Why I Shouldn't Be Allowed To Speak In Public

Sometimes I really wish that life happened at slower speeds. Not because I’m over-whelmed by today’s fast-past world, but because I feel like maybe then I could work on my blurting problem.

And I do have a problem. Make no mistake. I mean, it’s one thing to say the stuff I write on this blog. It’s another to blurt this stuff out to the wrong company.

For example, I was walking home with a girl I was dating towards the end of college. She was nestled onto my arm and we were quietly chatting and joking to each other. I made a comment about how soon I’d be leaving this life behind forever, and wondering if I’d really left my mark on the place.

“What do you expect them to do?” she asked sarcastically. “Chisel statues of you and sacrifice virgins in your honor?”

“Hon, you of all people should know that to really honor my memory accurately, they’d have to sacrifice the slutty girls.”

A little free advice: girls you’re dating don’t like to hear that kind of thing.

I’m not sure why I do this kind of thing. Maybe I’m secretly afraid of achieving happiness. I only wish that this was the kind of thing I did only in my personal life. Unfortunately, that train (as I like to say) has sailed.

For more information on me screwing myself at work, check the very end of this post. I swear, sometimes I’m sure I have Tourettes. COCKSUCKERFUCKSHITASSBITCH. You know, I think that’s the answer. Next time I blurt out something unbelievably inappropriate, I’ll just follow it with a string of the foulest language you ever heard. That way people won’t think I’m an idiot. I’m just suffering from a neurological disorder.

The king of all blurt-outs, however, happened a number of years ago. I was sitting in a dining hall with one of my dear friends, and she was talking about her recent man problems. We had reached a point in the conversation where she was really looking deep inside herself, wondering if she would ever be happy. I leaned forward and grabbed her hand across the table.

I looked deep into her eyes, cleared my throat and realized I had no clue what was about to come out of my mouth.

“You know, Jen” I began, looking at her earnestly, “we’ve been friends for a long time now. I feel like you and I have really come a long way; as if we’ve grown up together. I know we tease each other now and then, but through it all there’s no doubt that we’re always there for one another.”

Jen’s eyes opened up wide. She leaned forward just slightly, as if sensing what to come would be a pivotal point in our relationship, forever changing how we interacted.

“That’s why I want you to know that if we’re both still single in 20 years--”

Her eyes started to mist. Her hand trembled ever so slightly.

“—I’m going to keep looking.”

There was a moment of stunned silence before she threw her cup of soda at me and stormed out.

I know it’s going to come as a shock to all my loyal readers, but I have to admit, after looking at all the evidence, there’s a very strong possibility that I’m a dick. Shocking, I know. I’ll give you all until tomorrow to come to grips with it.