Dairy of a Madman

A whole lot of animal behavior stems from one source: the survival of your genetic material, your DNA lineage. This explains the lack of monogamy in the animal kingdom, the reproductive urge… lots of things. It’s where that ticking clock in 99.5% of women (and men, too — don’t let most of ‘em fool you, ladies) comes from. Most all of us have that urge to see the things that make us us live on.

Some scientists think that our bodies are programmed (evolved?) to encourage us to take part in activities that are good for us, both in the immediate timeframe and in the long run. This is why we have negative physical sensations when we are hungry, or tired, and why it feels good to do things like eat and poop.

No, seriously. Look it up.

And so having sex is accompanied by orgasm, at least for men (hey, ladies, you don’t have to have fun for a baby to get made; sorry).

(In fact, now that I think about it, this all fits nicely into the biological imperative scheme of things. You ladies can think what you want of us men as lovers; from the purely survivalistic perspective, we only really need one shot with you, and then on to the next victim baby momma. Man, this biology stuff is pretty cool if you’re looking for a way to validate shitty behavior….)

Veering back from my brief visit to Misogynytown I wonder why it is that pregnancy isn’t accompanied by the same really euphoric feeling, if the whole point is survival? Obviously, sex feels good, and so we have as much of it as possible. As much of it as possible with our protective systems in place, of course — because who outside of Kevin Federline and Flavor Flav want an Irish Catholic household?

My sister is pregnant for the second time, and I keep hearing about morning sickness, and mood swings, and strange cravings, and I can’t help but think:

Who the fuck wants to be pregnant? Even those of us without the plumbing for the job — what incentive do we have for putting up with nine months of this? Okay, maybe there are some sadistic fuckers out there that get off on seeing their loved one in misery and discomfort, but we don’t count them. And there are those that would say that those nine months are a small price to pay for having your own child, one that you get to teach your values to and watch as they grow old. To you I say: if I really want something that is going to eat up years of my life and emotional stability and god knows how much money, I’ll get another cat.

I can name them stupid things without anyone giving me grief about it, too.

I was talking to Neely the other night about crystal meth (any story you just thought of as an explanation is far more entertaining than the truth), and caught myself comparing the high to the rush of orgasm. That’s the easy way to make people understand why drugs are such a problem in the country, how people can ignore all the dangers for that buzz: compare it to an orgasm.

But think how desirable it would be to get pregnant if you were trying to explain to someone why there’s such a problem with meth or cocaine or heroin, and the easiest way to get to the point would be by saying that it was ten times as intense as being pregnant? And that made everyone want to shoot up?

Maybe the Chinese actually do get a rush for those nine months. And the Irish. And the Catholics. That would explain a lot.