Fulfillment, comfort, and filling voids --life in modern America: Volume 1

Here comes the long-awaited discussion on marriage

Let me first say that I don't know what I want to say. As I generally do when blogging (or when writing a paper), I sit down without the faintest idea what it is I plan to relate to my reader. As I posted under the blog title, this truly is a bunch of emotional vomiting. But what the hell . . .

Let's look at the institution of marriage generally. Although I'm quite sure I will delve into certain specifics of my own experience with this social construct, I would prefer not to, simply because too many people might find it . . . well, disheartening to say the least. Just FYI, I didn't voluntary submit to this state--it was a product of surrounding issues, many of which I felt responsible for. So as a man (this is an issue for another day), I did what I thought was the "right" thing to do, and here I am. Let's leave it at that.

Let me begin this discussion by admitting a few things. First of all, there are lots of good things that result from being married. And although and hopefully, most people should be able to find way more to cheer about than I do, please keep in mind that I am only able to relate my own ideas and experiences. And mine is no fantasy land or dreamworld. As with everything else in my life, my beliefs are firmly rooted in reality. There are no magical fairies or elves or Jesi that can sprinkle magic dust to erase the numerous warts and scars I have received from or given to others. Let me also state that I am a fairly selfish sonofabitch, or that is often the way I regretfully see myself. Anything that has happened or will happen I believe is directed merely by fate, and fate is something that we do control to a certain extent. But I see I have begun to ramble . . . let's get back on topic.

First of all, being single is lonely. I know that every once in a while, men and women will watch some movie where people are always out having fun and meeting beautiful and funny people who they will later sleep and have outrageous sex with. Everyone wants to be that guy or gal that is always attracting the opposite sex and luring them into a fabulous one night stand, where they will promptly kick them to the curb. What one fails to remember is that the bar scene is not always hopping. Often times, the supermodel chick has decided to take the evening off, leaving your only options to be either the genetically mutated chick with a babyarm who is drinking her second mai-tai and is struggling to keep her fatass on the stool; or, the forty (fifty?)-somethingish froglady with the bleach-blonde hair who's working on her fifth Beam and coke and her third pack of Dorals. The sad thing is that you will think about it. No, not at first. But by two or three in the morning, you start thinking that --"hey, it's better than nothing." However, in a few days, when you're standing at the urinal wincing because it hurts to piss, you will soon come to the conclusion that it wasn't.

And then you usually have to deal with the lurcher. Then you have to change bars like three or four times, because they keep fucking showing up at whichever bar you've started to frequent. And that's only if you were smart or sober enough to remember that you never take these women home with you. NEVER, UNDER ANY FUCKING CIRCUMSTANCES. If that, Jesi forbid, were to happen, then you realize that you must move immediately. A legal name change may also be in order. Otherwise, this can turn into some Basic Instinct shit where you find your dog gutted on your front porch and your mother missing.

Loneliness is truly a bitch. There may be nothing more powerful than the feeling that is "lonely." It drives men to hook up with someone they shouldn't, and makes women do the same. Therefore, my first point that "single is lonely" is often lessened by the marital vow. Not that married people don't get lonely, mind you, it's just that you don't have to worry about bringing your best friend's elderly aunt home for a (not-so-)good time. You can always just stay home and have an "okay" time with your wife/husband. It's not terribly exciting or fun, but it beats the hell out of having a Q-tip run up your dick by some MD.

Where the hell was I going with that? Oh, well. Hooking up with psycho bitches is some really bad shit. And you don't do that when you're married. Anyway, let's just say that instead of the gimp and Sally Jessie Raphael, the club is packed with hoes. I mean packed. With freaky bitches. So after a drink or two, you and your buddy decide to creep over and introduce yourselves. You ask them if they'd like a drink. So after you've spent enough on alcohol to have gotten you, your buddy, and the black guy named Fred who's charging for the towels in the bathroom--after you have spent enough to have hooked all of you guys up in the Asian bath house down the road, you look up to see these women out bumping and grinding with some fucking shitbird who probably isn't old enough to buy his own drinks. At this point your options are severely limited: A) You tell the guy to fuck off because it was YOU who got these bitches this fucking hammered, and not his pimply little ass; B) You walk up behind her and start grinding her from the back until she looks at you like you're giving her the crabs; C) You creep everyone in the joint out by walking up behind him and doing the "Brokeback Boogie"; D) You start talking to the fucking froglady because you know she's at least got cigarettes.

So, I guess reason #2 would be the lack of rejection. Granted, you are no longer in a position to be rejected, unless, of course, you try to roll over at four in the morning reeking of beer and vomit. Or maybe you are still in a position to be rejected, but it doesn't really hurt that bad. Cause you've been there, done that. And either way, it'll be there the next day, next week, whatever. It's not going anywhere. It's true that one of the great things about hunting is bringing down new prey, but sometimes it's better to get a nice, simple meal everyday. Isn't it?

I'm not sure how this is coming across. I've re-read parts of it, but it still seems a bit disjointed. I've answered no questions about marriage. I've only said some of the shitty things about not being married. And that's what it's really all about. Being married is better than being single because being single fucking sucks. You never get laid as much as you want. You spend way too much trying to impress women who can't even remember your name. You wind up back at your place that you share with your loser-ass buddy watching reruns of MASH and ab workout infomercials, talking about all of the hot women that you just couldn't get back to your shithole of an apartment. The only good thing about being single is that you can be by yourself if you want (which becomes less and less as the days pass), and you aren't tied down to someone else. You can go do pretty much whatever floats your boat. You can try to find that perfect someone (by the way, this person doesn't exist) who'll you'll always be happy with and is great in the sack. You can find that woman that reminds you of your mother, because she cooks, cleans, and screams her fucking head off when you don't want to get out of bed. You can find that real slutty chick that makes your toes curl up, but you're secretly afraid she'll kill herself in your apartment because she's so fucking crazy.

So why would you go through all of that, when you could be married? You have a reasonable sense of fulfillment, and it is certainly a comfortable situation. Any voids left in your emotional existence can be repressed. Nothing is perfect--no person, no relationship. One thing that I feel is an important ingredient is love. Okay, not really. Love is something that grows over time, blah, blah, blah. Love is little more (to me) than a personal attachment. I love my wife, I love my kids, I love my books, I love my SUV. I love all of these things. But in different ways. However, love comes in any relationship, because it is part of that comfort. It may even grow from that comfort. But I think the best thing to have is--hands down--[I am really hesitating to write this now, mainly because it sounds really gay] . . . nevermind.