The Dip. Marry-ability.
Posted on October 23, 2007
Filed Under Faggotry, Failures, Gluttony
For some reason or another, I have been thinking about marriage these past few days. If you’ve been reading my stuff long enough, you might go ahead and jump into conclusions about this just being a “phase” of some sort. After all, I wrote this almost a year ago.
(And really, is it my fault that the girl I proposed to lied about her job and wasn’t really a flight attendant but a dancer who trades her “services” for canned vegetable outside a clothing store in the middle east? I think not.)
But seriously, marriage is slowly beginning to present itself as a nascent position lately. This, I feel, is largely due to the fact that right now, I have the best girlfriend a guy could ever have. Before my girlfriend and I got together, my original plan was to marry whoever it is I’m dating by the time I turn 31 (preferably someone underage. And with dead parents, or parents who are drug addicts. Or both.)
Lately though, I find myself in a serious bind–or as my recent favorite author Seth Godin would call it: a Dip(or, who knows? Maybe even a cul-de-sac?). This “Dip” that I speak of is the fact that I feel that as if, right now, I have peaked. I am as marry-able as I’m ever going to get.
In fact, forget “peaking” as I think I’ve passed my peak years ago. Right now, my life is on a downward slide that will ultimately end in a mail-to-order bride, annulment, severe alcoholism and drug addiction, murder and fire.
I seriously do not see myself changing for the better in any aspect from here on. Physically? I haven’t engaged myself in anything “physical” for months now (except for those rare instances when I masturbate or try to have sex). The last time I played basketball with my co-workers, I think my left lung collapsed and had an arterial blockage or something.
I think I even gained like 10 pounds this month and I cannot tell you how terrible this makes me feel. A couple of weeks ago, I purchased a pair of size 34 skinny jeans despite the fact that a size 36 would barely fit me. I feel as if I do a significant amount of damage to my intestines every time I try I zip these new jeans up.
BUT, because I have an ego and I want to dress up in whatever clothes Jake Cuenca wears on TV, I will continue to buy jeans 2 sizes smaller than my size even if they do nothing but evoke hysterical laughter from people who see me wearing them and kill me a little by slowly crushing my innards.
Professionally? Let’s be real here, my “I have an awesome job and I get paid truckloads of money” jokes notwithstanding, It’s only a matter of time before someone gets me all figured out. Not that I’m doing well now mind you, most of the people at work try and come up with inventive, non-offensive ways to say things like “You did finish college didn’t you?” or “Who do you think you’re fooling with your colorful graphs of your paltry productivity?”
Add that to the fact that I have been finding myself to be broke more often now. I downloaded this Mac Software on my laptop that supposedly helps you manage your finances and project how much you can save monthly based on your salary and your expenses. I ran some numbers and it tells me that I should be completely be bankrupt and indebted in about three months time. Awesome. Just awesome.
Emotionally? I have always been a douchebag capable of feeling only two types of emotions: an obsessive need for alcohol and lust. But slowly I’m developing a predilection towards a new emotion: Hatred. Severely embittered, I won’t be surprised if I find myself Judo chopping some elderly lady holding up the line in front of an ATM machine when clearly, there are people like me who have much more urgent needs for the money they’re going to withdraw (alcohol) than cat food or stupid pasalubong food from Greenwich.
So to my girlfriend, I humbly come to you with my hat in my hand. Please don’t leave me. Please stick long enough to marry me. I might be no George Clooney, Sean Connery, or Richard Gere, people who, if they weren’t married, grow to be more marry-able and fuck-able over time but I have something none of them have–I have heart (I don’t know what I mean by this. Don’t ask.) and I kiss really well. If by kissing “really well” means “Being kissed by me feels like being thrown a wet sponge right smack in the face by a Bisaya window washer” that is.
Comments
14 Responses to “The Dip. Marry-ability.”
Leave a Reply
-
The Star
Mike "Fucking" Villar
Read more
"The personal blog of Marketing Strategist, Rising Internet Star, Man Blog editor, child pornographer, alcoholic, and cokehead-- Douchebag Jones--Err, Mike Villar!
Marriage! Wow! Just wow.
Btw, about the jeans…are you familiar with the term “muffintop?”
[…] never really sat down and think about my own “marry-ability” as Mikey have in his post, “The Dip. Marry-ability.” over at his personal […]
I’d like to make a comment, but the pretty charts just keep on distracting me.
No. But google is.
Also, you’re a jerk.
It’s my first visit here, but you’re funny (at least I think you’re funny–hopefully that’s what you’re aiming for) so I’ll be back.
Funny stuff mikey
I like the size 34 skinny jeans part. Reminds me of what I just did. hahaha!
I find your last paragraph very sweet. Good one.
Don’t rush! Enjoy being single, no matter how frustrating it gets sometimes (well, a lot of times)… you will know when you are truly ready for it =)
But but but…my hairline’s receding
Maybe you should be thinking about kiss-ability first… one step at a time.
Here via IT2M, I like your site!
I like you too! I mean where would a star like me be without fans like you? Nowhere, that’s where!
[…] an addendum to my breakaway hit of a post: The Dip, Marry-ability, at this point in my life, I feel as if everyone around me is either getting married or starting a […]
[…] way I strain my mind by intrusively and troublingly thinking about marriage is well documented in this blog. I also wrote about my long-standing grudge with God, how I am disgusted at the […]
marriage? hahahahahahahaha LMAO!
man, you must be paying your uber chimay “gf” a lot of money to act as your gf! where d’ya get the girl? i bet you’re sick of her, huh? i know what you’re wishin’ for this x-mas….rubber vaginas, candy cane cocks, rhinoplasty (for those cave-like nostrils), warming lube, spice girls concert ticket, regine velasquez cd, nipple clamps, anal beads and a butt plug, estrogen pills, semen flavored lip gloss, skinny jeans, and a plaque that says ‘i am a walking billboard for aids’
whatta long x-mas list. i’m probably giving you a big black dick in a box with a little red bow. purr.
and lastly, since i’m filthy rich, i’m also giving you a dolce and gabbana banana-flavored pubic teeth flossers. you lucky FAG.