I Beg of You to Speak

It is so piss poor pathetic when you realize you are pushing thirty and have been on like thirty online dates to no avail. It is also pathetic when you realize your friends start talking to you like a pregnant lady because they treat you that delicately on account of your spinster status.

Yesterday, there was no reminder that I should persevere. No, for real. There are days that I sit around with my bottle of wine life size key chain and tell it to stop smirking at me. (I do not actually have a bottle of wine key chain, but I do think that would be absolutely splendid. I was inspired by this after a trip to Oren's coffee shop where they sell transportable coffee cups, never know the proper name for them, as a key chain.) It is not enough that I have been told by my friends (as in the two I have) that I am on a strict no f*cking/dating fat f*ck policy this year. This issue was examined right around the New Year when my gay husband called in E for reinforcements when, once again, I almost made the drunken error of doing naughty naughty in the bathroom of a bar with someone with four chins.

However, what kills me the most is when I come home and watch something absolutely horrific like the "City" after having a few, quite a few, night caps. Last night, I almost nearly lost it when Whitney announced towards the close of the show that she is a) 24 and b) has only been in three relationships. I almost picked up the phone to call Time Warner and cancel all cable related television. WHITNEY, you f*ckin dumb slut, I thought you were my friend. When I was 24, I had had essentially zero relationships. I am on the verge of 28 now and you know what my number is??? Essentially zero. That is right, we have nothing in common. Not to mention the fact that you were clearly capable of inspiring some type of jealousy in that douche you date, who is now your boyfriend, by mentioning you went on a date with someone else. Once again, our points of commonality diverge. When I tell some degenerate that I am "dating" that I am going to meet some accountant for lunch, they practically kiss this other suitor on the forehead for taking me off their hands. This was all too much.

The evening was brought to a close with me talking to my current boyfriend, Zebra. (Zebra is a stuffed animal bestowed upon me by E when we parted ways). When I asked him to speak some words of encouragement, he bloody fell asleep. Then, I was reminded that Zebra does not care if I bring home degenerates and do naked time in front of him. BASTARD SH*TF*CK!! OH FOR SHAME!