Well, it’s official.  My run as one of the 50 Hottest Bachelors in America has come to an end.

Start collecting old clothes and blankets.  I’ve begun my descent on the slippery slope of desperation that will lead me to homelessness.  The good news is that I’m going to be an awesome homeless guy (bearded, perverted, no control of bladder, etc).  The bad news is that I’m not going to have a home.  Which sucks.   

I don’t know if I mentioned this to you guys, but last year I was named one of People magazine’s “50 Hottest Bachelors.”  If you don’t believe, you can go here.  Although don’t ask me to show you the magazine in person.  For some reason, I bought a total of two copies of the issue.  You know, not because it was a big deal or anything.

Today, the 2006 “Hottest Bachelors” issue was released and features such sexy men as Matthew McConaughey, Owen Wilson, Wentworth Miller, and Ryan Seacrest (apparently heterosexuality is not a requirement).   These men are undoubtedly hot.  And also bachelors.  I guess that’s all it fucking takes to get in the issue nowadays. 

Yet as I flipped through the pages, I realized that there was something more required.  There’s a little something extra that separates these guys from the estimated 60 million single men in America (I totally made this number up).  And that little something is: unattainability. 

These guys have not just looks, but also talent, money, and power.  This make them hot.  But what makes the most hot is that you can’t get them.  They are entirely out of your league.  Everywhere where they go, they are fawned over by woman and aggressive homosexual men.  They can literally have their pick of any woman they want.  And they don’t want you.  

But I do.  And this is why, without a doubt, I am the shittiest hottest bachelor ever.  If you email me a picture and you are halfway decent, I will come to you in a shirt of hair, with a bottle of cheap wine and some Taco Bell, and, after we chew some Juicy Fruit, we will have awkward (but unforgettable) sex on your living room couch.  You don’t even have to be halfway decent - just catch me on MySpace at the right time of night, live within cab distance of my apartment, and I am yours for the evening.  We can make memories together (and possibly slow and chubby babies). 

One year later, there is still no reasonable explanation why I was even in the magazine in the first place.  It was complete and blind luck.  Not only was I in the magazine, but I was actually the 8th ranked bachelor.  I know that the issue didn’t give rankings to the bachelors, but only eight of us got full page spreads (Colin Ferrell, Jake Gyllenhaal, Usher, Hayden Christensen, Jesse Metcalfe, John Stamos, Bradley Cooper, and, um, me).

You’re probably thinking to yourself, or perhaps even saying it out loud if no one else is around or you’re in the bathroom, “Well Jason, if you were, as you claim, the 8th ranked hottest bachelor in America last year, why aren’t you in the issue again this year?  Was there a particular incident or enormous weight gain that dropped you from 8 to 50+ [my last ranking was actually 74]?”

Well, actually, I was contacted by People again to be in this year’s issue.  Apparently, they were flooded with mail that said all sorts of positive things, like “Thanks for putting in Jason Mulgrew – he’s great” and “You guys know he once beat up a cop, right?  Or was it a priest?” and “What’s a blog?”

But I had to turn it down.  You see, now I am unattainable, but it’s because I’m not a bachelor.  Because [everybody shut up because here comes a big announcement] I am engaged.

Seriously. 

I’ve been keeping this from you for long enough, but it’s just getting silly.  I am engaged and am to be married next September. 

My fiancée’s name is Stacey.  And she is great.  That’s all I’ll say about her, because if there is one rule here at jasonmulgrew.com, it’s that the only person that can be dragged through the mud on this site is me.  Well, and Site Guy Brendan.  And a bunch of my ex-girlfriends.  And the blacks.  Sheesh, how could I have forgotten the blacks?

(And the poors.  Definitely the poors, too.)

Also, I don’t know why she agreed to marry me, but I would say that this agreement is tenuous at best.  I don’t want to give her any ammunition or reason to break up with me, since this is pretty much the only chance I have at sober procreation.

(See?  I think that might have even been too much.)

You’re probably surprised by this announcement and I don’t blame you.  I know I portray myself as constantly striking out with women, but c’mon – this blog has been going on for over two years.  Do you really think that I haven’t gotten laid in 28 months?  Really?  I mean, I know I’m bad, but I’m not that bad.  Hell, I was one of People’s 50 Hottest Bachelors last year!  So therefore it’s not my fault if you’re shocked by this, even though I’ve repeatedly fudged the truth, but your fault for being so naive (I even tried to lessen the blow for you with my last post about getting married).

I guess that I should tell you how Stacey and I met.  We’ve actually been friends for years, but only started dating about a year ago.  I met her when I moved to NYC; she had just moved as well.  I was working as a legal assistant at the law firm I currently work at (albeit in a different capacity), and she had started a job at a local restaurant.  This first time we met, at the restaurant, she was my server.  Shorlty after I saw her in her Ranch 1 uniform, I felt something like I never had before: a fire that started in the pit of my stomach and spread up to my mouth and through my whole body like a fever.  Turns out I had contracted dysentery from eating bad chicken, so it actually was a fever (and also severe pain and diarrhea). 

Feeling bad that she served me bad chicken, Stacey, which is not her real name but the name I call her by since I can’t pronounce her Mexico-type real name, came to vist me in the hospital.  She jerked me off.  I didn’t see her again for four years. 

Last year, I was on adultfriendfinder.com and answered an ad seeking guys for a gang bang.  Long story short, it was Stacey.  Since the gang bang - which was lovely - Stacey and I have been inseparable.  I took her and her son Sneakers (he is a little slow and only says “Sneakers” over and over again) out to dinner for Mother’s Day and proposed to her, right there in the parking lot of the 99.  She cried.  I cried.  Sneakers said something about sneakers.  It was magic.  We are going to be very, very happy together. 

So there you have it.  I am tired of living a lie and feel much better now that you all know and can share in my joy.  And you also know why I’m not in this year’s issue of the “50 Hottest Bachelors.”  I can no longer hide my love for Stacey.    

Of course, you will all be invited to the wedding.  Please save the date: September 19, 2007.  It’s a Wednesday, but it was the cheapest option.  We will be registered at Bed, Bath and Beyond, Crate & Barrel, and Subway.  More info to follow as it becomes available…