I'm Having More Fun Than You (19 page)

Strangely, my time spent in relationships and my time spent being single have made me realize that, in some ways, the two are not that different. They’re both all about timing. If you meet a girl when you are about to leave and move across the country, you’re much less likely to successfully date than if you meet that same girl when you’ve just arrived and are ready to settle in one spot. Just like if you meet a chick at a bar at 10 p.m. when you’re sober, you’re much less likely to get head than if you meet the same chick at 3 a.m. when you’re both wasted.

While we were dating, I once asked Amanda about her long line of ex-boyfriends. She said to me, “Boyfriends are like internships. I learned a little bit about myself from each one and then moved on.” I laughed at the time but now am desperate to find out what she could have possibly gleaned from our relationship. Personally, I now know that I’m nowhere near being prepared for commitment, and that if you’re not ready to change cell phone carriers for someone, you definitely should not be her emergency contact. In hindsight, then, Amanda’s analogy is quite perceptive. To me, girlfriends are also like internships—in that I’ve merrily half-assed my way through both.

M
y experience with weddings began in earnest in August 2006 when Brian and Christina—two of my oldest childhood companions—got married only five days apart. The floodgates had opened. It was then that I realized my friends would soon be divided into two opposing contingents: those eager to tie the knot, and those who merely think of weddings as really extravagant open bars with cover bands. I quickly became a grizzled veteran of wedding season, observing from the ever-shrinking singles table as my ilk—those who rock ill-fitting rented tuxes and try to bang bridesmaids—became increasingly ostracized. Now, each summer, as my engaged friends busy themselves with ballroom dancing lessons to prepare for their first dance as husband and wife, while I prepare toasts and speeches making fun of them, I can’t help but wonder what possesses an otherwise rational man in his twenties to get down on one knee. Of course, with a bachelor party, a rehearsal dinner, a wedding, a couple of pregnancies, and sometimes a divorce thrown in for good measure, the engagement is merely the beginning of a multiyear series of events that’s made me recognize that marriage is truly a wonderful thing—when it’s not happening to you.

SPREADING THE WORD

I was at a party when I told my buddies that my cousin Rob had proposed to his girlfriend at the finish line of the New York City Marathon the previous week. The response was mixed. One friend said, “Proposed? I don’t even like sleeping in the same bed as my girlfriend.” Another remarked, “Girlfriend? I can’t remember the last time I banged the same chick twice.” And my personal favorite: “Marathon? I don’t even have a gym membership!”

If there’s one thing about getting engaged that seems really annoying to me, it’s not picking out the ring or planning the surprise or even the subsequent lifelong commitment—it’s telling everyone the news. I mean, obviously close family and best friends get a personal call. But what about everyone else? I’ve actually gotten most of my engagement news via text message. Which is fine, as long as you actually have the person in your phone book and don’t have to text back: “congrats! who is this?”

As with kicking game, however, texting always has the potential for miscommunication. One of my first friends to get engaged was my frat buddy Joey. We were trading text messages while he was out boozing in Miami, and then I didn’t hear from him for a few hours. When he finally messaged back, he wrote: “i’m engaged!” I responded: “lol! how drunk r u???” Turns out he wasn’t kidding.

Spreading the word via text is a slippery slope. When Triplet #1 proposed, he sent even his closest friends a mass text that simply read: “yo soy engaged.” Very classy. Then there’s the case of one of my fans in Boston who opted to inform his buddies he was getting engaged as part of a trade request on their fantasy football message board. The guys approved of his marriage proposal but rejected the trade.

THE RUSH

In 2003, I emceed a speed-dating event at a bar in Manhattan. (I’m still not sure if this was sadder for me or the participants.) Much later, I found out that two people who went to the event because they were fans of my column met each other there and got married less than two years later. Besides feeling dirty for enabling this union (though the pay was pretty good), I couldn’t help but wonder, what’s the rush? How do you go from just meeting someone to walking down the aisle in twenty-two months? I’ve never even
dated
someone that long.

Of course, not everyone is in such a rush. Most people have that one friend who’s been dating a chick for like eight years but refuses to even discuss the possibility of marriage. I love provoking these guys because they always overreact. I’ll say, “So, hear about Joey? I guess you’re next, huh?” And he responds, “Whoa, whoa, whoa, not even close! I’m not even thinking of considering even maybe getting engaged! Possibly a few years from now. I want to take it slow. Very slow. Really, really slow. Like unnecessarily, painfully protracted, drawn-out slow—that’s the kind of slow I’m looking for.”

But as much as I like prodding my hesitant friend about when he’s going to propose, I love hanging out with his girlfriend even more, especially if she’s the only one among the couples we’re with who’s not engaged or married. I always feel a sense of camaraderie with her. She’ll ask, “What’s new, Karo?” And I’m like, “Not much. You?” And, surrounded by others’ wedding bling, she sighs, “Nothing.” And then we both get drunk, secure in the knowledge that neither of us is getting hitched any time soon.

In the end, though, I believe marriage is the great equalizer. You have to understand, ladies, our entire lives since puberty have been predicated on waiting for you. Guys are always ready to hook up, but we don’t get any unless one of you decides “the time is right.” But when a guy is thinking about proposing, that’s the first, last, and only time he holds all the cards. My, my, my, how the tables have turned. If I had a girlfriend I was thinking about proposing to, I would relish it for as long as possible. I’d buy a ring and then wear it on my cock. And then get a tattoo that read: “Ain’t payback a bitch?”

