Moms Need Help...But So Do I!

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I was at Balboa Park a few weeks back, during an interlude between hotels back when I could afford hotels. I was sitting alone beside the currently inoperable Bea Evenson fountain when I suddenly found myself surrounded by a group of moms and their posse of young children. There were four moms and I think about eight kids, four or five of which appeared to belong to this smoking hot super MILFy woman who appeared to be in her mid-30s. She wasn’t wearing a ring, and I assumed from that and her general single-womanish mannerisms that she was probably divorced from a well-to-do man (and these days, probably well-to-do on her own also). 

I could tell this woman wanted me to talk to her, but at first, I didn’t know the reason why. But standing just a few feet away, she kept saying things to her friend, louder than necessary, that seemed to me intended to get me to insert myself into the conversation, e.g. “The biggest difference I’ve noticed between boys and girls is that boys make bad decisions”. I mean, you say that with a man sitting right there, you’re begging him to say something, right??  She probably doesn’t know that if I had said anything, and I was tempted to, I would have said, “You are so right.”

But despite her proximity, close enough that a polite “hello” would have been appropriate, or her easy option for engaging me by asking if I was bothered by her kids buzzing around me, she continues being a girl and I can tell she expects me to say something. Smoking hot White girls always think a man who notices them is going to say something. She’s convinced she’s going to win this battle. She won’t. 

The kids are all between about four and ten and they are running around me playing, which I don’t mind. I notice the children of today are much less unruly than kids of the past. I’m searching online trying to find a hotel I can afford to book, and then I notice this one little boy.  And when I say a little boy, I mean a LITTLE boy. He was tiny. He had to be at least five I think, but he was so small. I noticed him because he wasn’t running around like the other kids and because of his cute tiny little eyeglasses. He was walking around slowly, looking at things. He talked but not that much. He was mostly rolling a little Hot Wheels car around on the cement. The glasses suggest the likelihood that he was reading a lot already. He was wearing a shirt that said “Space” across the front and had a NASA-themed graphic. The shirt was not new, suggesting he’d already had an interest in these things for a while. 

And then he did something I don’t think I’ve ever seen a kid his age do. If a kid that young is curious about an adult, they’ll usually just stare until the adult says something. But this kid, he was looking at me the way adults look at each other in passing, just the right amount of time where he neither seemed to be staring nor averting his glance. I figured out that the smoking hot MILF was his mom. She was nearby continuing to be a girl, and then it hit me, sitting there in my Stanford t-shirt: it wasn’t that she wanted to talk to me—she wanted me to talk to her son. 

Then this boy did something I’ve definitely never seen a kid do, not before twelve or so. I was sitting on the eighteen-inch high platform that surrounds the fountain. He came and stood right by me, as close as a kid would stand to their parent, perhaps only an inch or two away, facing me but looking down at his toy car as if it was totally incidental where he was standing. He stood there but didn’t look at me, waiting for me to talk. This is exactly what a GIRL would do! He must have picked up this behavior from watching his mom!

What he’s actually doing is testing me. Does this kid know what Stanford is already?  Probably not. But people recognize their own kind. He’s trying to figure out how to get me to talk but he doesn’t want to talk first. Not because he’s that shy. He’s not shy, just quiet. It’s a contest. He’s running experiments, looking for other people as smart as he is because he already can’t find any!  They don’t make too many like this one. 

After a few minutes, he gives up on this strategy and moves away from me and goes back to rolling his car on the ground. His mom’s friend asks her where he got the car, and sitting on the ground playing a few feet away, in a crowded area filled with kids yelling and different conversations, pigeons flapping their wings, and not appearing to be listening, he hears and says, oddly sounding a little frustrated, “I got it from nowhere!” One of the methods for identifying kids who are unusually smart is that they use language in unique ways and another is that the smartest of us can separate a sea of noises into their separate elements and pick out what’s important. I’d go to the betting window in Vegas and go all-in: this boy’s IQ is off the charts. Any test that doesn’t show it, there’s something wrong with the test. 

So why didn’t I talk to this kid, when on any other day, I would have been waiting to run into someone like him? I didn’t feel like it, okay?  I didn’t feel like it. I’m homeless. I’m sitting there worried that I’ll be arrested by the cops crawling around as the “Homeless Outreach Team” that I suspect is just a cover to check for warrants and intimidate the homeless into staying out of public spaces where they make San Diego look bad to the money-paying tourists. I just recently got out of jail. I dread having to explain my situation to his mom or anyone else. I’m running out of money and dreading the eventuality that would come to pass only nine days later—living on the street. I was overwhelmed and exhausted mentally, physically, spiritually and emotionally. I still am.  

