I typically don’t like going places that take longer than 30 minutes to get to. Because of me my wife is forced to accept this way of life into her own; poor girl. This way of life comes from a combination of ‘been there, done that’ and tiredness. I’m always tired, and I’ve visited enough sights and heard enough sounds that there’s not much out there that interests me. Here are some things that may seem “fun” for most, but for me they are a nuisance.
It may be fun for some people to spend $5,000 to stare at things for a week, but I prefer spending my vacation at home, and it really has nothing to do with money. It’s those damn flights.
Waiting in airport lines for hours, getting frisked by a TSA agent and not getting paid for the cheap feels, sitting through a bumpy, terrifying flight through the wind and clouds—that takes the entire fun out of my week because wherever I am—France, Italy, or England—I’ll be thinking about that horrible airport experience that I have to go through on the way back!
I need virtual reality vacations immediately! If I want to visit Le Louvre in France, then I shouldn’t have to go to Logan Airport to get there. I should only have to go to my living room!
I’m nearing my mid-30s and I’m not a single asshole on the prey anymore. And even if I were, I’d realize by now that the bars and clubs weren’t meant for 5 foot 5 hairy, Jewish men. That’s what Tinder and Jdate are for; where, with a little Photoshop work, you can look like you’re six feet tall and handsome.
I don’t like going out because we end up in the same place where we began: at home. And when we’re out, the point is to eat, drink, and socialize… all things we could have done for one-fifth of the cost back at home… But again, this has little to do with money. It’s the whole logic of it all. There are more things to do at an apartment or house than a bar or club.
You can’t just waltz around a restaurant like you can your house. Imagine if instead of asking the waiter for another beer you just walked behind the bar yourself and snapped a bottle open… you’d get tossed from the place immediately, or at least warned. Because of that, and because it takes the waiter 15 minutes to get your beer in the first place, I prefer eating at my place or a friend’s.
I don’t get these people who watch six hours straight of the same show. The only time I’ve ever binge-watched was for Making a Murderer, the documentary about Steven Avery. And even then I didn’t watch so many in a row that you could call it “binging.” I’d watch three at a time.
I don’t know. Maybe I don’t have the attention span to watch TV six straight hours, or maybe I have more important things to do than those people, like play video games for six straight hours.
Side note: Anyone notice that movies are getting good again? 2016 was a great year with Fences, Lion, Moonlight, Manchester by the Sea, and… actually NO, I will not mention La La Land because I don’t do musicals. I get it. I get it. Grease, Sound of Music, and all that crap are classics. It’s just not my thing to watch people dance and sing on TV, unless it’s Beyoncé on mute while she’s turned around.
Summer approaches and I know my wife will want to do this at least once a month. But I don’t get it. You’re literally just SITTING and doing NOTHING! ABSOLUTELY NOTHING! I do like the weather, but my body needs to move. And that’s exactly what I do when we go to the beach. I sit there for the first thirty minutes and read. Then I jump in the water for a few minutes, take a piss, and then look around for a girl to stare at while my wife is asleep on the shore. And then I come back next to my wife and I’m absolutely bored. That’s right… 45 minutes and I can’t stand the beach anymore. So I usually go for a two mile jog, which feels more like a three mile jog because of the sand and brutal sun. That kills another 20 minutes, and now we’re at an hour.
I’m back, sweaty, and next to my wife again and ask her, “So how much longer do you want to stay?”
“We just got here!” she says. “Sit back and relax for a couple hours.”
A COUPLE HOURS?! I can’t relax that long!
Sports games, concerts, comedians… whatever overrated event the stadium hosts I will usually say no, unless two of the following are true:
My friend asked me, “Do you wanna go to the game this Tuesday?! I got free tickets”
I said, “FUCK NO! I have WORK the next morning!” How do these people have the nerve to show up to their boss the next day on four hours of sleep? I don’t get it.
I can’t stand the traffic. What should be a 45-minute drive to the stadium turns into a 2-hour ordeal. I can’t stand the commercial breaks. There’s a commercial break every five minutes, during which if I want another beer I have to hope the usher is nearby or wait in line for 20 minutes. I can’t stand halftime. Either you sit there and watch the halftime show, which is a group of uncoordinated ten-year-olds playing against each other on the court, or it’s those stupid trampoline dunking guys. And I actually think the stupid trampoline dunking guys are impressive, but I can’t bear to watch because I’m worried they’ll get injured. I can’t stand the bathrooms. Every time I enter the men’s room it feels like I’m inhaling STDs.
Watching a game is better at home because the nacho-maker (also known as the wife) is right there for you, the beer-fetcher (the wife) is right there, the clean bathroom is right there, and nobody gets mad at you for standing up.
And if it’s a concert…? Why would I go? The music ALWAYS sounds better on my iPhone.
“Wanna go see The Black Keys at the Boston Garden?”
You idiots! Let’s just go to my place, throw a party, and blast the speakers! By going to a concert you’re literally paying $100 for two hours of music. It costs $20 to download that same album, and you can play it as many times as you want at home!
What is with these concert goers?!
Aside from hating the nightlife to begin with, all I want to do for my birthday is play video games. But my wife doesn’t let me do that. So even though it’s my birthday I’m supposed to do what my wife wants.
“WE ARE GOING OUT FOR YOUR BIRTHDAY!” she barks.
“Okay, okay. So where are we going?”
Great! I think to myself. At least I can choose where we go.
“KFC?” I ask.
“No,” she says.
“An arcade with a pizza place?”
“No… You know what?” my wife says. “You’re bad at choosing. I’m going to make reservations for an Italian restaurant.”
So there we go, out for my birthday that I didn’t want to leave my house for, to a restaurant I didn’t want to go to.
Now do you see why these things aren’t really that fun?