If you've ever wondered why my girlfriend beats me and why I put up with it, I'm about to illustrate.
It's all my fault.
I'm a bit of an asshole when it comes to my way of thinking. I'm middle of the road on politics while my girlfriend is a complete left wing liberal. We find common ground where we can but at times can't tolerate each others opinions. Of course we compromise when we are home. Meaning I keep my fucking mouth shut. This is appropriate considering she had my testicles in a small jar by the bed. I have to borrow them if I want to carry them anywhere, and I need a signed permission slip from whatever male will chaperon me for the evening. Then she lets me slip them in my coat pocket. I did say it was a SMALL jar.
I'm also a bit of a selfish jerk, I like me time, and lots of it. Like I said, I'm a guy. Of course on this, we compromise as well. Whatever I want to be doing needs to be doable while she's in the room with me. This eliminates several of my favorites including listening to Kevin Smith podcasts, working on new scripts (as I prefer to be alone), and of course the all time number one. Do I even need to say it? I'm a male and I'm posting this on a pin up site. You figure it out.
Also she has kids. Children fucking terrify me. They are small creepy versions of people and they are totally unpredictable and getting smarter every year. We are soon going to see cults of 5 year old girls writing new religions that enslave men and building bombs to overthrow the government. Kids are fucking SCARY.
Being that there is now a 4 year old and a 9 year old living in my house, and they are both girls, I've been reduced to living in a hazy mist of estrogen as my testosterone driven brain gasps for air.
I need a fucking vacation. A mans vacation. A brocation. A trip to Vegas with strippers, poker games, escorts and every other possible fucking thing that you could find that STAYS in Vegas because it happened in Vegas. (I'm bullshitting my ass off right now of course, I've never been to Vegas, have no idea what goes on there and have NEVER seen a stripper or been with an escort. I can't get away with shit in this house so I had to throw that in there, I'm sure Jessie will find this and read it eventually.)
Today, as Jessie was preparing to go to a concert, she walked into the room in an outfit that was, well lets say, unflattering. I went wide eyed. And before I could correct it, she saw it. Shit, here it comes.
"Does this make me look fat?"
"NEVER honey!" (Jesus could I do a better job hiding the sarcasm?)
"Be honest."
(Shit. I'm fucked. What do I do? When all else fails, tell the truth. I go for it.)
"Yes, terribly."
(I wait for the atom bomb to explode.)
"Thank you. Now get off your lazy ass and help me find something that doesn't." (Could there be less ice in that tone? It got so cold in here my dick jumped back into my stomach.)
"Well mister fashion sense, pick me something."
(I went on the offensive.) "It's your fucking wardrobe, you pick something and I'll tell you if it makes you look fat or not."
And that's why I'll be spending my evening on the sofa.
It's all my fault.
I'm a bit of an asshole when it comes to my way of thinking. I'm middle of the road on politics while my girlfriend is a complete left wing liberal. We find common ground where we can but at times can't tolerate each others opinions. Of course we compromise when we are home. Meaning I keep my fucking mouth shut. This is appropriate considering she had my testicles in a small jar by the bed. I have to borrow them if I want to carry them anywhere, and I need a signed permission slip from whatever male will chaperon me for the evening. Then she lets me slip them in my coat pocket. I did say it was a SMALL jar.
I'm also a bit of a selfish jerk, I like me time, and lots of it. Like I said, I'm a guy. Of course on this, we compromise as well. Whatever I want to be doing needs to be doable while she's in the room with me. This eliminates several of my favorites including listening to Kevin Smith podcasts, working on new scripts (as I prefer to be alone), and of course the all time number one. Do I even need to say it? I'm a male and I'm posting this on a pin up site. You figure it out.
Also she has kids. Children fucking terrify me. They are small creepy versions of people and they are totally unpredictable and getting smarter every year. We are soon going to see cults of 5 year old girls writing new religions that enslave men and building bombs to overthrow the government. Kids are fucking SCARY.
Being that there is now a 4 year old and a 9 year old living in my house, and they are both girls, I've been reduced to living in a hazy mist of estrogen as my testosterone driven brain gasps for air.
I need a fucking vacation. A mans vacation. A brocation. A trip to Vegas with strippers, poker games, escorts and every other possible fucking thing that you could find that STAYS in Vegas because it happened in Vegas. (I'm bullshitting my ass off right now of course, I've never been to Vegas, have no idea what goes on there and have NEVER seen a stripper or been with an escort. I can't get away with shit in this house so I had to throw that in there, I'm sure Jessie will find this and read it eventually.)
Today, as Jessie was preparing to go to a concert, she walked into the room in an outfit that was, well lets say, unflattering. I went wide eyed. And before I could correct it, she saw it. Shit, here it comes.
"Does this make me look fat?"
"NEVER honey!" (Jesus could I do a better job hiding the sarcasm?)
"Be honest."
(Shit. I'm fucked. What do I do? When all else fails, tell the truth. I go for it.)
"Yes, terribly."
(I wait for the atom bomb to explode.)
"Thank you. Now get off your lazy ass and help me find something that doesn't." (Could there be less ice in that tone? It got so cold in here my dick jumped back into my stomach.)
"Well mister fashion sense, pick me something."
(I went on the offensive.) "It's your fucking wardrobe, you pick something and I'll tell you if it makes you look fat or not."
And that's why I'll be spending my evening on the sofa.