A True Fallacy

Internet Mating | December 18, 2009

With a philosophically inclined journal like this one, it would only be logical for my first entry, of course excluding the introductory one, to be something highly controversial like my own interpretation of religion or morality.  Thankfully, I am far too ingeniously inept to fulfill even my own expectations.  Let us talk instead about the single greatest shame of my younger years.  I would have sooner admitted that I was a fascist gay porn star with an addiction to kitten mutilation before telling even my closest friends that I was an internet dating connoisseur.

Yes, from the ripe age of eleven I began to embrace the masochistic world of internet dating.  I wore the guise of a thirteen-year-old football playing Casanova, because, as we all know, preteen athletes never go a day without spending at least five hours in a Zelda chat room, arguing about which is the greatest console RPG of all time, which is Final Fantasy Tactics, no contest.  In retrospect, I think that may not have been the most believable persona.

It took me a great many years to ever come to terms with my clear lack of luck with three dimensional females.  My track record at the time was as such: I asked a girl out in fifth grade and when she said yes, I avoided her for six months until she had her friend break up with me for her; my next relationship from that same year lasted an entire three days, and I bawled for at least an hour in the middle of the class we had together; then I managed to pull the great avoidance act yet again in eighth grade with a girl I never even asked out in person.  Have no worries, though.  My internet dating was going brilliantly.

By the way, success in an internet relationship looks something like this: you spend all day at school, or work, or any other such social atmosphere gawking at boobs, or whatever people attracted to men gawk at, and then you return home, spending hours professing your undying love and boundless loyalty to this person who managed to entrance you with his or her ability to compose sentences.  Don’t forget that you spend countless nights holding your pillow, wishing it were some sentient life form with compatible pieces.

In any case, I wasn’t always successful at these things.  The multi-tasking abilities and anonymous nature of the internet dweller even makes cheating easier.  The only thing more disturbing than the number of “girls” who wanted to wed and bed me was the fact that I can’t remember most of their names, or whether or not I cheated on them.  If boob gawking makes you a cheater, I cheated on all of them.

I lost my virginity at the age of eighteen to a girl I originally met online over a year prior, someone I thought I was going to marry; we saved ourselves for each other and everything, not that saving myself was a difficult task.  We broke up some three weeks after that, and four months later, she had screwed four more guys.  Isn’t that special?  Just when I thought the internet brought me nothing more than addicting games, heartache, and Asian pornography, I met my wife in an internet creative writing course at the college I went to.  Go figure.

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