Thursday, July 22, 2004


An experience that I am beginning to truly hate, that has been occuring with increasing frequency of late: I run into a pretty girl somewhere, strike up a conversation, get her to laugh, get her name, get the whole eye-contact thing going, decide that, yeah, this chick's cool enough to try to get her to go out for coffee or something, and then glance at her left hand and see my Nemesis: that fucking diamond on the ringfinger.

Great. Five minutes down the drain.

It's come to the point where I'm in favor of ditching the customary wedding/engagement ring and requiring women to tattoo "MOVE ALONG" on their foreheads.

I guess it's time to become more vocal in my support for gay marriage, so that the institution crumbles to the ground and life can become more convenient for me.

Or, you know, remember to look at the left hand first, as opposed to...well, I'm a straight male in his early twenties; you already know what I look at first.

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