Yesterday, I arrived for the first time ever in Las Vegas.
I put a lot of pressure on this trip because, frankly, the blogging has a bit slow lately and I figured that Vegas would be ideal place to prove that I haven’t lost the Catastrophicly Absurd touch.
To make sure that I didn’t slack off, I decided some goal setting was in order. To make sure that I stayed focused, I decided to only have one goal.
To make sure that goal would be plot-worthy, I decided to make that goal: Get Married.
But seriously, there’s a method behind the madness.
Last week, there was a modern love column titled, “Sometimes, it’s not you.” The author writes about being single when she was 39 and the scrutiny single chicks must endure from themselves and others as they look at their married friends and wonder, “what did she do right that I didn’t?”
Luckily for this Chick, one of her coworkers finally wants to marry her and she realizes (drum roll) that there was nothing wrong with her, she just hadn’t met the right guy yet. (Or gone to the right company, apparently.)
Nobody I know liked the ending.
Wait…you’re trying to say there’s nothing wrong with me? Not cool.
If you try to rob single women of the belief that they need to change and/or grow in order to be in a relationship, you will leave them with basically nothing to do during the hours when they would otherwise be tending to their husbands and children.
One of those aforementioned single chicks might take this extra time to try and come up with an experiment to decide exactly whose fault it is that she’s not married.
It’s a very simple experiment.
Try to convince a drunk person in Vegas to marry you. If he agrees, you are clearly marriageable, and the fact that you’re not married is because you haven’t met the right guy yet.
If he doesn’t agree, there is obviously something really wrong with you.
So far, it has been one day and I’ve learned many things:
- My poor mother has accepted my insanity enough to send me text messages asking if I am married yet.
- The idea of me getting married (in Vegas) is enough to make almost everyone (including my Barista in Noe Valley SF) burst out laughing.
- My firm believe that I need to get my “first marriage and divorce over with” is disconcerting to many people, even including strange men.
- It is easy to lose track of time and forget even your most important goals when you’re in Vegas.
I also learned that dancing on stage at Coyote Ugly is not a great way to find a husband, but it is a great way to get girls in bikinis to pour rum directly out of a bottle and into your mouth.
Fortunately, now that I’ve got the wild girl out of my system, I’m totally ready to settle down, and I’ve got about 40 left hours left to do it.
Stay tuned for more Adventures “What the Hell (if Anything) is Wrong with Me?”