Horny, Lazy, Lonely

Why love’n’shit seems like a lot of work

a) I’ve fallen in love. I realize the irony of this statement coming only one post after my rant about how I was going to start claiming heartbreak in order to hide my laziness, but it’s true. 

b) My friend went to New York for spring break and let me borrow her car. Life is so much easier with a machine that moves you quickly to destinations.

Back to point (a): I spend a large portion of my day on the internet – by large portion, I mean all. And this is the reason that the internet will kill books. You can spend your entire week on the internet – it never ends. I was reading a book the other day and I finished it. That’s it. It was done. I had no link to click on at the end that changed my book into another super cool book. On the internet that’s possible. You watch a video, you click a link, and then you watch a new video, then you read a blog, then you create a new incognito web browser in google chrome and jerk off to some porn, then you watch some trailers, then you feel dirty, then you realize you don’t feel, you just are dirty because you haven’t showered yet, then you realize you’re hungrier than you are dirty because you haven’t eaten yet and it’s 4pm, then you see another cool video so you decide to fool around on the internet for only “one more hour,” then you realize sleep seems easier then cooking so you eat some Pringles and take a nap. The point is: internet = awesome for a lazy person. Books = work. Also my connection to the internet means I am also connected to people all around the world, though most of the people I watch on the internet are in New York – I need to get out of MN. And all these people are people that I can fall in love with.

My problem with love has always been a problem of probability – there are 6 billion people in the world and you meet a good 2,000 to 3,000 in your lifetime (or if your me, 15-20 because leaving your apartment takes effort). The probability that you meet the one person who is “meant for you” therefore is 0.00005% at highest. It doesn’t take a math major like me to realize that that’s really low (1 in every 2 million people meet their counterpart). But now, with the internet, you can “meet” so many more people. And by meet I mean stalk. And who doesn’t love a good stalking? At least from my end it’s a fun time. So after three to eight hours watching every video and reading every blog entry of my new love, I’ve decided to do what I would do if I this girl were right here in my very room and give up.

Side story time: I once had a girl I was interested in ask to see my room when she came over. I politely showed her where it was and let her lead the way into my pile of clothes and floor-mattress. After 3 minutes of biting our lips and openning our eyes wide as if we had something to say, my roommate walked upstairs, closed my door, and played Marvin Gaye loudly from his computer. My reaction was to say: “Did you see my poster: it’s funny right?” The poster was stolen from a conference against sexual violence and said: “Consent doesn’t come in the form of silence.” I found it hilarious. She did not. 

The other reason I am so willing to pack up my dick and go home is because I’m not the only one who falls in love over a blog entry or a video.  I wish she weren’t so pretty. Then there wouldn’t be any competition, and I hate competition. Why do I hate competition? Because it’s work. It’s a lot of work. Athletes are always talking how they have to work so hard to gain the competitive edge. I stopped playing sports sophomore year of high school when they wanted me to “run laps around the soccer field” and “come back to play defense instead of chatting with the other team’s bench.” I just don’t have the drive to get laid. 

I’d much rather be the guy who lays in his futon mattress riddled with the crumbs of cereal, pb&j, and kettle chips than the guy who posts “I think we’re perfect for each other” on a stranger’s blog. That being said: if anyone wants to post that they think we’re meant to be together on my blog, I’m down for some lite screwing. 

Back to point (b). A CAR!! It’s easy all of a sudden to deposit a check, or visit a friend, or buy groceries, or apply for a job. Clarification: It would be easier to apply for a job now. That doesn’t mean I’m doing it. $200 a week is good enough for me. I don’t need to live in a mansion, or buy nice clothes, or eat real food, or use my own shampoo. I’m just going to use this car to do errands instead of complaining about how cold it is outside to myself just long enough to psych myself out of getting bread.

So, now I’ve realized the importance of invention. Two of the most influential inventions of the last century – computers and cars – have suddenly impacted my life tremendously. Computers though are affecting my life daily, nay constantly, while cars will stop affecting my life come Thursday when my friend gets back from spring break. So, once again, I’m right Paul – you can suck it.


7 thoughts on “Why love’n’shit seems like a lot of work

  1. matthew says:

    this isnt matthew it’s wolverine. that is an amazing poster. i am glad that you are in love, you should tell me about it sometime. write it on a postcard, even. what is the car’s name?

    • h2money says:

      i ain’t writin’ no postcard and you know that. The car’s name is probably something jewy.

  2. Paul says:

    So, this girl. Does she like Stella? Does she know we’re planning a Stella marathon in NYC six months from now? If not, where would the best place to whistle about it be?

  3. Syreeta says:

    When I read your blog I often wonder why we aren’t better friends. I mean, I fall in love with video bloggers and spend hours on wikipedia interrupted by occasional porn… but then I remember that to be friends with someone you actually have to put forth the effort to talk to them. Or see them. Or be willing to be social in any way. Fuck that… I am going to press refresh on my facebook newsfeed for a little while. See you in 6 months.

  4. Pingback: Why H2$ seems like a lot of work « what it be, Bitches!

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