The IRS, INS and SEX.

Boyfriend and I have been together for a couple years and marriage still isn't even something I really think about. People get married a whole helluva lot sooner than a couple years these days. I did once and so did he. Twice.
So you'd think that it'd be on our minds perhaps. The answer is no. Hell no.

Neither one of us has actually ever brought it up in any degree of seriousness.
I told him once that I wouldn't mind having a big giant sparkly to show off, and he looked at me like I sprouted a second head. One that had just eaten a small child or a kitten.

The thought of planning a wedding again makes me a little nauseous. 
The thought of being skinny enough to wear a wedding dress makes me a little nauseous.
Mind you, not nauseous enough to puke so much that I actually AM skinny.

Today we will dissect marriage.
And why the fuck anyone would want to be in one.

Tax Benefits.
Last night, dude bff asked me if I'd marry him for the tax benefits. He had gone to his tax appointment earlier in the week for his small business and learned he was about to take it in the ass from the IRS. And not in the way people pretend to like in porns.


Green Cards.
After dude bff asked if I'd marry him, my sister immediately pointed out that I couldn't marry him, I had to marry boyfriend so he could get a green card.
This is funny because boyfriend is brown. Also because he's totally legal and stuff. The first time I met his parents, his mother informed me that neither boyfriend, or her were a "wetback", but boyfriend's grandma was. Good to know.

Speaking of green cards, I recently had a friend tell me that a girl he knows asked if he'd marry her so she could stay in the country. I told him to go for it because he doesn't really have anything else going on, in my opinion.  He should totally do her a solid. He accused me of trying to talk him into this so that I'd have a story about some crazy fucker that married a girl to con the INS. This is partially to mostly true.  Gotcha bitch, cuz I'm telling this story regardless of the outcome.

Sex.
Boyfriend and I were at Danceclub Beijing the other day (I'm calling the chinese buffet that now since they're always playing hip hop awkwardly loud) and there was a table of total hotties. *insert sarcasm*
As boyfriend and I simultaneously looked over these three girls devouring their sesame chicken like it was their last earthly meal and they desperately needed the food storage for the upcoming epic battle of the apocalypse, I casually said, "Do you ever wish you were single again and free to tap whatever hot shit you wanted?"  He nodded in agreement.
The truth about dating is that it totally blows. Being on the hunt for a prospective mate at all times. Constantly wondering if someone is checking you out. If they want to be soulmates, or just mate. It's killer.
Being married means always knowing that there's poon waiting for you at home.

There you have it. The only three reasons in the universe to get married.
Also, three reasons that let me know marriage isn't awesome enough to be withheld from the gays. It's not so much about a sacred bond between a man and a woman, as much as it is a business relationship in which one party is continually sexually harassed until they give it up on their desk late at night when they don't think anyone is looking.    Wait, what?    Yeah.


In case one day in the future, in a land far far away, I do decide to quit living in sin with boyfriend and do something responsible, like get married, I don't want any of you to give me shit about it.  At that point I will have obviously assessed the risk of getting married to the reward of being single, and decided I'd come out on top. Like if I ever start a small business.

I want Hillary Clinton thighs, but less polyester covering them.

Yesterday was an amazing second-hand store shopping day. I came away with all sorts of shit I do not need. And for only $11.50!

While shopping, Brother and I came across this in the "collectible" section.

My brother is obsessed with Hillary Clinton. He even named his bike Hillary Clinton because she's something he'd like to ride, and he's even gay.
I had no doubt that he'd buy this. And then, he didn't.

The fact that he passed up this nugget of awesomeness has me worried.  Is my gay brother so pussy whipped by Hillary Clinton that he can't see the humor in a nut cracker?  She has stainless steel thighs! She cracks the toughest nuts! Does she already OWN his nuts?! Aren't gays supposed to have impeccable taste?  Does he not realize how horrific she looks in pumpkin colored pantsuits?!!
Shit. It could be time for an intervention.

Most stuff that goes wrong I blame on Jesus and this is no exception.

Let me describe a scenario for you.

I stand in front of the mirror lifting up sections or my hair, shudder, lay them back down.
I squirt dye all over my head.
I go downstairs to hang out for a bit till the magic super awesome goop makes people quit asking if I want to use my senior discount.
Boyfriend asks why I don't have pants on.
Well shit, I don't know, sometimes I just don't wear pants, k?
Wash hair.
Blowdry.
I stand in front of the mirror lifting up sections of my hair, shudder, lay them back down.
FUCK.

Apparently, my grays are now "resistant grays" and no longer wish to be dyed.
FML. Thanks a lot, Jesus. Thanks ALOT.

I have a confession to make.

I fathered a love child two years ago and had one of my employees pretend it was his. What? I was running for president and my wife had cancer and stuff, what was I supposed to do?!

Alright, so that's not it, but for some reason I find that whole business super funny. Seriously John? Seriously?!  


For real though, I was a super hard core bitchzilla last week. 
I blame this on my lack of McDonald's intake.

I would like to apologize to anyone who fell into one or more of the following categories, last week specifically*.


• I threatened to punch you in the throat.
• I actually punched you in the throat.
• I told you that you may have been fuckable at one time, but not so much anymore.
• I told you that your sweater looked like a circus tent.
• I told you your baby was ugly.
• I made a reference to how someone should have pushed your mom down the stairs while she was pregnant with you.
• I told you I had sex with your dad in my truck.
• I laughed when you told me what you caught from that one-night stand.
• I told you that it wasn't your pants, but your face that makes you look fat.




* No apologies will be made for any act of violence or otherwise that occurred prior to last week. You totally deserved it, quit being a pussy.