I Can't Make A Commitment

Of any kind or nature. Isn’t that what most SINGLE women complain about their men, that they can’t commit and take the next step? Of course the women have been dreaming of getting married in a huge ceremony and spitting out 3-4 kids since they were thirteen playing doll house in the living room and don’t realize that men have been warned and educated by their fathers since the age of eighteen how much being married to your mom has sucked goat ass for the last twenty some years and that you should pull out even if you have a condom on if you want 100% of your paycheck going in to your bank account. Damn long sentence but thanks for the advice on sex, pops!

I don’t date because most women my age are looking for that commitment. I think there’s some rumor going around that people look at women weird if they are 40 and have never been married. “Oh look, there’s Jane, still no ring on her finger, I wonder what’s wrong with her vagina, it must smell like dead fish, maybe she’s just bad at oral sex.” Yes, ladies, that is what everyone is thinking, even your parents. Speaking of oral sex skills, some gay guys should open a firm teaching women the proper procedure. Or a website. I’m sick of the “dancing on the head” shit that most women do. Stick the whole fucker in your mouth for crying out loud! Can you sense any sexual frustration coming from me? I’m not going to a good place when I die, I know.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I do NOT fear the commitment that comes with dating. I have blocked that from my thoughts many years ago. Women look at guys and say “He’d be a nice catch” while I look at women and think “I wonder if she’d let me IN tonight.” I don’t fear commitment because I know no relationship I have with the opposite sex will ever go that far (or even for more than two months, that’s still stretching it). I FEAR EVERY OTHER SITUATION IN DAILY LIFE THAT REQUIRES ME MAKING A COMMITMENT. “What are you doing next Saturday?” “Uhhhh, I’m not sure.” “Did you want to go and do this with this person and this person?” “Uhhhhhhhhh…”

Ask my financial advisor (FA, and for some reason I think he’s taken a liking to the new name, even though it could stand for “fat ass” or “fucking asshole”). I think he has learned better when asking me if I want to do something with him and his lovely wife (down boy, down!). Speaking of which, can I get that porn back that your wife borrowed? I think it was Anal Sluts 6. Thank you. He used to call me on a Monday or Tuesday to make plans for the weekend. “Uh, poker at 11:00 am on a Saturday? Isn’t that a little early? I don’t know if I’ll be up yet.” That’s right, don’t try to schedule anything with me on a Saturday morning because my alarm clock does not work on Saturdays. Well, it works, but I ain’t gonna set it. Oh, and he has stopped asking if I want to go to some club with butterflies or insects or spiders or something in it’s name because he knows I won’t go. I’m tall, I’m white, I can’t dance. And I don’t feel like spending $5 on a bottle of beer when I can get 48 ounces for $5 at the corner bar. But I digress. FA used to call me to go to concerts. Going to a concert requires planning ahead and purchasing (rather expensive) tickets meaning that the actual concert is probably over a month away. I do not make concert plans with people because I could be dead within a month, therefore letting them down and ruining the concert for everyone (at least they’d have free beer at the funeral!). “Remember that time B to the… actually agreed to go see Nickleback with us and died the week before the concert?” “Yeah, that was a great concert! Who died?” No concerts.

Which makes you wonder how I ever purchased a home and took on the burden of a 30 year “marriage” if you will. I toy with this in my head all the time. The only reasons I can come up with is I was sick of slipping on ice walking home from the bar, the house is only a block away, and it was in my price range. Oh, and when the realtor called me with the counter offer including all the appliances I was four pitchers into it on a Sunday watching football and merrily agreed (I get rather happy when loaded). There’s nothing special about my house except for the 350 sq ft deck pops and I built on the back this summer. Where was I going with this? Oh, commitment under the influence.

Saturday the Renter and I went to a different bar down the street since my bar manager won’t let me drink if I’m working the door at the old folks joint. She has good reason, trust me. We watched the Madison/Marquette basketball game from 1:00-3:00 and hit the pool table after that. After about eight games and five pitchers I magically arrived at the Sprint kiosk at the mall. My cell phone rarely works in my house or at the bar or at work. It mainly only works when I am driving in my car and I only drive 120 miles a week so it’s pretty much useless. That and the battery has been lasting 24 hours lately and then dieing making my phone emit this irritating noise that is just calling for a beat down. “I just charged you for eight hours and now eighteen hours later you’re calling it quits on me? What if I miss a call and some woman erroneously dials my number and wants to get nasty in bed and buy me a new car? Appropriately, a Hummer!” Unfortunately my phone knows my fear of commitment and that I won’t replace it with a different service provider/phone combo. UNLESS I’m loaded and the mall is still open. I don’t know what the people at the service counter thought of me and I guess I really don’t care. But I was loaded. Leaning and hanging on to the counter loaded. Looking at only three phones loaded. Picking the phone because it was blue loaded. Show me where to sign loaded. “Renter, what plan did I get?” loaded. I don’t even know if I have a one or two year contract loaded. Waking up the next day to find out my phone has a camera loaded. Being informed by the Renter two days later that my phone plays MP3’s loaded. So, pretty much just plain loaded. And it was 7:00.

If some woman ever wants me to propose to her she will have to feed me massive quantities of alcohol to hear those words slur out of my mouth. So ladies, please line up to the right and wait your turn.

I really just want the free alcohol.