e-Anxiety.crap

So, I'm sitting here at my lovely computer one night, contemplating the "ifs" of life. My blow-up doll just punctured for the fifteenth time, I was a bit drunk and a little down and decided that I needed a girlfriend. Because this is the sort of decision one should make while they're drunk. Coherency is key to such life-altering decisions.

In my mind a magical commercial flashes. There's a gray haired old man, and a few different couples, all with wonderful stories to share of love, exhilaration and sexual fulfillment.

It goes something like this: "Hi, I'm Johnny Happy-Go-Lucky, and I met Mrs. Happy-Go-Lucky on E-Happiness. I was lonely, and looking for companionship, but I wasn't sure I'd ever find it. It just seemed like I wasn't compatible with anyone. Then I took E-Happiness's patented Personality Test, a forty-dollar value that they gave me for free and I met the love of my life. It was magical. It was like..."

"...Electricity," the wife interjects lovingly. "When we kissed for the first time, it felt like..."

"...Magic," the husband finishes.

Then this kind old man appears on screen and says, "Hi, I'm Joe Schmoe and I started E-Happiness to match couples based on two hundred and seventy two levels of compatibility. We guarantee that you'll meet the love of your life here at E-Happiness, the love that will last."

So, being the poor, sad sap that I am, I decided to try this website's "Personality Test." I figured, what the hell? So, I went on the site, burned through three hours, twelve cups of coffee, three Twix bars and two packs of cigarettes, and finally I was done. I waited with barely contained glee and anticipation as the computer loaded the next screen and I wondered, "Wow, I wonder what amazing and beautiful woman the site will find for me."

I mean, here it was. This was it. I had been waiting my entire life to find the woman of my dreams. I had sat alone at night and cried myself to sleep because no one understood my little eccentricities like gnawing at my pillowcase or cuddling on the sofa with a life-size Alf doll. All my life I had been told that there was someone out there for everyone, the perfect match that would make my life complete. I wanted that. I needed that. And now, thanks to his "Personality Test" and E-Happiness's guarantee, I was finally going to have it. This was the solution to my problems. It was right there at my chubby little fingertips. Of course this would work. I had no doubt. After all, the commercial said it would, and TV never lies!

Then it happened. The page finally started to take shape. Pictures popped up. Words began to form. Then I read it. And my heart sank.

"Here at E-Happiness we can find matches for just about everyone. Unfortunately, there is a certain segment of the population who just doesn't have a match in our system. We figure it's about ten percent. Unfortunately, you fell into that ten percent category and we couldn't find you a match. We appreciate you taking the time to check out E-Happiness, and we wish you luck in your search for love."

And there it was. In one fell swoop, the last vestige of hope that I had had been drained from me. No Alf snuggling with someone of the fairer sex. No lovemaking beneath tropical skies somewhere in the Bahamas. No watching Golden Girls re-runs while lying in each other's arms. No, I would be doomed to spend the rest of my life alone.

Then I got to thinking about the commercial. I got to thinking about life and love and all that sappy, happy crap that Hollywood tells you is going to happen. And I realized that this big, faceless corporation that ran E-Happiness duped me! That's right, folks. As hard as it is to believe, a corporation actually acted unscrupulously. They promised things that didn't come true. This was an outrage!

So, as I sat down and thought about this situation, I thought that maybe E-Happiness needed to put some truth into their advertising. Of course, they probably wouldn't score nearly as many clients. Still, it would let you know what you were getting into. I mean, could you imagine if they showed things the way they really are?

I think it would go something like this: "Hi, I'm Johnny Happy-Go-Lucky. I met my life, Mrs. Happy-Go-Lucky on E-Happiness. I took their 'I'm desperate for someone so I'm going to spend twenty worthless minutes filling out this stupid questionnaire and lie straight through my teeth but it's okay because the other person is doing the same thing' personality test on the site. Man, was it accurate! Within twenty minutes I was on a date with the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, and when we kissed it was..."

At this point, the wife interjects and says, "...magical," because, you know, in real life couples really do finish each other's sentences. "It was magical," the wife continues, "it felt like..."

"Electricity," the husband finishes, because he's a sexist and mustn't let the wife interfere with his manhood. "It felt like a sudden jolt of electricity. Except not the kind where you die. I mean the metaphorical kind, where I knew I was going to get laid."

