The party you weren't invited to

(Original Post: November 30, 2005 - Wednesday)

Here's the deal. If one more person gets married to someone they have known for three minutes I'm going to stop wearing Pink. I know, it's a tall order, but fuck it, it's on the table. It's not till death do us part, it's till I don't anymore. period.
I mean, I guess I could get some dumb asshole to marry me, but like I heard today, that is the proverbial proof for the fucked up pudding.
I want a smart, funny, witty, athletic, romantic, sympathetic, strong, sensitive, artistic, compassionate, passionate, tall, asshole to marry me. And no, I don't think that is too much to ask for.
If you don't bring anything to the table, then stop inviting yourself over for dinner.
Just because you are on his top eight on myspace, does not mean you have to fucking marry the guy.
Marriage is such a big step. It's not all "oh my god, I love you so much, you make the world go round, you complete me, you had me at hello" and whatever other Jerry McGuire shit you didn't come up with on your own. That crap is replaced with, "I don't like you that much, you don't mean as much as my hair, I'm going to make fun of you in front of your friends to make myself feel better, my career is more important, and by the way I don't want to have sex with you because I'm saving myself for divorce."
See, look at me, the eternal optimist. And I wonder why I'm single.