I Complain Therefore I Am

OK, so I haven’t posted in a while. For that, I apologize. Wouldn’t you know it, I’ve managed to tie up my fiancée long enough for our wedding to actually be coming up in 2 weeks. As you might have guessed, this means that I’ve been a tad busy. I can’t tell you how many times in the last 5 weeks that I’ve laid out money for something to do with the wedding. Rose petals, favors, candy, solid gold babies. OK, I’m lying about the babies (they only had solid silver babies). There’s things to plan, things to make, things to buy, people to bribe… ahem… tip. Songs to pick, people to seat, family members to alienate.  It’s a big job!

When planning this event, there were certain things about this wedding that I was so sure of  I, in my wildest imagination couldn’t have fathomed a different outcome. I call these my “Incontrovertible Truths”. I will present them to you, heretofore.

1. I refuse to invite anyone that I don’t like.

2. My bachelor party will be a reunion of friends that I haven’t seen in years–and it will be awesome. Rivaling the movie “The Hangover”.

3. I will not get stressed about anything.

4. There will be no children at our wedding.

5. By the time the wedding rolls around, I will no longer be at this job that I detest. I will be doing something better with my life.

And now I present you with my “REALLY REALLY Incontrovertible Truths”. Basically, these are my originals as they actually happened.

1. Half the people coming to my wedding, I don’t like. Most of the people that I really wanted there, backed out on me. We’ve received several declinations, stating “We’re sorry, but we’ll be washing our hair that night”… I find it a little hard to believe that 32 people are washing their hair on the same night. Matter of fact, three of the aforementioned declinations are bald guys.

2. Instead of a reunion of friends, my bachelor party was held last Friday night, alone. It consisted of me singing Gloria Estefan songs in my underwear, while downing a bottle of Sake. I then went streaking down my street singing “I’m So Excited” by the Pointer Sisters. The police were very nice.

3. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

4. Not only are there going to be children at our wedding, they are mostly the children of people I don’t want at the wedding. I normally wouldn’t mind this; however, my 8 year old cousin gets pretty belligerent when he’s drunk.

5. I’m actually writing this post, at the aforementioned job. I’m currently working on some things to get me out of here, but unfortunately so far, no dice.

One thing that I do know, have known, and always will know (please excuse the upcoming corniness)… corny </ In two weeks, I’m going to marry the woman that I was destined to marry. I love her with my soul, and I couldn’t be happier to spend the rest of my life with her. /> corny

Thanks for reading, you crazy kids. Now, get off my lawn!

Oooohhh! I try to do nice things, but I'm a douche, and I mess them up! Oooohhhh!

Let me pose a question to you, folks. What. The. Fuck? I mentioned in another post that I’m paid to work 9 – 5. I’ve worked the past 10 days straight, including an average of 12 hours a day the past 5 days. You see, we’re implementing a new ERP integration system at my job, and blah blah blah (I want to stab myself just thinking about it). Needless to say, I’ve been really fucking busy. Not just busy, but REALLY FUCKING BUSY. Anybody that has an office job knows that you don’t work full-time, you spend some time on the Internet, jacking off, writing an Internet blog, whatever. But not these past two weeks. I’ve been sweatin’ like a dog in a Chinese Food restaurant. But it’s OK because I kind of like what I’m doing. All of this, however, has nothing to do with my post.

Today, I’m bitching about being a nice guy. Yep, I’m bitching about being a fucking saint. It seems that every time that I try to do something nice, I get punched in the fucking head for it. It doesn’t help that I’m a forgetful little man. I’ll sometimes forget the nice thing that I was going to do by the time the afternoon rolls around. Other than that, something always ends up fucking up my nice gesture. For example, I said to myself this morning, “I’m gonna do something nice for my fiancee today.” I’ve been working a lot, and I haven’t been coming home till pretty late. I wasn’t home all day on Saturday, all day Sunday, and was home at like 7 the past two nights. So I figured, “I’ll really burn through my work today, come home at 5 with some flowers, and cook dinner for when she gets home.”  Great plan right? Sure! I’m a fucking Casanova.

At the end of the day, I get an E-mail from her saying, “Honey, some people from work are going to happy hour at a bar, is it OK if I go?” Now I don’t blame her at all, obviously, but what a fucking buzz kill. And what the hell am I supposed to say? The way I see it, I have 4 options.  Option 1–I say no, and that I want her to come home. But then, when she gets home, I have flowers, and I’m cooking–it looks as if I feel bad. Option 2–I say no, and tell her why–but then that ruins the surprise. Option 3–I tell her to go, and manage to pull off being happy about it. This would be the smartest of the four. And then we have good ol’ option 4. There’s always an option 4. I call it, the Obama option. It’s the option that fucks everything up for everyone involved. I tell her to go, but sound upset about it (subconsciously), and when she inquires, I tell her about what I was going to do. Thereby making her feel guilty about going, plus simultaneously making me look like a douche and still having me stay home alone tonight.

Which option do you think I chose? If you chose option 3, you’re an idiot. Of course it’s option 4. It had to be. The only one that would simultaneously end up with me feeling like shit, and her feeling guilty. Damn, I’m a fucking genius. Look in the dictionary… under douchebag-face-cock… that picture there. Yea, that’s me.

So, if you haven’t figured out what I’m doing tonight (besides blogging), please ask a friend of yours to take a TV (preferably 32″ or larger), and drop it on your head from a height of at least 10 feet.

As for me–I think I’m just gonna get drunk, and play XBox.