At the beginning of 2007, Brian and I made a wager. We created a spreadsheet in which we guessed when each of our four friends then in serious relationships would get engaged during the year. Whoever was more accurate would be taken out to dinner by the other. If wagering on the romantic relationships of our friends seems absurd, perhaps even offensive, then I’m willing to bet you’re in a relationship yourself, or you’re my mom. The fact is, those of us not in the race because we’re not getting married soon (me) or because we’ve already been eliminated (Brian) really have no moral qualms about it. And if you’re gonna be in such a rush to propose, the least you could do is time the most important decision of your life around the indiscriminate date I’ve chosen for you.

THE INVITATION

I always know that wedding season is right around the corner when people begin asking for my mailing address. That can only mean that invitations are on the way. For the past five years, besides wedding invitations, the only use anyone has had for my physical address has been the occasional pre-game at my apartment. Of course, sending my address out then didn’t prevent the twenty drunken phone calls from friends that night asking, “Yo Karo, where the fuck do you live again?”

My frat buddy Jay sent out wedding invitations that actually had a typo. He and his fianceé had to send corrections with the right date. I wasn’t able to attend but I saved the invite just in case it’s worth something one day—like a baseball error card. Still, that didn’t compare to when I got my college girlfriend’s wedding invitation in the mail a few years ago. She was getting married to another guy from my fraternity. I knew she was engaged, of course, but seeing the actual invitation kind of freaked me out. I mean, that could’ve been me. And there’s no way I would have picked such nice calligraphy.

When Brian was getting married, he suggested to Blake that they put an email address on their wedding invitations in order to save money by not using reply cards. The idea was met by quiet sobbing and quickly quashed. I don’t know why guys even try to participate in the wedding planning process. Of all the “Save the Date” notices on my refrigerator, my favorites are the ones that feature a picture of the happy couple, because I like to imagine what the conversation was like that led them to include that photo on the card. I usually envision the girl looking lovingly into her fiancé’s eyes and saying, “Honey, we’re gonna take a picture in which I look beautiful and you look awkward, send it to everyone we know, and you have absolutely no say in the matter.”

The four most important components of the wedding planning process are: when to hold the event, where, how many people to invite, and who. Let’s get one thing out of the way right off the bat: unless you’re only inviting like fifty people, if you have your wedding out of the country or on New Year’s Eve, you’re an asshole. Plain and simple. Who to invite is a touchier subject. I love when people complain to me that a friend hasn’t invited them with a “plus one.” I believe the correct terminology is “guest.” You’re not on the list at a fucking nightclub.

If you were born in the summer, like me, you’ve probably already prepared yourself for a lifetime of disappointment. No cupcakes in elementary school. No parties in your honor in college. And now, even the best-laid birthday plans are constantly disrupted by a never-ending string of engagement parties and weddings. Honestly, all I want for my birthday this year is to have been born in March.

THE REGISTRY

The wedding registry combines one of my favorite things—online shopping—with one of my least favorite things—buying overpriced gifts for people making poor decisions. I almost always buy alcohol-related items (or “barware,” as those fancy fucks at Williams-Sonoma call it). The way I figure it, that’s the only way I’ll be able to partake in my friends’ usage of the gift. Of course, I’ve never actually drunk anything from a flute or carafe. But I figure as long as there’s an opening at one end, the beer will know where to go.

To some, the wedding registry is merely an opportunity to say, “I like you guys this-many-napkin-rings much.” I, for one, still get insulted when I buy something from an online registry, but the address where the gift is headed is blocked out for “privacy concerns.” Listen, if I’m giving you something called “stemware,” I want to know exactly what apartment it will never be used in.

Oftentimes I’ll give the couple a gift but get a thank you card written only by the wife, whom I’m barely friends with. And it’s always written in really neat, girly handwriting that barely conceals the fact that she fucking hates me. It will usually imply something along the lines of: “Dear Karo, Thank you for being a part of our wedding and not vomiting until after the ceremony. We really appreciate the shotglasses as well as three of the four napkin rings we registered for. Also, thank you for organizing the bachelor party for Ted. By the way, he admitted you paid for him to get a hand job from a stripper, and I’ve forgiven him. Just wanted to let you know that when we have kids, you’re not allowed anywhere near them.”

FOOLS OF ENGAGEMENT

Once I received a voicemail asking me to call the local courthouse and confirm my appointment for a marriage license. Given the fact that when I listened to said voicemail, I was in bed next to a girl whose last name I did not know, I was pretty sure it was a wrong number. Being the Good Samaritan that I am, though, I called up and explained the mistake. Consequently, somewhere out there is a couple whom I assisted, albeit indirectly, in getting married without complication. There are days when I regret my decision to help out, for one simple reason: engaged people during the run-up to their wedding are some of the most insufferable humans on earth.

Guys, if you’re engaged and sitting around with a bunch of single dudes swapping hook-up stories, don’t chime in like, “I had the best sex last week.” I don’t care if you banged her in the ass on one of those swings they advertise in the back of
Maxim-
no one wants to hear about you fucking your fiancée.

Engaged women, on the other hand, are always running around chirping,
“Oh my God,
everyone is
so
excited for the wedding!” Sorry, but that’s just not true. Not everyone is excited for your wedding. I mean, your alcoholic uncle is excited for the open bar. But the chicks from your sorority who don’t even really like you aren’t excited. The people who have to spend five hundred dollars for a plane ticket to fly in from out of town—only to stay in the hotel where you’ve arranged for “special rates” so outrageous I can’t imagine what the regular rates are—certainly aren’t excited.