Tuesday, August 24, 2004
"If you ever leave, I'll fucking kill you."Last night, while sitting quietly in my room, playing solitaire, lamenting the loss of the McRib sandwich and craving a hot dog, my roommate Brian walked in and asked me a simple but profound question: "Do you ever think there'll be a time in your life when you say to a woman, 'If you ever leave, I'll fucking kill you?'"
- Jason Mulgrew, June 2006, to
future girlfriend, um, "Elizabeth"
This shook me right to the very core. I mean, of course I'll say that to a woman some day. I had to think long and hard about if I had already said it (the answer: I don't think so, but I don't remember much of '98, because I was really into pills at that time).
So this question got me thinking about love, marriage, and relationships. Then I thought about the McRib again for a little while. Then I went back to thinking about love (and hot dogs).
Relationships have always been an adventure for me, an exercise in struggle, profanity, betrayal and inebriation. I suppose I've been in love, but the strongest feelings I've ever had was when I was in grade school, or when I first learned that by stealing cable my family had access to three (yes, three) 24-hour porn channels.
My relationships have been very trying, probably because though I fall in love about once an hour, I tire of women very quickly and easily. And this is probably because I'm way too in love with myself (both mentally and physically) to ever care about another person, but really, no one here is a psychologist. Besides, this isn't my fault. I don't know why, but it just isn't.
In the past two years or so, I've had three legitimate "crushes." I use the word "crush" because it is the only word juvenile enough to match my immature and incomplete "feelings." The first turned me into a blathering idiot, and the girl eventually left the city. I'm pretty sure she did not do so because of me. The second made me equally stupid, and because of this it didn't work out. To this day, my roommate Ben cites the night I returned from our "first date", in which we shared a little peck (the girl and I, not Ben and I - gross), as "the happiest [he's] ever seen [me] - without being in a buffet line." The third is semi-current, and fading fast, as the woman is doing an excellent job of extricating herself from my life. My friend Jeremy, who is apprised of the situation, made the comment recently, "Man, she really did her homework on you, huh?", meaning she's been able to escape my clutches rather effortlessly. I'm not happy about this, but part of me is kinda proud of her from getting away from me and my smothering so quickly. Good for her.
I say all this because I've gotten a lot of emails (ok, two, and one was from me to myself) asking for my hand in marriage. As in, you want to marry me. As in, you seriously need to talk to a mental health professional immediately, because you shouldn't be around sharp objects, rubbing alcohol, or anything flammable.
This is a terrible idea. I am a terrible man, and you don't want to be involved with me in any way, shape, or form, aside from reading this website. Trust me. If you don't believe me, just listen to what my roommate Ben has to say:
- Ben Luce
So there you go. But if you don't believe Ben, I think you should listen to Daryl Hall, half of the greatest musical duo of all-time, Hall & Oates, has to say:
"Hi, I'm Daryl Hall. Jason is not a good person."
- Daryl Hall, singer-songwriter
But still, since I suffer from dangerously low self-esteem, the email proposals are flattering. While I don't think I'll be amending my title to "Internet Quasi-Celebrity/Sex Symbol" any time soon, the attention is appreciated, and you should know that when I read your emails, I blush (or maybe it's just my high blood pressure).
And so for this reason, I present the following Four Marriage Dealbreakers for me, Flavor Flav (I mean, Jason Mulgrew).
1) I can't marry a woman who smokes. I just can't do it. I think smoking is gross, unless we're talking about smoking pot, in which case I think it's awesome. I don't like my clothes and fine linens stinking like cigarettes, I resent the fact that people smoking around me are directly contributing to my death (and yes, I realize how hypocritical this is since every weekend I try to kill myself with cheese/cheese-products and booze), and kissing a girl who smokes is like sucking on the exhaust pipe of a '78 Chevy Nova (I know because I've done both; the Nova exhaust pipe more recently).
2) I can't marry a woman who won't take my last name. Feminists, my email again is firstname.lastname@example.org. Call me old-fashioned, but I would be very hurt if my wife didn't take my last name. Sure, it's not the most beautiful last name in the world, but it's a good last name. I should note that this doesn't apply to all women; if the woman is already famous, she doesn't have to take my last name. For example, "Shakira Mulgrew" just doesn't sound right.
3) I can't marry a woman who has fooled around with my friends. This is the criterion most open to interpretation or debate, because the rule depends upon a) the level of fooling around, and b) the closeness of my friends. This could work to your advantage, because I really only have about ten close guys friends. However, if you've slept with any of them, I just can't do it.
Equally damaging as screwing around with my closest friends is having the explicit intention of fooling around with them. Por ejemplo, if you've ever gotten drunk and told one of my buddies you wanted to him to stick his fingers up your butt, you and I don't have much of a future.
Please note that this is not out of jealousy; truthfully, I could care less if a girlfriend of mine has hooked up with one of my friends. Jealousy implies a certain degree of equality, whereas I'm fairly certain that everyone else is better than me. Instead, it's merely all about winning arguments:
Me: "Man, you look like shit today."
Friend: "Yeah, remember when I banged your girlfriend?"
Me: "Nice shirt - nerd."
Friend: "Yeah, remember when your girlfriend asked me to fuck her in the bathroom at the Tiki Bar?"
Me: "Damn it."
4) I can't marry a woman with small boobs. I'm a pig, I know. I recently had a conversation about this with my friend Cheryl, who herself has wonderful boobs. Cheryl and I used to hook-up, but we mutually decided to end things. By "mutually", I mean she said, "I don't think we should do this anymore." I don't recall what I said, as I was drunk, but I'm thinking it was something along the lines of "crap" or "really?" or "do you have any pizza?"
Anyway, our conversation went something like:
Me: [walking around the city] "Man, look at the bombs on that girl."
Cheryl: "I think you have an unhealthy obsession with breasts."
Me: "I don't have an unhealthy obsession with breasts!"
Cheryl: "Would you marry a girl with small breasts?"
Me: "Oh god, no."
Cheryl: "Choosing the person who you'll spend the rest of your life with on the size of their bust is kind of the definition of 'unhealthy.'"
Me: "What are you? A fucking doctor now?"
Critics of mine will say that I prefer larger busted women because, as a fat man with man boobs, I can't be with someone waifish up top. To them I say, "You're absolutely right." I am not afraid of the truth. I am how I am, and screw you for judging me.
So there's the list. Sure, it ain't pretty, but neither am I. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to run outside to grab a hot dog.
God I fucking love hot dogs.