I never take talking to kids lightly. I am always aware that something you say to a child might impact them the rest of their life.  I sat there and thought about what I would say to him, but I didn’t have the mental and emotional energy to do it. It’s like driving tired—I would never want to try to do it when I wasn’t feeling up to it, especially not with this kid. He’s too important.  But if his mom had talked to me, would I have talked to him? Yes. And that not some kind of immature quid-pro-quo. It is attributable to the fact that any kind of meaningful interaction with a girl always energizes me. 

But I know he’ll be okay. He has already figured out at four or five, whatever he was, things it took me until adolescence to get. He already understands that he needs to find the others like him, and he already knows how to look for them. It’ll be a good little puzzle for him to try to figure out why I didn’t talk to him. Unless he’s even way faster than I think, he won’t get it for a few years.

But I’m not as lazy as you think. Just like him, I never miss anything important. I can find him. The date, time and place alone is probably enough.  They probably said his name. It’s so much harder for me to go back and get audio as opposed to images. But I remember his mom and him, his mom’s friend who had a muscular body to the point that she is most likely a professional athlete of some kind—bodybuilder, personal trainer. The uniquely shaped wedding ring she had that must have cost a lot and cannot have come from too many places. The Asian mom with the Black-Asian child who was with them. I can find him if I need to. I can find anyone. But that kid, he was watching everything. He can probably find me too. I’ll always be looking over my shoulder for him, and one day he’ll be there. 

I wondered during the course of the afternoon, “Where are these kids’ dads?” I thought, “Working.”. But then I thought, “Wait, why aren’t these kids in school?”. I check my calendar and its President’s Day. So where are their dads again?

In my life, I’ve done some unusual things that most men don’t do. I rarely took vacations from work. Instead, when I left one job, I would take a few months off before starting another. This means that during my adult life, I’ve spent lots of time in public spaces on Monday afternoons and Wednesday mornings when other men are at work. And it just so happens, girl inside that I am, I like hanging out at the same kinds of places women go—malls, parks, beaches, trendy hippie restaurants, department stores. 

Because of this, I’ve watched mothers with children a lot, and I’ve learned to understand in a way most men don’t why parenting is so hard. Unlike the jobs men do, parenting, or more specifically MOTHERING, is CONSTANT work. It is normally fairly low-intensity work, but it never has a break. You’ve got to be watching, all the time. You’ve got to be thinking about everything you say or do with your child. You’ve got to be paying attention to who you allow to interact with your child. But you also have to be thinking longer-term, learning to understand who your child is so that you can steer them to the best path in life. 

I saw a woman today alone with five kids, pushing a baby in a stroller, another baby strapped to her back, and three girls probably about three, five and seven, walking. I’ve noticed over the years, all these mothers with kids, alone. Sometimes they have a mom posse, but still its usually two or three kids to every woman. There may not be a lot of UNMARRIED moms in more affluent communities, but a lot of these girls, though they are not single women, they are still single MOMS!

I do see some fathers out there. But many of them have a sour look on their face like they hate what they are doing, and they talk to their kids in this harsh, domineering way that shows they just don’t understand or relate to children. 

But I see a few good ones, who I can see are engaged in parenting the same way women are. I always give them a smile to let them know I see what they are doing. And we can’t forget the single dads out there. These are some of the true unsung heroes in society, because being a single dad is HARD! For several reasons, I think it’s even harder than being a single mom, especially if you have a daughter. But while these good fathers are out there, there are too few of them. These moms (and single dads) need help!

In an earlier post, I teased the idea that most fathers don’t actually care about their children, and most men don’t actually care about women. I’m now going to explain that in more detail...

We as humans have this peculiar dichotomy in how we view ourselves—we can’t decide if we are a part of nature or not. I’m not talking about the creationist vs evolutionist debate. While it relates somewhat, there are creationists and evolutionists on both sides of the divide I am talking about. 

Evolutionary biology tells us how animals behave and why. But yet, as humans, knowing that we are mammals, we like to think of all human activities as the product of our rational thought processes and therefore as somehow outside of nature. A beaver builds a dam, it’s natural. Humans build dams, with slightly more advanced materials, and it’s against nature. One species hunts another into extinction, that’s natural selection. Humans hunt another species into extinction, we’re being bad. The fact is, we are a part of nature and most human activity is based in biology, with our rational reasoning retrofitted to conform to our image of ourselves as above nature. 