Then the old man would show up, "Here at E-Happiness, we have a personality test that matches you with the person who will seem like a perfect match at first, but once you get to know them, you'll realize that they're a selfish, arrogant, nasty little prick with about three STDs and a history of psychological problems."

Then back to the happy couple.

"So, we ended up getting married, and then she told me that she had herpes."

She laughs and says, "I remember when I told him. You should have seen the look on his face. Oh, it was priceless!"

Mr. Happy-Go-Lucky continues, "So, to get back at her for being deceptive, I went and slept with my ex-fiancée and ended up getting her pregnant."

The woman, still smiling, says, "And it turned out I was pregnant too."

"So, I have to make child support payments to my ex, and I've got this old battle-axe here who won't let me leave the house because she's a needy bitch. And, of course, I can't have my friends over anymore because they're a 'bad influence' on me."

"And he's an emotionally abusive, controlling bastard who expects me to cook his every meal and clean up after him, even the streak marks in his freakin' underwear," Mrs. Happy Go Lucky cheerfully adds.

Mr. Happy-Go-Lucky says, "And I have the funny feeling that she's sleeping with my best friend, and is going to divorce me any day."

Then, of course, they say in unison, "Thanks, E-Happiness!"

And then another man pops on-screen, this one ten years younger and thirty pounds thinner than Mr. Happy-Go-Lucky, and says, "I actually met Mrs. Happy-Go-Lucky here on E-Happiness, and now we're having an extra-marital affair together. Thanks, E-Happiness."

Mr. Happy-Go-Lucky shouts, "You son of a bitch!"

Mrs. Happy-Go-Lucky and her new beau ride off into the sunset on his brand new motorcycle while Mr. Happy-Go-Lucky contemplates suicide.

Then the old man shows up again and says, "That's ok. E-Happiness can help you find a new wife."

"Go fuck yourself," says Mr. Happy-Go-Lucky.

The old man flashes his fake smile and says, "So join E-Happiness today, and we guarantee you'll be paying alimony by tomorrow."

What's the lesson here, kids? Don't date. Don't ever date again. Resign yourself to a life of terrible solitude. It'll save you a lot of pain in the long run.

A funny thing happened on the way back from Wal-Mart [Ode to an idiot]

Let me preface this entry by saying that this is another of my patented stories that go nowhere. If you're a friend of mine [and you are if you're reading this blog] then you know what I'm talking about. This is me venting my frustration in a hopefully humorous way. But this isn't going to be all that exciting, so if you have a prostitute waiting in the other room, but you decided that THIS would be more fun and important, go ahead and go back to her. You can read this blog any time, but herpes, well...you can only get herpes once. It's a special moment.

So, don't say I didn't warn you. Don't come back later and say, "But, Ryan, that story had no point to it. Why did I spend my time reading it?" Look, dumbass, I warned you from the beginning so save the drama for yo mama, fool!

So, with that out of the way, back to your regularly scheduled blogging:

There are many positive attributes about me: stunning good looks, indisputable and seemingly endless charm with the ladies, expert athleticism, the ability to burp the alphabet backwards while jumping up and down on one foot and helping an elderly woman across the street while also giving Heimlich to a dwarf. Yes, there is no disputing that I am a god.

Of course, no one is perfect, and what I do lack sometimes is common sense. You might say I'm an idiot [and you might be right.] Just earlier this week, I nearly set my house on fire [don't ask.] While that might be a bit too much idiocy for one blog [maybe later] I do have a short, pointless anecdote from today that I'd like to share. I know that the idea that I have even the slightest flaw is hard to believe [I could hardly believe it myself] but trust me on this one- I do.

So, I'm a very lazy person. After about, oh, I don't know- eight months, I finally dragged my lazy ass out of bed this morning and did the unthinkable: I washed my car.

My poor car has been baking in the sun, splattered in the carcasses of dead bugs and covered in dirt. It was about time that I actually did something about it [apparently, even if you wish REALLY HARD, the car will not eventually wash itself. Wish I had known that.]

So, I did what any honest, hard-working American would do, I went out there and washed that thing front to back. Then I checked my tire pressure. Then I went in and cleared out the inside [there are only so many old McDonald's bags one car can actually hold. Apparently that number is six hundred and nineteen. Who knew?]

