JB and I were watching the show “Real Sex” on HBO last night — if that sounds kinky, believe me, it isn’t; that show is often fascinating and occasionally sort of shocking but it is never sexy, unless the image of doughy hairy people doing pervy things like, say, wearing saddles, bridles, and tassles shoved in their butts in order to look like a horse’s tail turns you on — and one of the segments was on “adult babies”. In order to forcibly tear the last shred of innocence from your brain I will explain that an adult baby is someone who likes to act and be treated like a baby, which includes being fed, dressed, and CRAPPING THEMSELVES IN THE GIANT DIAPERS CUSTOM-MADE FOR SUCH ACTIVITIES.

Maybe it’s the fact that I spend my days changing diaper after diaper, but the idea of cleaning up after an adult who purposefully shit themselves in order to experience some kind of fucked-up age regression fantasy makes me want to BARF. I mean, hey, normally I’m a whatever-floats-your-boat believer — like, you want to shove leather horse tails up your ass and gallop around pretending you’re a horny Barbaro, go for it; you want to cornhole various cavities in your teddy bear so as to better accommodate your mighty man-spear, CARPE DIEM. But adult babies . . . grah. I mean, what exactly triggers the desire to wear a size XXXXL onesie and have a pretend Mommy spooning Gerber’s in your mouth and powdering your genitalia? Other than a highly disturbing childhood trauma that should probably be treated with years of therapy and possibly a strong medication regimen?

Well, I sure sound intolerant over here, don’t I, over a harmless bunch of weirdos who are probably decent taxpaying citizens when they aren’t soiling their own pants. Blame it on Daylight Saving, which sent Riley’s sleep schedule straight down the rabbit hole and filled me with utter despair this morning when after my ususal wee-hour feedings with Dylan I got up for the day and it was DARK outside. There is only so much coffee can be expected to do, you know?

In happier, less ranty news: my bathroom scale read 148 this morning, down from 153 on 2/27. I’d like to thank Turbo Jam, fat-free Cool Whip, and the unholy prune-juice/watermelon taste sensation of Tab energy drinks for this encouraging progress.


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