Category: Life

I fell in love about 11 years ago. It was the beginning of my freshman year of college so I may have been drunk. It could also have very well been love. I met a girl that put up with my drunken debacles, food binges, confusing meanderings, and so on. I gained a good 60 pounds since I first laid eyes on her. Whose fault that is is still up for debate, but the fact that she is as gorgeous as the day I met her is not open for conjecture.

So what happened? Well responsible waiting turned into static emotions which turned into a brief break-up a couple of years back. I call this the dark years while she cleverly refers to this as a welcomed sigh of relief. As fate would have it I found myself on bended knee at a Southern California beach near midnight on December 19th, 2009.

I did not trip or stumble but fell. I fell 11 years ago and it took me over a decade to take a knee. So it begins. My short journey to matrimony. I hope to keep you up-to-date with what I am sure will be a carefree campaign to bliss.

I’m turning 30 this year. While the number has no real meaning to me, the physical limitations that coincide are becoming more and more frustrating. Now I am not old. I know that. I realize that. I can gain a lot by relying on that fact. But I am older. The fact that it is now noticeable is quite disconcerting. Here some examples:

Stairs. I used to be able to go up stairs. Now I’m not a complete waste. I can manage a flight of stairs without breaking a sweat, but I am breathing harder than when I started. If I take two or more flights I experience chaffing thighs, runners high, and distinct feelings of regret. Now I can blame my physique but that would necessitate action and I’m content blaming my age and looking for escalators from here on out.

Drinking. I remember the days when a hangover consisted of brief bouts of puking with elongated headaches. Those were the days. Hangovers now consist of headaches, nausea, dirtying of chonies, lying to loved ones, and complete apathy to live for a week or so.

Pants. I remember the days I dressed depending on how I wanted to look that night. That was pretty sweet. I would be all “Hey, how does this look?” And if nonchalant grunts followed I changed. Now I dress according to what the fuck fits me that night. If its a full moon and I had too much watermelon, well it better be Adidas elastic shorts night at the club, otherwise I could go in my pajamas, boxers, or tie my comforter around me. I guess this isn’t old age just my stubbornness to buy bigger pants. It might stem from the fact that my nickname is already Sgt. Big Pants.

Passing out. I pass out now. Now this is different from college when 90% of your friends were passing out from extracurriculars. I now pass out in front of the television at 1 a.m. watching the slap chop guy. I used to mock my father for such abuses but now I do the exact same thing with astonishing regularity. It starts with a slow and gentle malaise that some might call apathy to leave a comfortable sofa. This turns into an altogether paralysis to do anything, even change the channel. You are then left to wake up at 5 in the morning watching Murder She Wrote.

Responsibility. Still trying to avoid this so let’s move on.

Time. The other day I did nothing. I mean I literally came home, sat down, and did nothing. I became very aware and bored of the nothing so I figured I should do something, but before I knew it, It was 1 a.m. and time to sleep. My problem is doing nothing exhausts so much time now that I am older. I used to be able to waste significant amounts of time in high school and it would feel like weeks. Hell, I spent four years in college accomplishing little to no amount of sizable achievements and that felt like pretty much four years. Now if I get caught watching a couple episodes of “It’s Always Sunny” my whole night is shot.

So come and take me 30’s. I may be only moderately prepared but I am well aware I have little to no say in the matter.

I have a problem with some of the etiquette that has been occurring with regularity at the men’s urinal. Many of us men have a keen awareness of the necessary decorum to be used in a public restroom. The rest of us had to learn through trial and error. I submit to you five absurdities I have witnessed and would like to stop seeing.

1. I have seen a grown man at the urinal with his pants at his ankles. I was quite sure this man knew of the awkward position he and I were both in at the time and appreciated the quickness with which he picked up his pants. I would say this was an anomaly if I did not see this act twice in two different locales. Either I am visiting the wrong lavatories or I am doing everything all wrong.

2. For some reason the office restroom is a no holds barred, anything goes atmosphere. Men busy taking a deuce are many times on the phone conducting business like this was a war room on Wall Street. Please refrain from telling your wife to remember to take the kids to piano at the same time you are busy pinching a loaf. It disturbs me that the woman on the other end of this call accepts all your faults including this one.

3. Another office specialty is the old guy reading a paper at the urinal. I understand that your prostate is roughly the size of a Japanese gymnast but please refrain from reading the whole sports page while I’m waiting in line. I hope to never know the pleasure of a ten minute whiz that comes in droplet form but you are making us all anxious.

4. Please use all urinals as place holders. If space permits use the urinal the farthest away. I have a friend that time and again likes to sidle up to any one of us like he was telling us a secret. We can get as close as you want after I pee but for the moment please move away while my wiener is in the open air.

5. For the great genius designing bathroom layouts. Stop with the awkward urinal placements. Many dive bars are guilty of this transgression. They try to fit in as many as they can in a small place. Now I’m forced to pee standing back to back to the drunk dude with no balance. I can clearly see he is missing his mark and it’s making me uncomfortable. Then when I’m done I have to maneuver in some weird metal gear solid way so I don’t accidentally induce foreplay with a strange gentleman.

These are all five very real problems that I think can be remedied. It does alleviate some stress to know that while our restrooms look and feel like a men’s restroom, rumor has it the women’s restroom has a certain methadone clinic in Bosnia atmosphere.

I hate you. I hate you as much as any one person can hate a potentially non-existent foe. How retarded can you be? Very, very retarded is the answer. You must have some semblance of a brain because your basket taking caper has thus far gone unsolved.

Please rest assured that you will be apprehended as soon as I get off the couch and turn off the TV. But I will run into my bag again. I just have to. There is no way this was not an inside job. No prints or excessive lint trails at the scene. You are good my friend. You are good.

I am convinced you know who I am am. Now that I have to lug my clothes to and fro in a white trash bag like I were a ghetto Mexican Santa Claus, I am convinced you are enjoying yourself. Well this not being a violent crime I can’t say that I hope you die but I at the very least wish that you one day get a puppy and he dies in your arms. Then I hope you scream to the heavens for retribution and remember me, the guy that only wanted to get out of taking a laundry bag back and forth from his apartment so he left it in the laundry room. He did this because he was convinced there was no one so completely void of a soul that they would snatch my only laundry bag. Do you not understand that I am lazy and will not buy another until I am coincidentally standing next to one in the store.

I am sorry I take it back. I hope you die.

Best,

Some Dude you totally fucked over.