This is not an anti-environmentalist argument. Until my financial life collapsed, I was a dues-paying member of The Nature Conservancy and The Humane Society. But my point is, we have to stop ignoring the role that evolutionary compulsion plays in human affairs. This willful ignorance is nowhere more apparent than in how we look at sex, dating and reproduction. 

Basic evolutionary biology tells us that in mammals, the male having a virtually unlimited supply of sperm will attempt to deliver his seed to as many females as possible, while females, having only one womb and a limited reproductive window, will endeavor to mate only with the absolute best male specimen available. As in lions, and chimps and muskrats, so in humans, though we like to pretend this isn’t true. We have changed our behavior somewhat due to the rules imposed by civilization, but in the dark, most of us are still thinking and behaving along the lines dictated by biology. 

How does this relate to men and their newfound apathy toward women and children?  Human evolutionary biology coalesced at a time when humans were living in small groups, probably unaware that there were people beyond those they encountered in their local area. For men, protecting women and children in that context was essential to the survival of the tribe, and thus to their own survival. Everyone rose and fell together. 

But as the human population grew, and travel and technology advanced to where we became aware of ourselves as a global species numbering in the millions, the evolutionary imperatives changed, as any evolutionary biologist can tell you happens with any species when the colony size changes dramatically.  It no longer had any impact on the fate of the species whether any INDIVIDUAL male cared for women or children, nor did the individual’s fate depend so inextricably on the fate of the community in which he lived—he now knew there were other communities and other ways to survive.

Humans had become so numerous and widespread and technologically advanced that the threat of extinction seemed remote and impractical, so biology adjusted.   To ensure the survival of the species, all men had to do was continue to reproduce, as the supply of wombs and children to carry the species forward became, from the individual perspective, practically infinite. 

This change did not occur for women for two reasons. The woman’s role as the actual factory where babies are made prevented them from ever becoming disconnected from their role as parents. But also, because civilization had become male-dominated, women were much more vulnerable and needed protection. Being a good mother would mean that your children would fill this role. Being a good wife meant your husband might fill it if you were lucky. So women could never become disconnected from the welfare of society the way men could. 

There was however one negative way in which women were affected by these changes. As communities grew and became more disharmonious, women’s role as community mothers started to recede and women started to be more selfishly concerned with the welfare of their own children only rather than all the children of the community as had been the case in our tribal past. 

But still women loved men and loved children as their connection to society and as a survival imperative. But the rule for men became “me against the world”, or “me and my bros against the world”. There was no more community, except as a false social facade. In their hearts of hearts, for most men life was about nothing more than fun, fraternity, fighting and fucking because there was no evolutionary incentive to worry about anything else. Bro Culture was born. 

Women, however, could not adjust to this new reality because, even though they sensed the change in male behavior, the idea that men actually didn’t love them or even their own children seemed to women too monstrous to be true. So women, collectively, started making excuses for callous male behavior, coming up with every explanation for it except the obvious one: he’s just not that into you OR his kids. 

But why would some of us be different?   When it comes to my attitudes toward women, I was raised almost completely by women. For all that my father taught me about theology, about business, about ethics, he never said ANYTHING to me about women. I lost respect for my brother in this arena early on when he denied paternity of his daughter, born to maybe the smoking hottest girl in town (and still smoking hot at almost fifty). So I didn’t listen to anything he or any man had to say about girls. I listened to my three older sisters. I listened to my mom, with awareness of the fact she had mental and emotional issues. I listened to the girls I knew at school. I listened to the articles I read in my sisters’ Cosmopolitan, Seventeen, Ms., Essence and Glamour magazines. I made it my goal to be the kind of man women wanted, and I challenged myself in all that I did to uphold that standard.  Other men may have come out different for other reasons, a toxic man in their life that they swore not to emulate, or a strong feminine figure in their life who showed them the way. 

As for my relationship with children, I believe I like them and they like me because I never “grew up” in the way most adults do. I have a chapter in one of my books called “The Neverland Prince” that explains the combination of factors at play: the youngest child separated by six years from my nearest sibling, a highly accomplished and well-known father, an older brother who has my father’s name, parents who were older than average when I was born, being one of the youngest kids in my family’s social group. All of this led to the people around me viewing me as a perpetual child. While I left home at 18, always worked and supported myself, embarked on entrepreneurial endeavors, I was still “the baby” to my family and community, even though I was smarter and more accomplished than all of them. But it made me realize that I didn’t WANT to grow up in the way that they wanted me to. Because of all this, I know that kids are so much smarter than adults think, and they can tell I know it when they see me, because I look at them like equals and I can tell the ones who are smarter than most adults already because I went through the same thing. 

