Because what I really needed was another "fun" thing to add to my increasingly attractive, single, thirtysomething arsenal. You know, the one I get to haul out should Ish and I ever break up.
I try not to dwell on this, but a glass-half-empty view of my likelihood at EVER dating again goes something like...
Me, to potential suitor, summarizing: Uh huh, yes. Hi. I am a potentially reproductively challenged 32-year-old woman, living alone with two cats -- one who does tricks that I will make you watch and one whose greatest personality trait is finding new and creative places in my apartment on which to pee. There is rarely anything in my fridge. I have a great group of friends, but like, half of them are planning weddings you may have to come to, and while there I will likely cry and ask when it will be our turn, even if it's only our first date. I am close with my family because we're a lot of fun but also kind of very tragic and wait till you hear those stories. Hoo boy. And HAHA! Speaking of stories, wait till you get to the one about my wretched divorce! But no, no, I am not in any way bitter or man-hating. I mean, two of my closest friends are my ex-boyfriends. Well, one is an ex-fiance, and the other used to work for an online sex toy company, so I hope you don't have any hang-ups about THAT sort of thing. (See? With the stories?) And yes, I am gainfully employed but the nature of my job means that for about two months out of the year I will be so insanely busy I may not remember my own name let alone yours, and you will have to adjust to my intensified mood swings and uh, "whimsical" hair. I blog about my life -- yes, I love blogs -- and you will be featured in those blog entries regularly. Oh! And if you're really lucky, I will re-pursue stand-up comedy, where then everything you do will be potential fodder for jokes I tell on stage to strangers. Other than that I am relatively healthy but, right, overweight, and with a tendency to overindulge in food and drink. I don't follow sports, I don't like outdoorsy things, and I have a few issues with my body, heights, birds, bridges, an-- HEY! WHERE ARE YOU GOING?
But then other times I'm like, Hey, I'm funny and nice and I have big boobs.
ANYWAY, just when I thought I had a handle on myself, my issues*, I go and discover I have a NEW and SPECIAL issue, and isn't that so great!
Dear Invisible Internet
All my life, I've been all, "I don't have anger issues." I drive like a completely sane person, for example. Someone decides to cut me off, and (perhaps with a few choice words), I let them. If service at a restaurant is rude or exceedingly slow, I may get a little annoyed, but I don't let it get to me.
Getting angry doesn't solve anything, I say. It's not worth it to get upset, I say. Life is too short, I say.
Yeah, well. Turns out, I say none of these things when it comes to internet connectivity.
Instead, I instantly go from being a completely normal, level-headed person to a stark raving lunatic if for some reason my internet connection seems slow.
I HATE YOU AT&TYAHOODSL! I LIVE IN SAN FRANCISCO WHY IS MY MODEM GREEN LIGHT NOT FLASHING FASTER!?!! WHAT KIND OF BUSINESS ARE YOU RUNNING HERE!?!?!
I actually use expressions like that.
I have also found that I can string obscenities together like poetry if for some reason my wireless connectivity is spotty.
(Mother fucking refresh kiss my ascii page loading cocksucking son of a bitmapping...)
Although that's nothing compared to the downright OUTRAGE I feel if some area doesn't have internet access at all. The way I see it, if my damn stupid cell phone has more than one bar, I should be able to watch YouTube. Simple as that.
And then there are those times when Google hiccups, and I don't just get angry, I get panicked.
WHAT IS HAPPENING WITH THE GOOGLE? WHY IS MY SEARCH TAKING SOOOOOO MANY SECONDS???? LIKE 5??? THE FATE OF THE INTERNETS IS IN YOUR HANDS!!! GOOGLE!!! WHAT IS GOING ON WITH YOU? HAS THE EARTH SHIFTED ITS AXIS? OHMYGODWEAREALLGOINGTODIE!
It gets worse, though. Because in addition to anger, I have learned that I have a ranting, ridiculously ornery old man living inside me(!). And he comes out whenever I am confronted with bad web design and usability.
Seriously. Me at a poorly designed site is like a Mean Grandpa who's accidentally wandered into a new-fangled restaurant. I am disoriented and scared, and my only recourse is to complain about everything.
What kid of place IS THIS, anyway? THIS doesn't look like anything I've ever seen before. I can't even find a MENU. Wait, that's it? THAT'S the menu? WHY IS THE TYPE SO DAMN SMALL? And why aren't the prices even listed? Can you at least turn that godawful music DOWN? Who's in charge here? Do you know anything about customer service? Don't talk to me like I'm a child just becau-- That's it. I'm leaving.
And then to ensure that I am living up to the standards of my Inner Mean Grandpa, I make sure I fill out the site's version of a comment card in a curt yet detailed manner, explaining in painstaking detail why they have lost a customer forever.
Of course, the only thing worse than having these issues is trying to resolve them via "customer support" which makes me so livid so quickly I can barely stand to write about it. But you know what I'm talking about, the kind where you call because something is seriously wrong with your tech gadget and the first person you speak to on the phone is required to ask you the most ridiculous questions you have ever heard, just to see if you can pop a blood vessel in your forehead in time to meet your boyfriend's parents.
Yes, Ma'am, I understand completely the trouble you are having, Ma'am. Now may I ask, Ma'am, have you checked to see that the equipment is plugged in?
But it can't just be me, right? You get this way too, right?
*Totally a self-help book waiting to be written. You know, instead of Our Bodies, Ourselves it would be My Self, My Issues.