In Case You Were Wondering, It's All About Me

A friend of mine got married on Saturday.

I am very proud of her.

My sister-in-law graduated from college on Sunday.

I am very proud of her.

I didn't like the officiant at my friend's wedding. You know why? Because most of what he did was talk about himself.

I didn't like the commencement speaker at my sister-in-law's graduation. You know why? Because most of what she did was talk about herself.

Love talking about yourself? Here's some acceptable outlets for that particular preference:

1.) Go to therapy.

Yes, it is expensive, and it sure takes forever to stop picturing your therapist naked and doing the mambo inside a gigantic parakeet cage, but you get to sit in a comfortable, climate-controlled room with lots of plants, inoffensive wall-art and talk about yourself until the bell dings! What could be better?

2.) Go on lots of job interviews.

Like telling balding men in Today's Man suits all about how wonderful you are? Take that resume to Staples and pound that pavement. You might not make a dent in that unemployment statistic, but, really, you're just in it to talk about yourself-- so what does it matter? As long as the water's still running, the lights are still on, and you're not reduced to eating cat food-- or the cat-- you'll be just fine. I think I hear H.R. calling!

3.) Go on lots of first dates.

Yeah, playa!

There's nothing in this world that's better than talking about yourself, unless it's talking about yourself while staring down unfamiliar cleavage! Now that's what's up! Not only do you get to talk about yourself endlessly on first dates, you get to make shit up, because, really, your date has no idea that you didn't win the big game in high school while doing push-ups with your dick and simultaneously rescuing an inchworm from certain death by a roving gang of carpenter ants.

4.) Get a blog.

Um, hello?

Look, I know the drill. I understand that even the most piteous of us creatures, with asthma and scoliosis and fucked up teeth and poor self-worth just want to talk about ourselves. And that's okay. But, really-- when you're marrying a couple, try your best to make it about them. You know, sketch out what you're going to say, and then, if you're a visual learner, make a fucking pie-chart.

If the piece of the pie that contains remarks about your own wedding and your own wife is appreciably larger than the slice of pie about the couple who is getting married, maybe it's time to take a fork and knife and eat some of your own fucking slice-- you know, slim that somebitch down a little. Nobody attending this wedding cares that you had a "non-traditional wedding" (what does that mean, exactly? Were you both in wetsuits and fright-wigs?), and I'm absolutely sure that nobody cares that you were married by your bartender.

You pathetic fucking lush.

And you, Ms. Commence-Speaker: shut up. Just shut up. I hate you. I would rather have listened to Miss Piggy sing Verdi oratorios.