I know that I’m not alone. There must be other men like me out there, but I can’t trust who’s who because men are just so shifty.  About ninety percent of the men I make eye contact with either look guilty, or hostile, or look at me like we’re in on some secret conspiracy together. It’s only a few I see and think, “He seems like a good man.”  There aren’t too many I’d go to the betting window and go all-in on. Maybe Ryan Reynolds and LeBron James. Perhaps Pope Francis, but that guy needs a new job!

We need men willing to declare their separation from the toxic male culture, but it’s suicide for us if women don’t fully embrace us into their fold. We need an official coalition of moms and men who really care about women and children. Why don’t we have it?

Every age has its hysterias, and the hysteria of the modern age that has perhaps done the most damage to human social development is “Stranger Danger” hysteria, particualrly an overblown and unjustified fear of child predators that has caused us to isolate children away from the community. So many of our social problems from urban gangs to mass shooters to substance addiction to mass incarceration I believe relate directly to kids growing up in a state of social isolation and becoming dysfunctional adults. This is starting to change with adolescent-age kids because they won’t tolerate it, but it is still a big problem with younger kids and we need to talk about it. 

I don’t want to give the impression that I don’t think abuse of children is serious problem—it is. But like most things in this society, we’re worrying about the wrong suspects   It’s analogous to an interview I heard in this documentary about race, “White Like Me”, where this White criminal is talking about how he just walks in stores, steals stuff and walks out unnoticed while security is following Black people around. Likewise, parents worry about the random stranger while the vast majority of physical and sexual abuse of children is done by close family members. 

We have such a social paranoia about children being kidnapped or molested or murdered by strangers, so many movies and television ahows about it, but I heard a statistic a few years ago that was really eye-opening: more children drown in home swimming pools every year than are abducted by strangers. Something like ninety percent of child abductions are by a parent. For all the high-profile talk about abusive priests, boy scout leaders and teachers, your child’s father is more likely to molest them than any of these figures. 

Beyond this, socially isolated children are far easier for anyone to victimize, because there are bound to be divisions between parents and children, which the uncles and cousins and step-dads who molest kids the most exploit. The more adults that they can trust that a child has in their life, the harder it is for predators to use one of the first tools in their playbook, “Your parents don’t understand you...”

One potential silver lining to my time incarcerated is that I spent five years surrounded by child predators. And they liked talking to me because I was not openly judgmental. As a result, I’ve got the psychology of these guys down so cold. If you’re a parent and you’re worried about this, I can tell you how to protect your children and teach them to protect themselves without being afraid of the world or cutting them off from people like me who can be a valuable resource in their lives. 

But I don’t know. Maybe its just like my kidney failure. After I walked out of the dialysis center on my own power after all the doctors told me it would never happen without a transplant, I would have thought people would have wanted to ask my advice or study me, but no. Sometimes I feel that people are so intimidated by my obvious genius that they would rather suffer hell and death than admit they need help. I can help you and your kids. 

Another factor that prevents the partnerships between moms and the men that can help them is something that is the fault of women, though it is understandable. As men seized more and more control over society over the last few thousand years, the only way that women could maintain some kind of social balance was by turning motherhood into kind of a priesthood and pushing fathers away from child-rearing. Only by reserving this domain as their own were women able to prevent being completely and totally enslaved by men.  But now that society has advanced and women have come closer to equality, women need to embrace men (the good ones anyway) into the child-raising secret society. 

So, moms need help, and I need help, too. I have a proposal that can help us both, if there is one mom out there with the courage, vision and resources to take me up on it. Apart from Scarlett Johansson or some other Hollywood MAT Girl showing up and saying “I want to hire you” or the court calling and saying “Your conviction has been overturned”, this is my dream right now:

Unfortunately, real estate, like banking and finance, is one of the critical areas that men have kept women shut out of in order to maintain their control over society. There are a lot of female real estate agents, but almost all landlords are men, almost all real estate investment firms are managed by men, almost all construction companies and real estate development companies are owned by men, and most real estate is owned by men. This makes my dream a challenge, but not an insurmountable one....

