Where's the tequila in this ride, and whose ass is this?

I didn't believe most of what my mother told me when I was growing up. At about thirty, I finally conceded to "you're going to have to do a lot of things you don't want to do!" which still rings in my head when I don't want to do something, like go to work on Monday, mop, and be nice to assholes.
This shit, however, I did not see coming. I no longer lose two pounds by walking across the room. In fact, I just dropped off my first of probably many pairs of pants to be let fucking OUT. What the hell? My ass has grown, I go to bed at 11, I don't drink,and I actually caught myself saying "stupid fucking kids" about some teenagers the other day. Really, though, what is the point of a car stereo louder than a jet? Ignorant brats are going to wish they could hear when they're fat and deaf in a nursing home. See what I call them then, and they won't even know it, because they'll be DEAF.
It hit me the other night. There I was, driving down the road coming home at 10 with my girlfriend, whose ring I wear, after dinner with a married couple we're friends with. Suddenly, my 21 year old self appeared in the back seat and asked why I was gong home if there was no party there and where, for god's sake, is the tequila in this ride? And I saw myself through the eyes of me at 21 - mowing the yard, comparing refinance options, telling hot chicks IN MY DREAMS for god's sake that I have a girlfriend and can't go home with them, riding my bike to yoga class, using coupons. What time will do to a person.
So how will old age look? Fat and cranky? Shaking my cane at kids and chasing dogs out of my tomato garden? As long as I'm not in a nursing home, man, I guess it will be OK - cause those places usually smell.

Love and boobies

Here's what I don't understand: people who just don't get mad. Don't get me wrong, I'm honestly pretty laid back and don't rant nearly so much in real life as here. I don't think. Maybe I do. You should ask somebody else, alright??? Quit bothering me! Anyway my girlfriend is one of those people. She said I can't give her an asinine nickname on here though, which people apparently do on their blogs, so maybe I should try that, but that probably wouldn't work either, unless I called her something like Booty Call or Bigfoot or Goddamit, Can You Clean Something? or whatever, which would be inaccurate and totally inappropriate - though funny, which excuses inappropriateness to me almost 100% of the time. Anyway, back to my girl's temper or lack thereof; she/we are currently facing some homophobia in her family and she's sad and I am absolutely fucking astounded she isn't totally pissed. I'm pissed. Fuck that. What the fuck year is this? Too bad this is her family because otherwise, I'd be totally doing some ass kicking right now for even trying to talk to her this way. So there. Or at least getting ready to sue somebody - I mean what is a law degree but a big ass bat turned into an expensive pen?

Besides, just because I got boobies and their dream partner would have a hairy ass doesn't mean she didn't get the better end of the deal. Would it really be better if she were with some smelly, hairy, beer slugging high school dropout who scratches his ass and leaves his socks on the floor? I mean, I graduated from college and shave. And besides, I'm nice to her and totally cute. I bet if she were with Motorcycle Mike the magic mess maker she'd develop a temper, though. But she'll just have to learn to get pissed off on her own, man, these boobies are stickin' around. 'Cause that's love, baby, tempers, dirty socks and all.

today's news: committment catches up with law student; love finds a procedure

So, my girlfriend and I are trying to refinance my house together. Yes, I'm making a huge committment. Shutup. I'm trying not to think about it too much before I run screaming in fear to somewhere stupid, like the drunken arms of some cute girl in another state. This is the kind of thing that is by no means romantic, or sexy, or fun really, but says a lot about your day to day committment to a relationship - which, in its own way is really romantic. The lender tried to tell me she'd have to be on the deed for six months first, but did not realize they were fucking with a law student who has an internship at an all gay firm. I called back two hours later and said I had reasearched the law, they were wrong about it, I had three other lenders ready to do what I wanted and they could put my girl on the deed or I'd take my business elsewhere. Needless to say now she's going on there. Dammit, I might be terrified of committment but it won't be some banker telling me I can't make one.

I don't know why committment scares me so much. In the past I've always chosen crazy women because then I could play at being in love but know there was an "out" door and it was just a matter of time. Yes, I figured that out in therapy. Again, shut up. Anyway, this time I have somehow managed to get into something all healthy and great and sexy and easy with someone who thinks I'm smart and funny and beautiful. I swear it was an accident.

I'm happy, don't get me wrong, and grateful, I'm just scared shitless. Now I don't have an excuse for running away and I don't really want to and it's, well, kind of weird. I have to show up and put up or live the rest of my life kicking myself for being a stupid asshole. She's patient, and that's a good thing. And I've developed the ability to not throw up when making a major relationship move comes up, which is also good, because that's just not conducive to having a mature conversation. And dammit I love her, enough to fight a banker apparently, and to quit throwing up, and to sign things and write poems and plant stuff and check her cat's ass for worms. What has happened to me? Unfortunately for her she doesn't realize yet the unspoken cost of living with a lawyer: we will argue, I will win, you will pay. Maybe it's her who should be afraid. In the meantime, ain't love grand?