For my linesister, who has suffered as i’ve suffered…..

“ A bird and a fish can fall in love, but where will they build their nest?”

So, when you get to be my age—a whopping not even 30, all of your friends start getting engaged and married and having kids.

Which is fantastic—– if that’s your particular brand of awesome.

As it happens, my particular brand of awesome involves a little Woodford Reserve, a bit of sweet vermouth, a dash of bitters (if you’re being fancy), two Maraschino cherries and a couple cubes of ice thrown in; not to mention an especially witty young man, clad in his fresh-off-the-job-attire, top button undone, tie loosened, shirt sleeves rolled up to his sinewy forearms–who is quick with the jokes, easy on the eyes, and fairly comfortable noticeably, yet inoffensively resting his gently calloused hand three fourths of an inch above my knee.

It takes all kinds.

Here’s the thing. Unless you’re one of those single people who desperately wants to be a non-single person, there comes a point when you are forced to evaluate your relationships with these soon-to-be-indefinitely-booed-up types. Because people change.

The soon-to-bes, that is.

Y’all change.

We don’t change for shit. It’s completely you guys.

And that’s fine. You’re supposed to change. You’re adding a whole other entity to your dimension. And that’s amazing and wonderful and beautiful.

And I love your happiness, and respect it.

But there is a very real probability that you will not be able to affect this transition to domesticity without metamorphosing into a complete bag of feminine hygiene products. And I recognize this.

And I don’t love it. Or respect it.

So, around the time that you’re picking out your China pattern, and monogramming towels, and going on and on ad infinitum about the joys of little Mikey finally taking a shit in the potty (something, I personally, think he should come out of the womb understanding) I’m trying to determine the most diplomatic way to tell you that you are no longer welcome here.

And by “here,” I mean, “in this friendship.” You know…with me.

I love you, but I swear, some of y’all are on some whole other shit.

And I’m not jealous, Boo boo. I’m not a hater. I happen to know full well what marriage is. I’ve seen my parents do it for over 30 years. I can already see, 5 years down the road, that monogrammed towel being flossed between your monkey husband’s ricotta cheesy ass cheeks.

To me, engaged/married/parenting people have been perpetrating what can only best be described as “party fouls” against single people for years, and it’s time for it to stop. I’ma put the kybosh on this shit right now. Y’all better ship up, or ship the fuck out.

Now, I’m not waging war on all domestic types. Some are patently aware of their people’s proclivity for becoming the veritable pap smear on an otherwise perfectly good evening. These single-friend sensitive types are always welcome at a gathering. Not douchey at all.

But y’all are a fucking rarity.

Crouching Married Person, Hidden Tool: 5 Mentalities that Make Engaged/Married/Parenting Persons Intolerable to their Awesome Single Friends

1. “My married shit is private.”

Ooh ooh ooh. Look at me. I’m married. All of my shit is top secret. I can’t tell you my shit cause it violates the super secret trust that me and my soulmate have established. Okay, look , bitch. I don’t give a damn about your top secret marriage shit, okay? But since I’ve detailed all of my date’s bodily orifices to you and called them by name—at your request– I do think some small measure of reciprocity is in order. And news flash, SirMcSketchALot. I don’t really give a damn about your married life. I’m just trying to be polite. I could give a shit about Jimmy’s Roth IRA and the discoloration of his ruddy ballskin. But don’t prod me about my relationship difficulties, and reward me with a shrug and whispered, “You know, married people stuff—kinda private,” when I ask about yours. Why not float me the benefit of the doubt and assume that I’m not trying to get in your business. Just like I’ll float you the benefit of the doubt and assume that your repeated efforts to know the minutiae of all the goings on in my life is not a last ditch, pathetic, and desperate attempt to live vicariously through me.

2. “Be me, ho!”

Okay, this is the part where you do something deceptively innocuous like, ask me about my day or whatever, and I tell you that I had a rough day, and then you’re all, “Well if you think that’s rough, try having a husband away on business and a child that needs to be picked up from daycare.” Bitch!!! I didn’t ask you what in the whole expanse of the Universe could possibly be more difficult or long-suffering than my shit! This isn’t Show and damned Tell whose life is the most horrible-estshitever. Please stop thinking that no matter what I say, your shit is going to be harder because you decided to go the whole andbabymakes3 route. Number one, that shit does NOT presumptively equal “checkmate,” okay? You don’t instantly win. There is plenty of insurmountably hard shit going on in my life. Only you don’t know about it cause I don’t feel the need to cry about it cause this is the life I chose and I’m not a whinycrybabybitchass. Grab a pad and pencil and note how that’s done. Two, stop acting like being married and having kids is like, some hard shit that you decided to do, and no one ever told you that it was some hard shit to do; like, that marriage is hard is the world’s best kept secret. Um, look around, bitch. We all know it’s hard. That’s why we’re still out in these streets ho-ing and drankin’. Cause this shit is easy. It’s easy as a bitch. And I’ll demonstrate such by doing so just as soon as I finish this entry.