What I need is a mom, my Hero Mom, who owns a modest apartment or house for rent, who will let me live in it rent-free. But here is what I will give her in exchange: 

I will work as a full-time tutor to her child or children.   I am imminently qualified for this job.  I’ve spent most of my life thinking a lot about early childhood education, about education in general, because the system didn’t work for me. I was always too far ahead of it and had to come up with my own methods to teach myself. I’ve given great thought and much practice to figuring out how to explain complex things in clear and understandable ways, especially to young children. 

A mother would be hard-pressed to find, at any price, a tutor for her child who has the academic pedigree that I have, combined with almost two decades of corporate work experience, direct experience working with highly successful people, and personal relationships and connections with some of the most powerful people in America, even if those relationships have dissolved. A brief and partial statement of my credentials:

National Merit Scholar, one of about 8,000 in the nation each year. 

Attended Stanford University. I didn’t graduate but go look at the top of the billionaires list—most of them didn’t graduate either. My getting into Stanford tells you more than my graduating would have, as evidenced by the fact that so many of my contemporaries who did graduate were calling and emailing me to ask questions. 

Worked as an administrative assistant to Dr. Stephen A. Sherwin, then CEO of biotechnology research company Cell Genesys. Dr. Sherwin has an M.D. from Harvard and a Ph.D. from Yale. I learned a lot from him. 

I worked as a temporary intern with the Business Management Group at Ernst & Young, tax lawyers and financial advisors to many millionaires and billionaires from business and entertainment.  I learned a lot from them. 

I worked for partners in the intellectual property departments of major international law firms doing work for Fortune 1000 companies. I learned a lot from them. 

At Stanford, I became acquainted with many of the current and future leaders in America. I learned a lot from them. My personal relationships with these people may be on the rocks, but they know I have an eye for talent. If I tell them they should look into your kid, they are going to do it. 

Beyond this, my father ran a successful construction company in addition to having been a prominent minister with important business and political connections, and I spent a great deal of time learning from him for over thirty years. 

I hope I can work for more than just one kid. My Hero Mom can pimp me out to other mothers as a tutor, with all of the proceeds going to her.  At my last corporate job, my time was billed to clients at $200 per hour.  Even at half that, which is in line with what a tutor of much less accomplishment and experience than I have would charge, if my hero mom can sell 10 hours a week of my time to other moms, that would more than cover the rent on the place where I am staying, plus a profit. Though I don’t demand it, if this becomes profitable, hopefully she will be kind and give me a small profit-sharing percentage. 

I have more to offer! Much more!

I love cooking, cleaning and doing domestic tasks. Seriously. Can’t afford a cook and a maid? You’ve got one now! I’m OCD so you know I know how to clean, and I’m a good cook. A girl once offered to marry me after tasting one of my grilled cheese sandwiches (I later was able to confirm that she was not willing to follow through on that, though). I wouldn’t mind cooking breakfast, lunch and dinner every day. I love cooking and I love cooking for other people even more!

This might all sound like a lot of work, but NONE of this is work to me!  I love teaching kids who want to learn. I love cooking. I love cleaning things up. Like Hilary Swank, I love doing laundry. Seriously, I really do. I love WORKING...when it’s work worth doing. 

While I dream of working for MAT Girls writing movies and helping to build a female-led movie industry, the perfect Hero Mom for me would actually be a LAWYER!  I worked for law firms for over a decade, in addition to doing legal work of my own. In addition to all of the above, when the male partners at your office send you home with all that extra stuff to do, I can handle your light work. I am great at legal research and I can write first drafts of legal work for you. This is not a violation of Bar rules or legal ethics so long as you review it. This is what I did at work. I can give you references to a few dozen female attorneys at high-profile law firms that you can call and ask about my professional skills and my personal conduct. I loved working for girl lawyers! Plus, I do have one selfish motivation here. If I prove myself useful to her, perhaps she will help me in fighting my legal case. I can actually do most of the work related to that. I just need a lawyer because courts do not fairly honor filings by people who do not have an attorney. 

Some might ask how I would possibly have time to do all this. The same way I had time to write a novel, six movie screenplays, a new theory in physics, build my own website and start my own movie production company while working full-time in patent law offices. Without the constraints of having to be at a desk 8-10 hours a day, I can do even more. With the motivation of knowing I’m working for someone who cared enough to rescue me, I believe I can do anything. 

Now, none of fhis solves my love problem, but then again, maybe it does. Perhaps my fixation on romance has been a product of the fact that I haven’t really had any other kind of love in my life. Maybe I can find a group of moms and their kids who can be like my family since I don’t have one. 

