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FacebookI realized that recently I have been writing way too much about movies and televisions (probably because I haven’t done anything but sit and watch TV the past few weeks). Well enough is enough: I am implementing a new, self-imposed embargo on the movie business. Enough complaining, bitching, or nitpicking about Hollywood. If the writers can be on strike, I can too. Although technically, I wouldn’t be on strike. But that’s not the point–I need something else to complain about. I wonder what Sprint is up too…
I’d like to take a moment to announce that The Girlfriend has hereby officially been promoted to The Fiancee. I proposed to her on Monday and she said yes. Not there was any doubt. I must’ve made over a hundred marriage proposals throughout my years–but this was the first one where I had a ring (second where I knew the girl’s name). I knew she was going to accept because Monday was Martin Luther King Day–the most romantic and sexiest holiday of the year.
A lot of guys propose with bouquets of flowers and boxes of chocolates. They engineer the perfect, romantic evening. Luckily, I knew my gal wanted none of that. We did something that was more us. I had on a stained t-shirt and wore socks with holes in them.
We were at my house sorting through my closet. Since I’m a t-shirt and shorts guy, I have a closet full of novelty shirts and exciting catch phrases. One of the good things about t-shirts is that they never truly look old. They might get raggedy or dirty but they never look old because t-shirts are made with low-quality material in the first place. Because of that, I rarely get around to throwing a t-shirt away. Sure, I get new ones all the time–but my closet is filled with shirts I wore a decade ago. I kid you not. I got a couple of black and gray tees I purchased at Mervyns for the ’96 Summer Olympics. I know this ’cause the tag inside the shirt.
But my poor fashions sense is completely irrelevant to this tale (although it does have me wondering why she agreed to marry me in the first place). I pulled shirt-by-shirt out of my closet as she sat on my bed and gave either a thumbs up or day (like in ancient Rome, many innocent shirts were sentenced to an early death). Needing a break, I said to her; “Do you want any Jell-O?” Of course she did–there’s always room for Jell-O.
I brought her an uncut mound of Jell-O–that had a fairly expensive engagement ring inside of it. I got down on my knees and asked her to join the siknerd army in holy matrimony. I don’t know if it’s cause she was happy or horrified by the idea of an engagement ring in Jell-O, but tears rolled down her face. I said a bunch of lovely things. How happy I am that I met her and that I wanna spend the rest of my life with her–you know, the kinda junk girls eat up (kinda like Jell-O). She said yes and engaged we are.
A lot of folks wouldn’t be willing to risk a marriage proposal by sticking a ring in Jell-O. But to me, it was the only option. The Girlfriend–I mean Fiancee–and I aren’t the superficial romantic sorts. We hate Valentine’s Day (although Martin Luther King Day will forever hold a special place in out hearts). We aren’t into horse-drawn carriages or sipping champagne out of each other’s glasses. We’re different: we like watching “The Office” and maliciously judging others. We’re two homebodies who would rather stay at home complaining than spend Saturday night drinking at the discotheque. An engagement ring in Jell-O is funny, stupid, and simply something no one in the world would consider romantic…expect for us.
Obviously, I’m thrilled. Before I met her, I wasn’t sure what I wanted out of life. I knew I liked playing Madden, watching “Star Wars,” and perusing internet porn in hopes of finding someone I once went to high school with. But now that I’ve met her, I realize how much I want a simple, normal life. People to come home to. She’s everything I ever wanted even if I didn’t know I did. I know that I couldn’tve done better than The Fiancee because there is no one better–she’s the girl for me.
In Jell-O.