Spent a pleasant weekend in Santa Barbara. The weather was perfect. The food was perfect. The inn we stayed at was perfect (Although the suite had one of those annoying bathrooms with multiple windows and openings that gave you zero privacy when taking a bath, a shower, or even a shit. The public shitting part was unfortunate for my girlfriend after I accidentally ate too much dairy, which turned my rectum into an explosive cannon of brown rage.).
But as soon as the clock hit 10 PM, the whole town shut down. Everything. Even the hookers headed home to catch some "Alias." To amuse ourselves, we were forced to stroll down the beach and set some sleeping homeless people on fire.
Santa Barbara was specifically designed for married people, you see. Cozy, sleepy couples whose evenings end right after dessert. Not that I'm knocking holy matrimony, but 10 PM life just isn't suited for me. Sadly, two of my buddies didn't feel the same way last month.
Right before Christmas Eve, Chuck called to say he got engaged. Some of you "longtime" readers might recognize the name - he's even in my very first Livejournal entry. Anyway, the engagement didn't come as a big surprise, as everybody knew how smitten the boy was since the day he met her, prompting me to rename him "Mangina."
Just a few days later, on the other side of the planet. T proposed to his girlfriend at the Taj Mahal.
What every unmarried male fears more than anything, other than a grizzly bear with knives for hands, is getting the following phone call from his best friend:
"Dude, I'm engaged."
When you hear that, a man is oftentimes compelled to give a sensitive, somewhat emotional response, starting with "You heartless motherfucker, how could you do this to me!?!" and ending with "And you'll never get to enjoy vaginal variety again for the rest of your wretched life!!!"
But it's different for T and me. T moved to Hong Kong several years ago, so we'd already gotten used to life without each other (Wow that sentence sounded extremely gay. Should follow it up with "And I even learned to love again."). Even if he hadn't left, our prime partying days were way behind us anyway, so it's not like our swingin' bachelor years were prematurely cut short by some meddling woman. Plus the marriage topic was all the fucker would talk about for the past twelve months, so I was actually a bit relieved that he finally got it over with.
Now I've got the bachelor party of the century to plan. Although it most likely won't be 'til 2006 (Strangely enough, he and Chuck may also end up getting married the same month.), giving me more than enough time to start training those analingual goats.
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