**Hey kids, it's time to vote for the 2010 Black Weblog Awards. Go vote Blackie Collins as The Blog To Watch (too bad they don't have a category for your favorite bitch of all time). It's easy! Just go to this link and nominate B by putting in http://thatbitchstolemyline.com in the proper categories, especially Blog to Watch. Don't let these b*tches steal our award!!**
When you were little, you and your best friend, Billy played in the backyard. You played tag, red light/green light, and whatever other game you could make up as the sun went down and lightning bugs came out. Life happened and before you knew it, you and Billy were in high school together, vowing to go off to the same college, or at the very least, within driving difference. A few years pass and you and Billy are in the ever-loved mid-twenties. Perhaps you've moved to the big city together, dating is a disaster, but your friendship is still as present as a porch light left on in the summertime. One night, over an empty bottle of wine, you and Billy lament the wild world of relationships, you worry that love will never come your way. So you and Billy decide if neither of you have found love by 30, which seems like eons away from 23, you'll marry each other.
The good old marriage pact.
For some reason, friends feel the need to give up on finding love at the burning old age of thirty, and marry their female or male best friend just to procreate and not die alone. I remember making this pact with my male best friend, CJ, years ago. CJ had no problem with girls, he was just picky and grew bored easily. I had my share of boyfriends, but due in large part to my obsession with bad boys, I was convinced all guys were furry four legged creatures. We were best friends, had a healthy attraction to each other, and judged the hell out of every boyfriend or girlfriend we had respectively. Our age limit was forty. I wasn't crazy about kids (still am not), nor was CJ, but we both wanted to travel and enjoy life with a mate, so why not your best friend who happened to strike out at marital bliss the regular way: through fate.
Here are three reasons the marriage pact is bogus:
1. The deal breaker. What if you enter into this relationship, decide to go ahead and get married to your pact buddy, only to meet the man/woman of your dreams two weeks later. Don't you deserve a shot at happiness? At true love? So now what? You divorce your bff, leave him/her high and dry, break the pact, lose your friend all in the name of love? The divorce rate is about 873% so that's a high price to pay for something that might not last beyond the early gaga days, but hey, what's another divorce after you've broken the pact with your best friend anyway.
2. It's just so depressing. I can't imagine what it feels like to wake up every day next to the guy who was your back up plan should no one on earth want to marry you. That alone is horrifying, but I'll go ahead an add in the lack of sexual chemistry, the love you like a brother/sister vibe, and the impossible friend zone that you can't get him out of. I know all relationships are based on friendship, but something tells me this isn't what the author of that statement meant. Think of that time Meredith Grey slept with the gay-now-dead-doctor on Grey's Anatomy. Awkward, party of two, your table is ready.
3. There's a reason you two weren't together in the first place. I doubt getting married will cure that.
Just have some patience. God didn't make the world in 32 seconds. Rome wasn't built in a day. We had no idea what was happening on Lost until the final season. Maybe if you stop counting down the days to your age limit birthday, you'd actually live a happier life and attract a person or two. You aren't Cinderella, you won't turn into an old, undesirable hag at midnight, so just relax. Despite popular belief, your Prince Charming might still be out there, and you won't need a marital death sentence to forge that union.
I'm sure you have an opinion...or maybe you have a marriage pact that you plan on honoring. Hit it in the comments section, kids.
That bitch stole my line,