-The wedding I’m attending in June has three things going for it. First, it’s in Newport Beach, so instead of hauling my ass across the country to New York as usual, I can just take a quick drive down the coast from LA. Second, the groom is one of my oldest friends, so I’ll get to see a lot of my childhood buddies. And third, the couple is loaded so I’m expecting lobster stuffed with more lobster and served atop naked virgins. It’s fortuitous, then, that the Save the Date I received was addressed to “Aaron Karo and Guest.” I’m thirty-one years old and this is the first time I’ve ever been invited to a wedding with a date. The question now becomes – with only four months until this elaborate affair…who the fuck am I gonna take?

-My first instinct, of course, was to eschew taking a date altogether and prowl the wedding with my game face on. However, a reconnaissance mission at the engagement party proved disappointing: pickings at the wedding figure to be slim. If I don’t find an acceptable “and Guest” in time, I’ll have to resort to hitting on the caterers. This may be difficult, though, as I’m assuming they’ll be preoccupied with attending to the lobster encrusted virgins.

-Since I don’t have an office job, finding a date for an occasion has never really been something I’ve worried about. As near as I can tell from my friends and from sitcoms, the only time a date is required is for a work event like a dinner party at the boss’s house. I assume this is because employees with significant others project an air of stability, and also so said significant others can fake food poisoning and help you get the fuck out of there as early as possible.

-While I’m happily single, I have had several serious girlfriends. My last relationship ended in 2007, though, and I’ve come to the conclusion that the primary factor deterring me from entering into a new one is that I do not possess the loneliness gene. It’s true: I never get lonely. In fact, I’m happiest when no one is around. I prefer to drive, watch TV, and eat by myself. I suppress these feelings in order to get laid, but besides that I’d rather be alone for almost every other activity. When people use the phrase “It got so bad they were sleeping in separate bedrooms” to describe a failed marriage, I can’t help but think, “That sounds awesome.”

-Manhattan is the place I spend the most time when I’m not in LA, but it would be crazy to fly a chick in from New York to attend a wedding in California. Besides, too many women in NYC have what I call a “Herman Miller ass.” Girls in LA spend approximately 55% of their time working out – yoga, Pilates, some sort of yoga/Pilates combination that also involves a bo staff like Donatello in the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, and lots of running and hiking outdoors. Their asses are perfect. But women in New York spend so much of their time at high-powered jobs sitting in fancy Herman Miller chairs that eventually their asses just mold to that shape. Unacceptable. My “and Guest” must have an ass that implies chronic unemployment, not thousand-dollar ergonomic seating.

-As the summer slowly approaches and my quest for a guest continues, a few of my buddies have informed me that they’ll be attending the wedding alone because their wives can’t make it. But I’m not as excited by this news as I thought I’d be. I guess hanging out with a bunch of guys who are partying like Spring Break meatheads just because they’re free from the bonds of marriage for 48 hours is getting kind of old. I’m on a mission to make this wedding count. All I need now is a date who won’t mind sleeping in my hotel room’s second bed.

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

-Why are all DirecTV subscribers douchebags? I’m sorry if I don’t have the East Coast feed of all the channels and can’t watch my shows three hours in advance like you. And no, I haven’t seen the final season of Friday Night Lights yet. But on the upside, I’m not a cock.

-I found a picture – taken from the DJ’s perspective – of the massive, full-on shit show New Year’s Eve party I went to, and I posted it on Facebook. The only person who commented was my mom, who simply wrote, “OMG.” I’ve never felt so weird and ashamed at the same time.

-If I have to zoom out three times or more in order to orient myself upon entering your address into Google Maps, you officially live in Bumblefuck.

-I was out recently with the younger brother of one of my buddies. He was gawking at this chick across the bar. “Dude,” I said, “she’s like thirty-five.” He turned to me and said, “Karo, you’re like thirty-five.” Ouch.

-It’s Valentine’s Day, which means last week tens of thousands of casual relationships ended with awkward conversations because one or both of the parties didn’t want to go into the holiday on uncertain terms. As I’ve always said, the only thing worse than breaking up with someone is breaking up with someone you weren’t even going out with in the first place.

-In fact, I actually think it’s much easier to end things with someone you’ve been dating for five years than it is to end things with someone you’ve been fucking for five weeks. If you’re in a serious, long-term relationship, at least there’s just cause. You can say, “Listen, we’re just different people who want different things. You want to move in together, I’m not ready. You want to learn to ski, I want to bang other chicks.”

-And, finally, there’s basically two ways to end a casual, non-exclusive relationship. You can either tell the other person, or just never contact them again and assume they’ll eventually figure it out. Now most girls will say that they want to know – at least show her the respect of giving her a call. What I don’t understand is how any part of that call can be considered respectful. I mean, essentially what you’re saying is, “Thanks for the blow jobs. They were consistently above average. It’s been nice texting with you for the past month or so. Unfortunately, this was only a temporary position. However, I’m gonna keep your information on file just in case anything opens up. So don’t be surprised if you hear from me in a few months – most likely when I’m wasted at three o’clock in the morning. Oh…and I’m sorry I had to leave this on your voicemail.” Fuck me!

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