I just have to say that this tumblr proposal thing is… really quite something. It really is. It’s impressive. This is some ingenuity. Both on the part of the guy doing the proposing and also on the part of tumblr. I hope that Marissa Nystrom, whom we all now know intimately, appreciates it. It’s annoying, the obliterating it’s doing to my dash, but I don’t say that as being actually annoyed. I’m a cynic, a mean person, a soulless wretch, one doesn’t possess a romantic bone in his body nor ever conjured a single romantic notion involving another person in his entire life, but I’m honestly willing to put up with this for the sake of two other complete strangers’ happiness. That sounds like sarcasm, but it’s not meant to be. I firmly believe that I’ll die alone, unloved, probably poor also, maybe exiled somewhere just shitty, but I’m all for others finding love, romantic love, seemingly romantic lust, bliss, all that stuff. Good luck, kids.
But back to me…
Whenever I encounter these heavy and serious moments, these epic chances, those potent turning points, always in someone else’s life, of course, I often think about hypotheticals. Usually going in the other direction, usually depressing or dire.
For example, before tumblr made this guy’s dreams of e-harrassing his ladylove into exception his hand in debt and livable hatred, just imagine:
1. This was the day she had been working up the courage to finally come home and end it with this schlub. “Get the fuck out of my apartment, out of my life, out of my goddamn city!” she’d say, and she’s been practicing the words and the rage for weeks now. She’s said it in every mirror, every reflective surface that she could, steeling herself for this moment: her liberation after years of wasted confusion and misplaced affection and just so so physical coupling. “Also,” she’d say, taking back her individuality, “I’m defriending you off of every social network I can.”
2. What if one of them has a terminal disease? Oh, that’d be wild. That’d be cold blooded on the universe’s part, right? But fuck me, that’d be some juicy shit.
3. Something involving a sex change, but I’m not quite sure what yet. But, you know, that possibility is just lurking out there, silent and deadly.
4. Remember that part in 2012 where Chiwetel Ejiofor discovers that their predictions about the catastrophic changes to the Earth are coming much faster than predicted? And he leans down in dreadful repose and utters to himself, “I thought we’d have more time!” So, you know, there’s these two kids in happily married bliss, happily ever after, out of the woods, and then UH OH! The Earth’s crust starts in with some weird shit. And the air turns poison. And Nic Cage outs himself as the Antichrist, not the biblical one, but the fun Antichrist. Oh, and then the fucking aliens show up.
Sorry, that’s the kind of places that my head goes to in these circumstances. Probably why I’ll die alone and unloved leaving behind only a trail of regretted missed opportunities in relationships and a long string of satisfied lovers? Maybe. Who knows. I’m not psychic or anything. Good luck, Marissa Nystrom and whats his name. Hopefully your happiness, in whatever form it takes, is just around the corner.