Finally, after all that was done, and my back was fucking killing me, I decided that I would check my oil, because I heard on Bill O'Reilly that you're supposed to do that every once in awhile [God, that Bill O'Reilly knows EVERYTHING!]

So, I checked my oil and, low and behold, the car apparently doesn't oil itself either. Seriously, it's bad enough that we don't have flying cars yet [in the year 2006, for God's sake] but we can't actually make a car that does all the maintenance itself? This is all the democrats' fault.

So being the responsible car owner I am, I decided that I would head down to my local Wal-Mart and buy some. On my way out the door, my dad made the observation, "It's almost time for an oil change anyway, isn't it? Why don't you just get an oil change?" Well, see, I was going to get my legs waxed today, and it was either that or an oil change, so I decided I'd get my legs waxed. That, and I figured it would take too much time to change my oil, and the Sock Puppet Wrestling finals were on at three. I didn't have time for things like oil changes and bowel movements.

So I headed down to Wal-Mart, picked up the oil, dabbled in the auto department for awhile [as any self-respecting MAN would do] pretending that I knew what I was doing, and started my trek back home.

It was then that I decided to make a fateful stop at a gas station. Once my car was filled with the delicious fluid, I figured, what the hell, and decided to put the oil in right there.

Now, it should be noted, and it will become apparent why I'm mentioning this later, that I actually thought to myself "Maybe I should do this at home. I have margarine in the car that will melt." And I actually thought to myself these exact words: "Well, it will only take two minutes, I'm sure it will be fine."

So I pour the oil in, I grab the cap, and proceed to drop it STRAIGHT INTO THE ENGINE.

Oh, crap. Of course. Of course, of course, of FUCKING course. So, I'm looking in my engine, trying to see the damned thing [and, of course, I didn't have a flashlight in my car] and I can't see it.

So, now I'm thinking, "Ok, I'll just pull forward a little bit and dislodge it. Maybe it will fall out." Now, my brain, whom I ignore most of the time, jumps in and says, Wait! Maybe you shouldn't turn it on and move it, it could damage the car. I say to myself, "Naw, I'm sure it'll be fine for a few feet."

Nope. Now I've got oil sprayed everywhere under the hood.

So, I do what any self-respecting 23 year old man would do in a situation like this: I called my dad.

I mean, look: I'm all out of ideas here. I can't reach the thing, can't even see it, maybe he can give me some ideas. Maybe this has happened to him [though probably not, these things ALWAYS happen to me.]

He says, "Well, if you can't find it, you'll have to just buy another cap."

Of course, I don't have any cash on me.

So, he heads down there to bail me out [as usual], and as I'm waiting for him, like a dumbass, I decide to turn my car on. Because, you know, I wasn't fucked enough. And my hood was up, so now oil has sprayed all over my windshield. You know, the windshield I just got done cleaning an hour before.

So my dad gets there and the real fun begins. Within seconds, he looks inside my engine and can see the cap, just sitting there. He says to me, "Well, maybe we can find a long stick or something to push it out."

I look around, thinking to myself, "Goooood luck finding a stick long enough," but, sure enough, there is a long, wooden post just sitting right next to the gas station. What luck! Maybe I'll actually send God a Christmas card this year. Maybe he decided to stop messing with me.

Nope. The stick post thing doesn't fit. Crap. Well, at least she's laughing somewhere.

Ok, so then we decide to jack up the car, which means that I'm now laying on the concrete inside of the gas station, sticking my hand into the engine, and I manage to push the damn cap back further. And now my hand is completely covered in grease.

So we head down to the auto parts store up the street. Of course, they don't have a replacement cap. Fortunately, there's another store a little further up the street who does have it.

Great, now I've got a replacement cap, but what of the mysterious original that is now residing deep within the asshole of my engine? Never fear, dear readers, I did eventually get it out. I had to come home, jack up the car again and I was finally able to reach it.

Then I had to rewash my windshield. All in all, this whole process took somewhere around six hours.

Alls well that ends well, I suppose, but today has taught me something about life. Something very valuable, which I am going to hold onto for the rest of my life: I am never washing another fucking car ever again. The damn thing can rust and fall apart for all I care, it's just not worth it.