Cyber Love
To a certain degree, I understand it. Although I sold most of my soul to the devil for three jelly beans and a pint of Killians four years ago in St. Louis, the freckle of healthy pink flesh on the grey stone in my chest has been there. I’ve met the stupid cute guy with the stupid smile and thought to myself, humina humina humina blub blub blub.
I have even, I reluctantly confess, written about it in a style reminiscent of dollar ninety-nine Danielle Steele – in my diary, in my old blog.
Boyfriend came over and surprised me today with a gift. I am the luckiest girl in the world. He is the cutest widdle snugglemuffin ever!
(Excuse me, I just threw up in my mouth a little bit)
I’ve come close to experiencing that breaking point where infatuation segues into insanity (a la Tom Cruise). I can understand how people who fall in love find that it takes every modicum of self-control to quell the urge to run down the streets announcing it to everyone they see. I can see how celebrities find it difficult, deep within the throes of mutual lunacy (aka love), and given a broad forum in which to broadcast this, are unable to resist speaking at great length and detail about their shmoopy woopy sugar bear.
I understand, I see, but I don’t agree.
I know everyone is quick to point the finger once they break up. Oh, they shouldn’t have publicized their relationship so much. The media wouldn’t hassle them so much if they had kept their private life private.
But everyone does it to a lesser extent. Whether it’s gushing about a new flame to your circle of friends until they begin to turn blue, or doodling names on the cover of your notebook for all to see, or, in the advent of technology, writing about it on your site for the entire world. With blogs growing in popularity, offering a creative outlet for those with talent who would otherwise have no place to showcase their ability and with more and more voyeurs scanning the web for internet soap operas and reality shows to live vicariously through, more people are feeling the need to push the envelope in order to attract readers and book deals.
Some people do this, in what I consider, the most disgusting way possible.
Feel free to write about your foot fetish, your bizarre penchant for pachyderms, detailed accounts of casual encounters exclusively with men named “Bob.”
But don’t recount how your boyfriend fucked your brains out while shoving his finger up your ass and then gush about how the wedding’s set for June. Don’t say you can still smell his scent lingering on your pillow when he’s away, then copy and paste an IM conversation in which he tells you he wants to watch you play with yourself.
Being irritatingly corny about someone you’re dating on a channel where the entire world, the vast majority of whom you don’t know and quite possibly might never want to know, can access this information is tacky enough. But to gush about how pure and true your love for someone is and then recount in detail how he took you from behind against the kitchen stove is just exploiting the thing you are trying to convince yourself is “real.”
News flash: It's not.
So the next time your “soulmate” is going down on you and you’re savoring every detail so you can write about it on your website later, keep in mind that Frank with the beer gut from Staten Island will be wiping the white smears from his computer screen so he can read it.
Sigh…amore.
-L
I have even, I reluctantly confess, written about it in a style reminiscent of dollar ninety-nine Danielle Steele – in my diary, in my old blog.
Boyfriend came over and surprised me today with a gift. I am the luckiest girl in the world. He is the cutest widdle snugglemuffin ever!
(Excuse me, I just threw up in my mouth a little bit)
I’ve come close to experiencing that breaking point where infatuation segues into insanity (a la Tom Cruise). I can understand how people who fall in love find that it takes every modicum of self-control to quell the urge to run down the streets announcing it to everyone they see. I can see how celebrities find it difficult, deep within the throes of mutual lunacy (aka love), and given a broad forum in which to broadcast this, are unable to resist speaking at great length and detail about their shmoopy woopy sugar bear.
I understand, I see, but I don’t agree.
I know everyone is quick to point the finger once they break up. Oh, they shouldn’t have publicized their relationship so much. The media wouldn’t hassle them so much if they had kept their private life private.
But everyone does it to a lesser extent. Whether it’s gushing about a new flame to your circle of friends until they begin to turn blue, or doodling names on the cover of your notebook for all to see, or, in the advent of technology, writing about it on your site for the entire world. With blogs growing in popularity, offering a creative outlet for those with talent who would otherwise have no place to showcase their ability and with more and more voyeurs scanning the web for internet soap operas and reality shows to live vicariously through, more people are feeling the need to push the envelope in order to attract readers and book deals.
Some people do this, in what I consider, the most disgusting way possible.
Feel free to write about your foot fetish, your bizarre penchant for pachyderms, detailed accounts of casual encounters exclusively with men named “Bob.”
But don’t recount how your boyfriend fucked your brains out while shoving his finger up your ass and then gush about how the wedding’s set for June. Don’t say you can still smell his scent lingering on your pillow when he’s away, then copy and paste an IM conversation in which he tells you he wants to watch you play with yourself.
Being irritatingly corny about someone you’re dating on a channel where the entire world, the vast majority of whom you don’t know and quite possibly might never want to know, can access this information is tacky enough. But to gush about how pure and true your love for someone is and then recount in detail how he took you from behind against the kitchen stove is just exploiting the thing you are trying to convince yourself is “real.”
News flash: It's not.
So the next time your “soulmate” is going down on you and you’re savoring every detail so you can write about it on your website later, keep in mind that Frank with the beer gut from Staten Island will be wiping the white smears from his computer screen so he can read it.
Sigh…amore.
-L
posted by CEO of the World at 12:38 PM
6 Comments:
Oh noes, you found out my secret.
But I really meant it that time.
Sperm is very hard to clean off a keyboard. What's more, Tekserve considers it a biohazard and will charge you a lot to replace it (a tip for Mac pervs).
"Sperm is very hard to clean off a keyboard. What's more, Tekserve considers it a biohazard and will charge you a lot to replace it (a tip for Mac pervs). '
I did not know that. Amazing how learn something new everyday.
Cyber Sex just sounds dull. I prefer pictures.
Whatchoo talkin' about Willis? Frank is a turn-on.
My problem is that I married him for the sex. It gives me a limited amount of topics.
Hold the phone here, you're telling people what not to put in their blogs?
Ok then.
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