Wednesday, March 10, 2010

The Bachelor


That was me.


That was me punching my steering wheel.


That was me throwing a glass.


That was me realizing I had broken the glass by throwing it.


That was me realizing that I should have known that a glass would break if I had thrown it, since glass is not, as I had originally thought, invincible.

"Hey! Whatchya doin' in there!?"

That was not me. That was some asshole who had decided that now would be the perfect time to roll down his window and talk to some girl in the lane next to his, since they are both sitting in traffic, and since the girl who is yelling in a language other than English, and what looks to be ferociously trying to honk her horn in every place besides where the horn actually is, really, really seems to be in the mood for casual chit chat.

I turn and stare at him, not really knowing what to say since the only things on my mind were 1) How much does it cost to get tinted windows? and 2) FUCK YOU.

I decided to not think of a response at all, but to instead do what naturally came to me, which was to turn up my music as loud as it could go, look at the asshole, and lip sync to him.


And then I rolled up my window, leaving him my left profile, which I thought was a nice gesture, since my left profile is preferable to that of my right. Despite being serenaded and waved to, I heard no "thank you" from the asshole, but instead got to see him speed off, which I think was quite nice of him, since that is exactly what I wanted him to do.

Now now now, do not go making assumptions. Don't think that I was having a "freak-out" or a "melt-down" or a complete "break-down" or any of this nonsense. I have no such things. I have "epiphanies," that's what I have. And when I have an epiphany, I like to shout out to the world about it in only a language an orangutan would be able to understand. You can look at is as me reaching out to my ancient ancestors. I also like to throw things, because I'm just. THAT. happy. It's like when you celebrate, you light things on fire so they shoot up to the sky and explode; I don't see how causing explosions and throwing glasses are any different from one another. That's right, it was a celebration. A celebration of an epiphany. One that I am about to share with you.

I was born to be a bachelor! YES! This is such wonderful news. I debated on changing the name of my blog to, "Born to Be a Bachelor," but then decided that being born to be a bachelor and being damned to be a damsel are one in the same thing, because they are both so wonderful! Now, the bachelor life is not for everyone, so don't start thinking YOU want to be a bachelor just like me; you would only get frustrated, because I make one HELL of a bachelor, let me tell ya. I will admit that it took me some time to realize this, which also makes me think that there are plenty of potential bachelors out there such as myself, and I see it it as my call of duty to help you find what you were born to do, if this is, in fact, your purpose in life.

Ah...I can see it now. (I actually CAN see it now, since that IS my life right now, but what I meant by that phrase was that I was about to take a glimpse into the future, a future that just so happens to be a lot like my present.)

I will have my own TV show, entitled, "The Bachelor," and people will think, "Oh! Natasha is going to get to make out with 20 striking blokes and then tell two or three of them that she's fallen madly in love with them, then spend a few episodes whining about NOT KNOWING WHO SHE LOVES MORE THEY'RE BOTH JUST SO WONDERFUL, then will magically and conveniently know by the very last episode that one of them is her soulmate and the other one is just some guy with soft lips." But no. This will not be the premise of my show. If I had a show like that I would not call it, "The Bachelor;" I would call it something like, "Wannabe Spouse," or, "Horny Devil," or "Super Slut." But this is The Bachelor. The Bachelor, people, in which the premise of my show would be me. Bein' a bachelor. And lovin' the bachelor life.

I already have the ingredients necessary for a good ol' Bachelor Stew, which are the following:

1. a bachelor pad

Got it! Sure, it's more of a bachelor dorm than a bachelor pad, but to me that's even better because "dorm" has one meaning whereas "pad" can have many, which can therefore potentially cause confusion to those unfamiliar with the phrase. My bachelor dorm is messy (hangers are against my religion), disgusting (trash cans are, too), and has a wide variety of DVDs (the perfect antidote for a bachelor such as myself, for with the power of movies I can live vicariously through anyone from John Wayne to Lola Bunny) (yes, that was a Space Jam reference) (Space Jam is the stepfather I never had) (and by that I mean Space Jam is AWESOME). As you can see, my living arrangements are already taken care of. Living alone is like taking a bubble bath filled with rubber duckies. You're alone. AND YOU LIKE IT THAT WAY.

2. a bitch on the side

Any bachelor needs to have at least one bitch on the side. This, I'm currently working on, so don't rush me. If you are interested, however, you can reach me at 1-800-IMYOBITCH. You can tell your friends, as well, because I'm open to many bitches.

3. failed relationships

Not to sound like Cher, but DUH. (And by Cher I don't mean tattooed-ass-Cher, I mean fell-in-love-with-her-brother-but-he's-not-really-her-brother-Cher. Just to clear that up. If that even helped.) I'm 19, man. If I didn't have any failed relationships by now then something would be seriously wrong with me. I see it as a good thing, really. SORRY I DON'T SETTLE FOR ANYONE. SORRY I'M NOT SATISFIED WITH ANY PERSON WITHIN 5 YEARS OF MY AGE WHO HAPPENS TO HAVE A PENIS. SORRY I MAY HAVE A SLIGHT CASE OF BORDERLINE PERSONALITY DISORDER. See? Wasn't that good just then? It's the Bachelor Bitterness. Man, I'm gettin' better at this by the second!

4. mulah

I'm starting to just make things up, honestly, since I don't know much about the bachelor life, considering the fact that I haven't even lived for 2 decades. But I do know that when I am officially a bachelor, I'm going to be a rich one, and people will beg me to marry them, to date them, to cure the blind, but I will do none of these things, 'cause I'll be a bachelor. AND DAMN HAPPY ABOUT IT.

*Remember, that's 1-800-IMYOBITCH.*


Anonymous said...

So much teen angst, where did all the optimism go?
But still hilarious as always, keep up the good work!

Paul said...

Girls are spinsters, not bachelors.