3. “I’m too old for that now.”

Umm. Don’t think I didn’t recognize that backhanded slight about your perception of my behavior as immature. And don’t ask me what the fuck I did last night if you’re only gonna be all judgey about what I tell you. This just in. I’m going to live to be about 85 (presuming my liver keeps). I’m not even 30. I’m spry as a motherfucker. And young. And you’re not too old for it. You’re too wack for it. Chronologically, is there a time to come out of the club? Yes. Is there a point where your presence there is more death-knell-of-pathos as opposed to SnoopDogg-life-of-the-party? Yes. Do you get to say when enough is enough? No. And here’s why. You’re the bitch who couldn’t stay all night the slumber party because you didn’t want to be too far away from your mom. You’re the bitch who didn’t want to play Tag anymore cause Matt hit you too hard, so now you’re just going home. You’re the bitch who lost the senior class treasurer election, so you don’t want to participate period, cause if they don’t want some of your help then they can’t have any of it at all. Bitch, you’re the bow-out bitch. You’re the forfeit bitch. You’re the early night bitch. And it just so happens that me and mine—we’re the ride it til the wheels fall off it, then coast on those motherfucking wheels bitches; we’re close out the party then hunt for the afterparty, oh, there’s no afterparty, let’s go get breakfast bitches. We go hard. So, all that “I’m too old for that” shit—is loosely translated to our awesome ears as, “I’m a weak, go easy type bitch.” And really, shame on you.

4. “Wait til you get married.”

Well now, that statement presupposes two very large assumptions, doesn’t it? The first being, that I’ll ever be married like you. More importantly, the second being, that I’ll ever be wack like you. I’ll acquiesce to the possibility of the former, and justifiably beat the hell out of you at the mere suggestion of the latter.

5. “You can’t have my life in the span of a weekend”/ “Stop tryin’ to get it back you look ridiculous.”

This one is nearest and dearest to my heart. This one is my gift to you engaged/married/parents. Look, I’m as down for a wifey’s/mommy’s night out as the next one. But, invariably, your otherwise repressed existence that is offered this brief reprieve and freedom takes it a little too far. You’re so intent on letting your caged bird sing that you end up doing some off the wall shit that is entirely unacceptable, even to the downest bitch. Cause, while I’m a go hard, type bitch, I can’t be mistaken for a go to jail type bitch, K? Ya’ll spend all of your time washing dishes and baking soufflés, so I’m honored to be your guide through the pathways of the Underworld. I’m happy to get you out on some so-there’s-a-party-goin’-on-in-there-well-let-me-shake-my-stankin-ass-in-there type shit. It’s an invitation to do some shots, dance seductively with strange men, and, idunno, I suppose if you want, I’ll turn a blind eye should you suddenly decide that you want to make out with some drunk, blonde, female co-ed. But that’s it. I don’t expect to have to pull you out of the car of aforementioned strange man intent on taking you home and doing things to your anus your rational, sober mind would never even conceive of. I don’t want to “fight” any “smack-talkin’ bitches” outside in the street. I don’t want to tear the bar apart trying to find the wedding ring you saw fit to take off somewhere between Jaeger bombs and flashing your little married titties. And I for damn sure don’t think that the only thing that could possibly make the night “more awesome” would be if we could someway, somehow “score some coke.” Bitch, you are off of the fucking reservation, and you need to find your way back. Stop trying to copy my life, ho. You can’t do this shit in a weekend. Or, at all. Cause you’re married. Put those titties away. Please.

And, just to be clear—

The aforementioned message isn’t going out to all of my engaged/married/parent friends—just the wack ones (who seem to comprise a significant majority of all of my engaged/married/parent friends).



6 Responses to “For my linesister, who has suffered as i’ve suffered…..”

  1. 1 sourpatchkid
    April 12, 2010 at 4:37 am

    “Um, look around, bitch. We all know it’s hard. That’s why we’re still out in these streets ho-ing and drankin’. Cause this shit is easy.”


    dude, you are my absolute fave online blogger. and in the interest of sounding creepy – possibly my fave person in the world. you capture everything that needs to be said, that i can never think of anything valuable to say in the comments section – other than an “LOL,” a “lmao,” or an “oh shit, girl you ca-raazy.” maybe one day, i will be able to find the right words.

    until then, keep making my days better with your foolishness. 🙂

  2. 2 poisson
    April 12, 2010 at 12:31 pm

    SO flipping tru. #3 is so on point

  3. April 12, 2010 at 12:38 pm

    Yeah, what he/she said. Except for the ‘sounding creepy’ part :p

  4. 4 tee_tos
    April 12, 2010 at 3:23 pm

    thank you LS. just…..thank you.

  5. 5 APG
    May 18, 2010 at 7:44 pm

    I love your blog…mostly b/c you say all the stuff I think in my head but never say aloud.

  6. 6 Joel
    November 11, 2010 at 9:39 pm

    Cynicism isn’t smarter, it’s only safer. Congratulations on being safe.

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a history of my meanderings….


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