Time for a status check: My throat hurts, my body is run down and my nose is running like a fat girl chasing an ice cream truck.
I'm sick and that means that my usually upbeat, pleasant demeanor goes right down the crappy. So count this as a warning, until my health improves, just go with the assumption that I don't like you.
Pretend you slept with my sister or accidentally ran over my dog and avoid me.
Now, normally, I am not a fan of drugs. Wait, I'm not a fan of prescript ... no, that's not right. I'm not a fan of cold medicines.
I don't take drugs for headaches, I don't like antibiotics and I usually try to fix myself naturally.
But whatever it is that I got, it's a bitch and has forced me to pop pills like I'm in line for a Prodigy concert.
So since I'm doped up, I figured I would take this opportunity to answer some of the mail that has been sent to me over the past year.
That turned out to be a bust because despite the fact that I receive, on average, 3-5 e-mails a week, most of them have either been answered in a previous column, tell me to do something not allowed in most states or simply refer to me as a (bleep) noun.
(Bleep) head, (bleep) face, (bleep) hole and my personal favorite " (bleeping) maggot.
Who said people aren't inherently good?
So after sorting through all that mail and receiving the vaccine after opening that one package, I could find only one letter fit to print.
Dear (bleep) sack,
After reading the column about meeting Kate's parents, I have to know when you will be popping the question.
Signed, curious reader.
You know, I have had several versions of this question asked to me in the last several days " all of which evoke a reaction in me similar to vertigo.
They ask. I get dizzy. They ask again thinking I didn't hear them. I pass out.
"So Jarid, are there wedding bells in your future?"
No, but there's an emergency room in yours.
"Did you go to Pennsylvania because you had an important question to ask?"
Yeah, how much to make the curious jackass "disappear?"
"Hey Jarid, when's the big day?"
Depends on how long it takes the poison to get into your bloodstream.
However, when you write a column that decries marriage and rails against the emasculation matrimony brings, you expect a little ribbing when you find a girl you don't have to pay to hang out with you.
But there is a line.
Earlier this week, Kate and I were driving home and talking about all the people who kept asking me if we were getting engaged. She laughs and tells me that her boss jumped to a much different conclusion.
He asked her if she was expecting.
When I regained consciousness, Kate was holding the steering wheel and screaming for me to wake up " just like the psychic described how I would die.
In fact, just talking about it now is making me dizzy, I mean if she's p-p-pregnant that means that ... I'm ... **p=-l;asldjf ;asdf ;lsadnj ;sdfs;dfk;aslz;; lslnkdddddddddd dddddddddddddddddddddddd
Oh, sorry, head hit the keyboard when I blacked out there for a second. What were we talking about?
I'm beginning to think that people can't wait until I "give in" or "breakdown" or "surrender" " if you will " and get engaged. Not because they are happy for me, but because they imagine that shining moment when they can walk up to me, slap me on the back and tell me how they, "knew I'd come around" or "what happened to not getting married?"
I know there are people waiting for it to happen, but I got news for you " the only ring I'm giving Kate in the near future is the kind British people use to mean "Call me."
So, to answer the questions " no engagement and definitely no b-b-bab ... ;asdkfn;dsajfk;lksd f;lsdhf;lkashd
Dammit, why does that keep happening?
If you have a question you'd like me to answer, send me an e-mail or tell me about it.