Saturday, February 27, 2010

Three; fuck

Another one of my ex-boyfriends is now married. That makes three. Three of my exes have taken wives. Have houses. Are adults.

I…have a cat with AIDS. Sometimes he bites my face.

Today I found out that the ex who is a medic in Afghanistan (*swoon*), who I had a schoolgirl crush on since I was 9, who I finally dated when I was 19, and who left me for some chick he worked with at Swiss Chalet at the time…is married. The ceremony appears to have taken place on a white sand beach in the tropics. And she is hot. Thank you, facebook. Always a pleasure doing business with you.

Add that to TheEx, who married his beautiful wife in a Fairmont hotel, and the weird conservative douche, who got married god knows where but I assume an ultra-Christian church somewhere in the bible belt, and that makes three. THREE.

Now, let’s be clear. I don’t particularly wish I had been the one to marry any of my exes. I’m not holding a torch for any of them, by any means. I’m also not angry. They’re all good people (except maybe the douche, but just because he was a vagina hair to me doesn’t necessarily make him a bad person), seem very happy, and I do wish them well.

Also, I don’t particularly want to be married any time soon. This marriage bonanza isn’t making me cry over engagement ring photos or stop using birth control to try to trap some poor sucker by the balls. BadInfluence, don’t worry. Your balls are safe.

What’s upsetting me about Weddingpalooza 2010 is the choices I have made in my own life.

I am getting a Master’s degree, and I’m going to work my dream job this summer, and my chosen career path is exciting and I can picture toiling away over articles quite happily for the rest of my life.

But I’m also 27, and I’ve chosen a life where, at 3am, I find myself climbing the roof of my friend’s house in my bare feet in February, high on life and gin and my epic beer pong win. I have chosen a life path where I steal splenda packets at every coffee shop in the city because I’m too poor to buy real splenda, and I’m like a pathetic, stealth little burglar. And every time I dig for money in my giant purse, I only find an errant splenda packet, which surprisingly doesn’t fly as currency.

I have chosen a life path where I will have a 20-year-old roommate this summer, because her apartment is cheap and nice and on a subway line. She works at La Senza and has a fish named “Cigarette The Fish,” which my cat will eat on day 1, and then I’ll probably be homeless.

I have chosen a life where my entire immediate family is currently celebrating the Olympics in Vancouver, and my mom didn’t even invite me because she knew I would be too busy. It’s a family reunion of Olympic proportions over there on the better coast, and I’m lucky if I even have time to watch Olympic highlights on the CTV webpage.

I was feeling pretty down after I discovered my ex’s marriage on facebook, and I thought about calling my sister in Vancouver to complain about it. But then she called me, and my heart warmed because I figured she must have known I was upset about something, and maybe we have a creepy twin-like connection where she just KNOWS.

Incorrect. Here is our conversation:

TigerCat: Hello!! How are you?!
ThePeach: Well, I’m kind of having a bad day. TheMedic got married, and now that’s three exes that have taken wives and I’m starting to question my life choices.
TigerCat: Oh no.
ThePeach: Ya.
TigerCat: That sucks. I’m sorry.
ThePeach: Ya. How was your day?
TigerCat: I went for a walk in the Olympic Village and I MET DANY HEATLEY AND MARTIN BRODEUR!!!!! I GOT A PICTURE WITH THEM!!!!
ThePeach:…shut up.
TigerCat: I DID!!!
ThePeach: Fuck. I’m jealous.
ThePeach: Oh my god. That’s…I hate you. What are you doing tonight?
TigerCat: We’re seeing Blue Rodeo for free. What are you doing?
ThePeach: Well, the plan was to write a few assignments but now I might just kill myself instead.
TigerCat: I’m sorry. I wish you were here.
ThePeach: Ya. Maybe if Mom had invited me.
TigerCat: Ya.

Conclusions: my life is not ok at the moment. NOT OK.

Yes, I chose to put my career first. Yes, my career is going to be awesome. But…right now, my quality of life kind of blows sloppy ass.

I do want to get married some day, but to the right person and at the right time in my life. I don’t want to get married because I feel like my ovaries are drying up and it’s time to take a man, or because I’m worried about dying alone, or because everyone else is posting really beautiful facebook albums of their own awesome weddings and I’m worried that by the time I get married, facebook won’t even be used anymore, and THEN HOW WILL I MAKE PEOPLE JEALOUS, I ASK YOU?? HOW??!!

I suppose I will make people jealous because they will see how awesome my love is, and how simply happy I am, and maybe because my husband has a big cock and they all know that because I’m a whore that way.

But until that time comes, I am the person who climbs roofs and steals splenda and forces prednisone down my cat’s throat using a tiny syringe.

Weird that I haven’t gotten any proposals yet.



Anonymous said...

I so sorry sister. I do wish you were here and could have smelled Dany (we are on a first name basis now). I will bring you a present back from the Olympics. I wish I could bring you a hockey player :(


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