Seven More Reasons I Should Be Single

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My wonderful girlfriend and I are coming up on our one-year anniversary next week. It’s been a year of fun, difficulties, and many, many examples of why she has horrible taste in guys. I wrote a column about six months ago detailing all the different reasons she should have broken up with me by now, and in the months since then, I’ve added some more. I’m nothing if not consistent. Here are a few more reasons that any non-angelic girl would have already left my ass.

1. I’m not 100% sure when our anniversary is.

This is a fairly serious and time-sensitive issue. Like I said, I know it’s next week sometime, but I can’t for the life of me remember the exact date. A few months ago, we had a discussion regarding what exact date we were going to use, and agreed on the day of our first date. We also took a look at the calendar and figured out exactly when that was. You’d think this would be something I should have paid close attention to, but there was a football game on the TV, and I remember thinking that I had months to sit down with a calendar and work it out again.

Well, those months have passed, and like most things in my life, I procrastinated heavily. She’s been hinting about our anniversary plans for the past week, and I think at this point I have to wing it. I’m just going to pick a random day, and if she says it’s wrong, try and convince her that she’s the one who forgot the correct day. There’s a good chance she gets me a breakup for our anniversary.

2. I absolutely refuse to go running with her.

My stance on running has been well documented. I hate it, I think it’s boring, and I hate it. My girlfriend, on the other hand, runs all the time. In the year we’ve been together, she’s been almost always in training for a half or full marathon, and for some reason (she loves me/thinks I’m fat/gets off on seeing me in pain), she always asks me to run with her. I have entertained the idea zero times. I’m perfectly content with my cardio coming exclusively from rec sports and sex, and I know for a fact her attraction to me would drop several points if she saw what I looked like when I run. Hard pass. I do support her runs with handmade posters, though. I held one that said, “My arms are tired, run faster,” at the Columbus Marathon and I’m thinking about making a “Congrats on losing the baby weight” one for the Pittsburgh Half this weekend. I’m sure she’ll enjoy that.

3. I can’t stop surprising her with Malort shots.

Malort is the devil’s alcohol. It tastes like the civil war. It’s the shot equivalent of getting teabagged. Every time someone drinks it, a puppy dies. Needless to say, I love it. My girlfriend (and the rest of the world) hate it, which just makes it funnier every time I buy rounds of whiskey shots with one Malort surprise hidden within. I’m pretty sure she’s developed alcohol-related PTSD at this point, and now sniffs every drink I buy her. The last time I tricked her, she slapped me full in the face, and all my friends gave her high-fives. Seems fair.

4. I steal all of her shirts.

Look, it’s not my fault that she has dope t-shirts and tank tops, and for whatever reason, she bought them all several sizes too big. I made the foolish mistake of handing down all my Greek life shirts to younger members of my fraternity when I graduated, and now I’m severely lacking in the workout shirt department. I’ve been making up for this mistake by regularly requesting a shirt of hers to “wear to bed,” and then taking that shit in the morning (a tactic that’s been used on me many a time). So far, I’ve snagged two bar shirts and two Kappa tanks, none of which she’s getting them back. In all fairness, she does have four of my hoodies in her possession so both of us have sustained wardrobe losses.

5. I peer pressure her into drinking on weeknights.

Working at a bar has completely demolished my perception of “appropriate times to drink.” I work weekends and nights, which means that sometimes Tuesday night is my Friday night, and I sure as hell am going to drink like it. But not alone, of course. Whether it’s a date night that goes off the rails, polishing off some bottles of wine together at home, or just straight up going to the bars, I’m usually successful in convincing her to get drunk with me on weeknights. Then at 7 a.m. the next day her alarm goes off, and I get to sleep for six more hours. I don’t know why she hasn’t kicked me out of the house when she leaves in the morning as payback, but I’m glad.

6. I got in a heated argument with her about whether or not taquitos are tasty.

Last night, after about ten hours of drinking, she had a moment of drunken honesty and admitted that the frozen taquitos I had in the fridge were not her favorite. I, being the level-headed, understanding boyfriend that I am, lost. my fucking. mind. What should have been, at worst, a minor disagreement, escalated into a screaming match with tears and one of us sleeping on the couch. We’ve since made up, but frozen Mexican cuisine is still a real hot-button topic in our relationship. Taco Tuesday has been suspended until further notice.

7. I reply to her nudes with a GIF.

A couple years ago, I lost a bet and was forced to shave my beard into a mustache and keep it until I successfully picked up a girl with it. Two days, many rejections, and one below-average conquest later, I was finally permitted to shave my child-predator-looking face, but not before I had the smart idea to save pictorial evidence of it. I created a GIF of me winking suggestively and stroking my disgusting mustache. It’s horribly creepy, and everyone I’ve sent it to has responded with a mixture of fear and anger. Of course, when my girlfriend decides to brighten my day with nudes, I respond with this horrifying GIF. She hates it, and has threatened to stop sending me pictures, but I just can’t stop. I’m addicted to sending this GIF out. If it’s the last straw that ends my relationship, so be it.

The next time you complain about your significant other, remember that it could be worse. You could be dating me. By the way, our anniversary dinner is going to consist of taquitos. .

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Nick Arcadia

The opposite of a life coach. Email or DM me if you want some bad advice: nickarcadiapgp@gmail.com

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