Let's talk about Helena. As I've mentioned before, Helena is my biffles. My "biffly-biffly^maxpower," if you will. I like Helena a lot. She's super fun and snarky and slightly mean and easy on the eyes—pretty much the embodiment of everything I look for in a friend. But more than that, I just feel like Helena knows what's up in life. And her opinion is extremely important to me. Before making any decision, major or minor, I consult Helena. And what she says goes. I've been practicing this method of decision-making for five years now and it hasn't led me astray once. Actually, that's a blatant lie. One time Helena and I were shopping at Pacific Sunwear (which is highly out-of-character and comical to think about now) and I asked her if I should buy an ironic John Deere Trucker baby-tee. Without missing a beat, she said yes. So I bought it, wore it and immediately regretted it. Later she confessed that she only told me to buy it because she thought it would be "hilarious." But you know what? She was right, yet again. Because it was hilarious. I'm willing to own up when I look like a douchebag, and guess what? I looked like a giant douchebag. So in conclusion: Helena is always right and I'd trust her with my life.
Now let's talk about marriage. Marriage freaks me out. Well, that's a lie. Marriage at this point in my life freaks me out. I've always associated marriage with two groups of people: grown-ups and white trash. Being neither of those things (John Deere Trucker tee aside,) I have absolutely no plans of getting married in the foreseeable future. I mean, I'm only 24; I've got wild oats to sew! I want to dip my wick in anything that moves! (...I apologize.) I want to have a bullshit job with no responsibilities! I want to throw big Jäger parties and come to work hungover! That's pretty much where my priorities lie right now. And I've always thought that that was OK. Sure, pretty much everyone else I know is in a serious relationship and going to grad school or law school and moving on to the next step in their life, but I've always felt confident about where I am. But that changed last week when Helena casually mentioned that she and her boyfriend have discussed marriage. Like in a it's-probably-going-to-happen-sooner-than-later kind of way. After she said that, I could feel my heart drop into my butt and I had a very quiet, but very real Total Life Freak Out.
Don't get me wrong—I love Helena and I love her boyfriend and I love them together! It's just that if Helena gives getting married at this stage of our lives the green light, that makes it officially acceptable. And if it's officially acceptable, that means it's not just for grown-ups and white trash anymore; it's for people like you and me. Because we are those grown-ups. And that scares the shit out of me.
The idea of me getting married is laughable. Like literally laugh-out-loud, Family Matters level funny. I can see myself in a relationship, sure, but marriage? Fuck no. Because getting married is a big fucking deal. You are, in the most literal sense, marrying your life to another person's and saying that not only am I responsible for my life, I am now responsible for yours. Just typing that statement made me want to vomit. Because I can barely take care of my own life. I went on Facebook for the first time in 9 billion years the other day and saw that my best friend from elementary school is now married with a child. And not a baby! Like a walking, talking, thinking, feeling, straight-up little child. That shit is bananas. I wouldn't trust myself with a hot plate, nevertheless a child. But there she is. Adorable and alive and kickin'. Is that where I should be? Should I be retiring my abnormally busty frat boy lifestyle, get a Netflix account and settle down? Normally I would say no, of course not, Meg. You're only 24 and you have the emotional maturity of an ashtray. But now that Helena's gone and given marriage her stamp of approval, I'm starting to think yes, that is where I should be. But I'm really not. What's wrong with me?
Welp, I can actually tell you exactly what's wrong with me. Via this list. The list of Reasons Why the Thought of Me Getting Married is Laugh-Out-Loud Funny:
1.) The following is a photograph of the inside of my refrigerator:
You will see that it contains a lot of beer, a dozen eggs that might be hatching into chickens as we speak and a Ziploc bag of spaghetti my mom gave me in early October. Hope you're hungry, baby.
2.) Gummy fangs. It's not just an on-running blog joke; it's also what's for dinner.
3.) Sometimes I honest-to-god hibernate. Like a bear. If I've had a particularly rough Saturday night, I'll just sleep through Sunday, waking only to eat gummy fangs before going right back to bed until Monday morning. Soooo...there's that.
4.) I will do anything to avoid doing laundry. For example, I realized this morning that I'm out of clean shirts, so I am currently wearing a backwards Patron t-shirt with a cardigan thrown over it. And guess what? I probably won't do laundry again tonight.
5.) I have a very Me vs. My Body mindset that isn't very conducive to a life partnership. The following is a real conversation Co-Blogger Chris and I had this weekend:
Me: Ugh, these migraines won't away. I think I'm going to have to give up and go to a doctor.
Chris: Uhh..."give up," Meg? I don't think that's called "giving up," I think that's called being responsible for your well-being.
...Point taken. I hope my future husband never comes to me sick or I'll treat him like a level of Donkey Kong.
6.) Sometimes I play this game called "How Long?" The object is to see how long you can go without paying your cable bill and having it shut off.
7.) I am never, ever wearing pants.
8.) The second room isn't for a baby. It's for the Jäger cooler and my brand new shot dispenser.
9.) When something goes wrong, my immediate reaction is still to call my mom. And if she's not home, I have a history of leaving long voice mails of me making whiny noises. No words. Just whiny noises. For upwards of three minutes at a time.
10.) I still sleep with a stuffed animal. His name is Jason. Let's not pretend like I haven't discussed his existence before. Let's also not pretend that everyone who comes over and hugs him doesn't immediately understand why he's in my life.
Sigh... Guess I'll be buying "fruits" and "vegetables" if you need me. Thanks a lot, Helena.