But if there is a mom who doesn’t have a place for rent, but wants to hire me to do all this while staying with her as a husband or boyfriend, well, I’m certainly open to that adventure as well....if she’s nice to me and assuming Scarlett Johansson isn’t interested...

I’ve been shocked throughout my life by how few people there are willing to try anything truly original. People always fall victim to the “yeah, buts”. In this case, some moms would be deterred by the reaction that some would surely have, “You’re letting a criminal tutor your kids?!?”. 

These types of attacks are easily repelled by a woman who just has the courage to say the way things are: “An alleged criminal railroaded through a court system we all know is corrupt, who was good enough for corporate America to hire him, good enough for one of the best colleges in the world to accept him, but because one girl with five names, a criminal record and no credible evidence said to throw his life away, you wanna line up with her? Be my guest. Oh, by the way, were you one of the girls who voted for the Grab-Em-By-The-Pussy President?”. It’s that simple. 

Besides, even the government knows I’m not a danger to children—there were no child-related restrictions at all imposed in my parole conditions. I’m just supposed to stay away from porn shops and strips clubs, which is fine since I’ve never been to a strip club in my life anyway, and I haven’t been to a porn shop in years and years. But that’s all water under the bridge. I’m done with parole. The state can either lock me up or stand down. It’s that simple. And they know they fucked up, and the last thing they want is my case being opened and examined. They are hoping I’ll die in the street, commit a new crime, or run, so the whole thing is swept under the rug. 

So will I find my Hero Mom?  Could it be the mother of that little genius I saw the other day?  Could it be another single mom working like three jobs to make ends meet—Scarlett Johansson? I don’t know. 

In the last decade, all my worst fears have come true. All of them, right down the list. The failure of my previously bullet-proof health, being accused of a sexual assault, my father dying at the worst possible time, going to prison, being forced to live as a registered sex offender, losing all my cherished material possessions—most significantly mementos related to experiences with girls I loved, being estranged from all those girls I loved, becoming homeless, learning that my worst suspicions about the people close to me were true, being into my forties and still having not found the love of my life...

I’m starting to dread that my next worst fear might be coming true—finding out that women actually have NO power, none of them. It starts to feel like every woman, no matter how powerful or independent she may appear, must have puppet strings being pulled by men, otherwise, why wouldn’t some girl actually help me after all this time??? Or perhaps women simply have no desire or need for me. Equally terrifying either way. But regardless, I’m done with the male world (see “My Plan For Men”, coming soon). I could say I’d rather die in the street than go back to the male world.  But dying out here would be easy—it’s living out here that is unbearable. 

My disability check didn’t come today as I was hoping and praying it would. So right now I am sitting on a bench shivering as I type this on my iPhone. I will be sleeping outside in the park again, on what is forecast to be another rainy night. I have less than two dollars left, so if my check doesn’t come tomorrow, I guess I’ll be fasting like a true religious guru. I just can’t believe this is for real but it is. 

I keep having the fantasy that some girl from my past that I at least kind of liked will come find me here and just say, “Come with me” and end this madness and that the night will end in a warm bed in the arms of a girl who cares about me, or at least cares about what I’ve been through. But I guess I’m dead to all the girls I used to know, just like all the men I used to know are dead to me. 

I hope that I’m not in the universe of nightmares. I hope there are girls with the will and the power to help me help them.  There is so much we can do together.  

I want to be adopted by the Jewish MAT Girls, but I don’t know. These girls are making me SWEAT! Maybe the community of Jewish MAT girls is just too exclusive for me to get close to. If so, I’m willing to enter a covenant with all the single moms of the world who need help, to look out for their kids as if they are my own, as long as they are willing to help me out a little. 

Women are paranoid that any man who offers them help is going to want sex in return. Not me! I have reprogrammed my brain to where I cannot feel sexual attraction to a woman unless I know she wants me. Aesthetic attraction, yes. Sexual attraction, no. I can live without sex forever if I have to. I just need a nice place to live, a little legal help, and some real friends who value and care for me. I want a lover, but like Alanis Morissette said, I can wait forever. But I can’t wait forever to have a stable life with a home and my basic needs met. But I’m willing to work like hell for it!  

So, if these Jewish girls don’t want to adopt me, single moms, I am available! Hey, would that deal include the Swedish half of single mom Scarlett Johansson???  That would be a win!

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