I Might Get Married. I Might Buy a Cow.

I might get married this year.

But don’t go planning the Twitter bachelorette party just yet, it’s still a pretty big might. I’ve been engaged for nearly nine years, but for the first time in that span, me and the Dude I Share A Bathroom With are actually talking about making it official.

When people find out that me and DISABW have been doing the marriage tango for as long as we have, they usually jump to the conclusion that something is wrong with our relationship, that we are commitment-phobes waiting to throw in the towel at the first sign of trouble. Those people are usually on their third marriage. They’re also assholes.

Let me clear some things up, I’m not against the institution of marriage. It seems cool enough—tax breaks, monogram towels, the chicken dance. I’m not mad at it. In fact, I’m extremely vocal about my support of marriage equality. I think everyone is entitled to legally bind themselves to someone forever (except for that creepy guy with like seven wives, he should be uninvited to the marriage party), but there’s always been a part of me that’s a little uneasy with the whole “until death do us part” thing.

Death? Fuck, that’s pretty permanent. What if he starts doing meth, can I leave then? Or worse, starts voting Republican, can I throw up the deuces without giving him half of my shit? 

I think the main problem is that I’ve always assumed people are untrustworthy, probably because my parents used to do a ton of smack when I was a kid—but I’m working on that with a trained therapist and a pint of Ben and Jerry’s. But that fear of permanence is still there, and it’s just something I have to get over in my own time. 

But besides the fact that marriage is super weird and scary, can we can talk about the real problem? White washes me out, y’all. I tend to look more radiant in a jewel tone. And I don't think people who talk about dicks on the internet can even legally buy a white wedding dress. It's one of those old laws like not being able to own more than six dildos in Texas.

Plus weddings are stupid expensive. I don’t want to feed my second cousin steak because I tied myself to one penis until the end of time. How is that fair? Shouldn’t we at least go dutch for my random sex funeral, BYOB, something?! Also, I don’t like wedding food. I like burritos. I will only get married if we can all eat cheap, questionable Mexican food afterwards, deal? 

More issues: I like my last name—Allison Wilson is not happening. I don’t want people to immediately start asking when I’m getting knocked up. I’m not even sure I like kids. I want to still be able to dance to the song Single Ladies. I have no need for two waffle makers, can’t I just register for a new ukulele? Most of my family are raging alcoholics and getting them together with an open bar is going to end with me crying on COPS. 

But with this ever-growing list of marriage drawbacks freaking me out on the regular, I can’t stop myself from watching shows like Say Yes to the Dress, mainly because I enjoy saying things like “that seems reasonable” to a $10,000 dress, while my boyfriend silently has an anxiety attack next to me, but also because all the cons don’t quite measure up to the one big pro. 

I kinda want to marry him. 

LAME, I know. But even so, I can’t help but think it would be nice to make the big commitment with this man who has put up with me for the last decade. So maybe this will be the year after all, and I'll become an honest woman and we can buy a cow or some milk or something. 

Cows are pretty cute. I wonder if I can register for one of them? A cow, a ukulele, six dildos, and zero waffle makers.

God, I'm going to be a great wife. 

Reasons I Suck so Hard at Blogging.

I suck at blogging.

I write with zero regularity because, you know, naps. I talk about dicks and sex and politics which is bound to alienate a good portion of readers. My social networking presence also leaves something to be desired, once again, naps.

But those aren't the reasons I'm never going to be considered a "good" blogger.

If you've read any of the "How to get Fuck Me Famous Blogging and Never Have to Make Another Cup of Coffee Ever Again" articles, then you probably know they suggest bloggers have a niche, something that ties all the nonsensical ramblings to a specific topic, i.e. motherhood, fashion, cats, etc.

But left out of that group are bloggers who talk about making coffee and watching TLC and porn (occasionally at the same time), which is too bad because I would corner that market. When it comes to tried-and-true blogging genres, I've got nothing to offer.

Dating Blogs: I don't bang random dudes. Not because I don't want to, but my boyfriend won't let me and that jerk knows the wifi password. My blog's not going to be like Sex and the City, where I talk about strapping on a pair of $600 stilts and having some rando I met at Whole Foods give me his half-assed version of a pelvic exam. Nope, just Matt playing Grand Theft Auto V and me trying to figure out the wifi password.

Mommy Blogs: I don't have a baby. Nor do I intend to any time in the near future. To be honest, I'm not ever sure if I can. My mom's uterus supposedly looks like uncooked Top Ramen or something, and I've been having unprotected sex for like a decade--and nothing. Thank God. Don't get me wrong, I like kids, but I'm pretty sure I'm unfit to have my own. Just the other day I bought a Nerf gun because I thought, "I'm gonna fuck with the dog." Anyway, if I did pop a couple little assholes out, my boyfriend would just end up raising them and they'd call me by my first name. It'd get confusing at parent/teacher conferences.

Wedding/Marriage Blogs: I'm gonna let y'all in on a little secret, I've been engaged since Myspace was a thing. When's our wedding date? We don't have one. Why? Because you have to plan that shit out. And pay for it! When Matt asked me to marry him I called him a bastard. That story isn't Pinterest appropriate. And I'm not a big fan of weddings. I like my last name. And white, come on, who am I trying to fool? Plus, all of my family consists of horrible drunks who hate each other, and I've made it 27 years without being featured on COPS, so why start now?

Fashion/Beauty Blogs: I'm not fashionable. I wear flip flops everyday. And most of my clothes are stretchy and have salsa stains on them. I already tricked a dude into loving me, what's the point of hoisting my tits up my shoulders on the regular? There is none. I like pajamas. Disgusting pajamas. My mom recently offered to buy me a pair of "flattering pjs", because she's concerned I'm never going to give her grandkids. So unless people want to read about how to rock the same pair of sweatpants for 10 straight days, I think I'm out of luck.

Other things I'm not good at/won't be writing about: DIY anything. Fuck Pinterest. I'm not making a wine bottle rack using yarn, empty toilet paper rolls and glitter. I've got TV to watch. Health and Wellness. I like cookies. A LOT. And I'm already in therapy trying to figure out how to not eat my feelings, and it's not going all that well.

I also don't live in NYC or LA. My life is not glamorous. I work at a coffee shop and wear an apron everyday. I don't always write that consistently. I'm not interesting and most of my day involves Netflix and my couch. But I love that people may care, even if it's just a little, about the bullshit I put on here.

So fuck all the blogging guidelines. I just want to write and make some of you weirdos laugh. That's it.

Oh, and maybe a couple nice pairs of pajamas, so my mom can get off my case.