Yes, if you're wondering, that was a "How I Met Your Mother" reference. I felt it was necessary since this blog will loosely reference a few Barney's I've had in my life. Maybe a few Ted's and Robin's too. And if you hate that show fuck you, go read Kim Kardashian's blog. She doesn't like to move her face muscles either. Or do any type of deep breathing that might slightly flare her nostrils and take the attention away from her huge tits. She used daddy's money for those god dammit. Or her stepmother Bruce Jenner's money. But let's get back to the important topic here...me.
I have quite often found myself President, Vice President and Treasurer of the Third Wheel Club. Sometimes I even act as Interim-President of the Fifth, Seven and Ninth Wheel Clubs during three-day weekends and group outings. Now don't get me wrong, I love my current couple friends and loved many of my past couple friends. However if we're being completely honest, I did sometimes picture, for just a second or two, one of them getting plastered and making out with a stranger at the bar. Or deciding not to hold that rage back until the car ride home and flipping a table and screaming, "Prostitute whore!" at their significant other similar to the ever so classy Teresa Guidouche. No really, I was happy that they were happy and we were all so fucking happy I wanted to vomit all over myself and drown in the regurgitated gallons of beer I necessarily consumed every time I hung out with them.
It's funny how being the Third Wheel should make me feel like the Haylie Duff of the group, which is a joke because I'm clearly the dead-eyed Britney Spears that needs to be held up by my "back-up dancers", but it's always the couples that feel weird. They feel like they have to compensate and work at making me feel comfortable. This usually plays out one of the four ways:
1. Plying me with alcohol so I forget that I'm single and alone and therefore quite clearly on the verge of suicide. This generally works in my favor. I will never turn down a free drink. And if that turns into 6 Jager bombs and an oddly fizzing jack and coke that I weirdly black out after drinking, no complaints here. Even better if I wake up the next day and don't have 18 missed calls, 43 texts from numbers that I don't recognize asking if I've been tested recently, and a note pinned to my shirt with my blood type listed.
2. The set-up that's not really a set-up, just a strange sequence of events that result in two single friends ending up smashed into a booth together with a couple that have the acting skills of a Yellow Crayon. This time I'm paying for my own drinks because the random friend that shows up ends up being a former Wal-Mart employee who is unable to find a new job because of a mix-up with a drug test and alleged 4-month lapse in paying child support. This is when self-administiring a roofie is extremely tempting, but no way in hell am I raising this baby alone you son of a bitch! I'm expecting a night of free booze again, when all I get is an awkward three hours of trying to decide what's more important, my last ounce of pride or just licking the guy's face so I can maybe finagle a free body shot or at least pretend that I don't want my friends to die in a car fire. Please note, I have never met a quality guy through my couple friends. Is this a sign? Oh Jesus...where's that roofie I hid last weekend...
3. Trying to pawn me off on some random dude at the bar. One second I'm saying that the dude in the red shirt down at the end of the bar may not be a troll and the next second I'm being shoved in his direction like an 18-year old being sent off to college by her horny parents who can't wait to turn her bedroom into an "office". Now he's staring at me and I feel like I have no choice but to follow through. Now I don't have many flaws, only 1 and 1/2 to be specific, and first impressions are the 1/2. Unless I'm blacked out. Then I nail them every time. I'm so fucking charming it's ridiculous when I'm strategically placing my arms to hide the Jager stain on my shirt and trying to pull my dress out of my tights. But during a sober moment, my opening line sometimes consists of things like, "Hey, is your name Jeff? No of course it's not. Sorry I just said that to try to talk to you. I'm going to see if it's possible to drown myself in the sink now. Nice to meet you." Weirdly he didn't ask for my number. However I do think he asked security to keep me away from him. So I nailed it, clearly.
4. The "I hate being in a relationship" conversation. This one is my favorite. Boyfriend pisses off girlfriend earlier in the day by eating the last of the Doritoes when he knew she was going to wait until he left so she could eat them and pretend like he did the night before. Girlfriend drinks her fourth vodka tonic and unleashes about how big a prick boyfriend is. And how I'm so lucky that I can do whatever I want and go home with whoever I want and no one ever asks me where I'm going and what I'm doing and why I never wear my black lace thong anymore. This is the last thing a single person wants to hear. Yeah no dude ever eats the rest of my Doritoes but I also don't have one to kill that huge ass mother fucking cockroach in my kitchen, walk my dog at 5:30am when I'm freezing my nuts off and bitch slap the asshole at the bar that takes my barstool and steps on my new boot. So shut the fuck up and go home and make him hang that picture you've wanted up in your room for months. Fingers crossed he'll hammer his thumb on accident.
A word of advice to all of you couples that do any or all of the above to your single friends, we may be on the verge of suicide during the holidays while we debate how tragic it would be if we send out a Christmas card with a picture of us and our dog, but don't make it worse. Or I will fuck your boyfriend/girlfriend. And yes I have been tested, thank you for checking (562) 265-1098.
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