In Eleven Days I'll be 28

In two years and eleven days I'll be thirty.

My sister and I are the only members of the extended not to have kids yet. Most of my cousins have children. All of these children are loud filthy brats, raised by parents wholly incompetent in running their own lives. Only my Uncle Tom's younger ones don't have kids yet, but they are just turning twenty, and they were raised in California and Maryland. They don't have that North Platte weirdness and dirtyness about them. At any rate they will probably get married younger than I will.

My mom will often-mention my still-single status in a half-joking manner. I feel like a good comeback would be to say "oh sure Ma, isn't it a shame I didn't knock up some girl when I was a college dropout so that now you could be grandmother to a brood of vile, disease-ridden, vaguely mammaloid creatures just like Aunt Sue." Half-joking of course.

My mind turns to Ann Coulter and Bill Maher, two undeniably amusing moral degenerates who've been rumored to be dating each other several times. They both insist that they've never been dating, and of course they haven't been. They're both middle-aged and confirmed bachelors after all, why would they bother to form an official pair?

There's a strong likelihood that they've been fucking though. Sex more angry, bitter and intense than anything that those too cowardly to let loose the bonds of convention and sanity could ever imagine. Any unfortunate outsider who walks in on Coulter and Maher would surely pray for blindness before losing faith in a benevolent god altogether. But for them it is probably as visceral an experience as anything they had in their twenties, and they are satisfied.

I mention this because, well I guess it's an option for me, albeit a last resort. I do think that it would be much better for me if I found a woman I loved and settled down. And at any rate my older sister is childless, so there's that.