome BTW) and she tells me today that she is pregnant!  I mean, I am excited, I love babies and shit.  Then she proceeds to tell me that she is pregnant with multiples.  I guess the normal levels of “being pregnant” are something like 5?  Well she is at 500 something.  Ergo, her doctor tells her its multiples.  (She’s going to be another octo-mom! HAHAHA).  She finds out next month or something the definite number of little penis’ and vaginas that are growing inside her.

            She then proceeds to tell me that she is going to send me her fertility drugs.  She knows I have always wanted multiples.  (How much fun right?  Pop out 3 kids at once and BAM! You’re done for life!  Your vagina only has to be torn open, like a watermelon coming from a pea, ONE time!)  Done!

            I told her to send that shit on up to me and I will do my best to figure out my ovulation cycle.  Now all I have to do is find a man (one that is smart and good looking enough) to procreate with.  Now, this is the question… Is this morally wrong?  I don’t think it is right?  Just because I didn’t necessarily tell said sex partner about my fertility pills doesn’t mean it was a case of entrapment right?  Probably wrong, but whatever!  Scratch!

            It is safe to say that more will be revealed once the fertility pills are safely ingested and I am on the sexual prowess once more.  Problem: who to entrap?  (Haha).