Saturday, February 2, 2008
How?
You'll have to excuse me, but I just have to vent a bit tonight. How is it that so many horrid people are married or happily dating? I'm not talking about any of my close or personal friends, so don't get offended -- if I thought you were horrid, chances are I wouldn't befriend you in the first place. I'm talking about those people you meet or see or overhear in public places who you can't stand, but have someone who stares longingly at them while they repluse everyone else in the general vicinity.
So I'm sitting at dinner tonight, and in close confines, you can't help but overhear nearby conversations. So this blowhard fucking yuppie republican is sitting next to me. He's spouting off shit that makes my jaw drop. Not political, mind you, just what he would deem "daily conversation". All I could do was sit there and shake my head, because all other brain cells were devoted to not leveling this guy with my chair for a little peace and quiet. As I look a bit closer, who is sitting across from this waste of oxygen? His fucking wife. Even worse, she seems kind of used to situations like this.
Now, as I was driving home I got to thinking: how in the hell is this clown married, while I've been insanely single for years? I'd like to think I'm not a horrid person. I practice good hygiene. I comb my hair most of the time. I don't wear pajamas in public. I have well-refined tastes in music, books, and life in general, and I try to give people room for their own tastes. I'd like to think I'm moderately attractive. Hell, I play in multiple bands. Am I doing something horribly wrong? Or do awful people find awful mates who will tolerate their evils for mutual fear of being alone? How is it creepy guy who weighs like 350 lbs with the little pony tail and elastic-waist pants walks down the street with his GIRLFRIEND while I walk down the street with my ever-dwindling sense of self worth?
At least I have my booze to keep me warm at night. Who needs a girlfriend when you have a tiny little bed and seven fingers of scotch?
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