Issue #56 – “Girlfriend” – November 15th, 2004

-Last weekend, my cousin Rob proposed to his girlfriend at the finish line of the New York City Marathon.  My reaction: “Proposed?  I don’t even like sleeping in the same bed as my girlfriend.”  My friend Shermdog’s reaction: “Girlfriend?  I can’t remember the last time I hooked up with the same chick twice.”  My friend Cat’s reaction: “Marathon?  I don’t even have a gym membership!”

-Meanwhile, I’ve been dating Girlfriend for eight months now, moving her into second place on my all-time longest relationship list.  The eight-month mark is usually the time when boyfriends start to let themselves go.  I’ve gotten really lazy.  I don’t work out as much.  I barely leave the house.  In other words, if Girlfriend ever reaches first place, it won’t exactly be a Hank Aaron-like moment.

-Recovering frat boys like me who have girlfriends are often confronted with the “grass is always greener” dilemma.  In simplest terms, a lot of guys think they’d be better off without a girlfriend because then they could run around spreading their seed at will.  We are so dumb.  I was single for four years before meeting Girlfriend.  I did pretty well during that time.  But it was hard work.  And tiring.  And I still crapped out pretty often.  The grass is definitely not greener.  It’s brown and wilted and in some spots it’s just cement.

-And in reality, for guys, hooking up really doesn’t matter all that much.  It’s telling your friends a good story that’s the real fun.  I would venture to say that I get more pleasure from telling and re-telling a good, crazy, wasted hook-up story than from the experience itself.  I don’t even think I need the actual hook-up, just the memory of it.  Like the movie “Total Recall” but with blow jobs.

-On the Saturday night before my cousin proposed at the marathon, I was trading text messages with my fraternity buddy, Joey.  He was out boozing in Miami.  A few hours later he texted me, “I’m engaged!”  I wrote back, “Dude how drunk R U???”  It turned out he had proposed to his girlfriend of several years (and only got drunk afterwards).  But that makes three out of twenty-four of my fraternity’s graduating class that are engaged.  That’s 1/8 of the wildest, dirtiest bastards I know.  I never would have expected that.  I do know this, though: none of those guys have ever run a marathon.  Combined.

-Recently, Girlfriend and I tried planning a vacation.  But the first time we can both really get away is February.  This makes planning the trip a delicate situation.  After all, we’ve only been dating for eight months.  February is four months away.  In essence, when I put down a deposit for the hotel, I’m also asking for a 50% advance on my relationship.  Given my past credit history, that might not be such a smart move.

-Girlfriend is a craigslist whore.  She roams craigslist like a lion stalking its prey, except she’s only looking for a used DVD burner.  She likes to sell her stuff on craigslist, too.  The best part is that she makes me wait in her apartment when buyers come over to inspect her stuff to make sure they don’t attack her or anything.  I’m like, if anyone is strong enough to lug around the armoire you just sold them, I’m pretty sure he won’t have much trouble beating me up.  Unless he’s had a girlfriend for more than eight months.  If he’s that out of shape, I might be able to take him.

-As always, here are some random things I’ve been ruminating about lately…

-When I was thirteen years old, never did I think that, twelve years later, I’d still be using pimple cream.  I have pretty good skin now but I still have the same acne-cleansing routine before I go to bed that I had a decade ago.  And I’ll probably use it until I never have a pimple again, if that ever happens.  I guess the saying is wrong.  There really are four certain things in life: death, taxes, Clearasil, and Oxy.

-Don’t girls just love their cute, little digital cameras?  Listen, I think they’re cool, too, but there is no reason to take 600 posed pictures every time you go to dinner with three or more people!

-Why do we Americans insist on embarrassing ourselves?  For instance, if I ever meet someone who is from anywhere in Europe, I invariably say, “Oh, cool, I studied abroad in London.”  Who the fuck cares?  That’s like me telling a Spaniard that I’m from the United States and him saying, “Oh, bueno, I spent a weekend in Cleveland once.”

-I happen to enjoy “Joey” on NBC.  One thing really bothers me though – Joey wears his shirt tucked in but no belt.  I can’t get past the no belt thing.  Maybe the chick from “The Sopranos” never notices because she can’t see around her breasts.

-The other day, I ordered toilet paper on the Internet.  Greatest fucking thing ever.  It was soft.  It was cheap.  And I didn’t even have to leave the house.  If I could get them to deliver it to me in my actual bathroom, my life might be complete.

-Someone asked me the other day if you have to be crazy to be an investment banker, since so many of my friends went through that hell.  I said no.  You know what job you really have to be crazy to do?  Fraternity house chef.  I have never heard of a frat house chef that wasn’t either completely wasted all the time or clinically insane.  I’ve also never heard of a frat house chef that actually knew how to cook, but that’s a whole other issue.

-Girlfriend has a back problem.  Her roommate has a heart condition.  Yet they both still insist on running around, bending to pick stuff up, and exerting themselves when they damn well know they shouldn’t.  They’re like my grandmas.

-And, finally, women just freak me out sometimes.  A few months ago, I told Girlfriend that I just don’t like the beach.  I don’t like getting sand in my crotch, I burn easily, and sitting in the hot sun on some uncomfortable chair all day reading John Grisham novels is just not my idea of fun.  Girlfriend, a staunch beach-lover, was upset about this for a while, but when the weather got colder, the issue seemed to disappear.  Or so I thought.  The other day, at about 7am, I happened to stir awake, and when I did, I found Girlfriend wide awake, just staring at me intently.  Before I could even get my bearings, she whispered to me sadly, “Honey, how come you don’t like the beach?”  I don’t know, maybe because you’re completely psycho!  Fuck me!

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