Maybe Life is Like a Ride on a Freeway

I’m driving down the interstate, rain is pouring down all around my car, the traffic has slowed to a 55 mph crawl (hey, for the interstate, that’s slow). I just finished playing Black Hole Sun by Soundgarden (which seemed appropriate at the time) and now I was listening to the final seconds of regulation for the UNC vs. Virginia Tech basketball game. Things were starting to get just a bit stressful.

Maybe I should explain better. After watching the Carolina Hurricanes win over the Los Angeles Kings, I had to drive back to my place in Chapel Hill. I was already hyped up from a very physical and close scoring hockey game, so my nerves were a bit on edge. The rain was pouring all around me making it very difficult to drive. I wanted to turn on my rear windshield wiper to clear up the view in my rear view mirror (yes, I drive a station wagon, feel free to laugh at my expense), but then I remembered that the back windshield wiper no longer works. It’s a safety feature. See, the button for the back windshield wiper is hard to locate on the dashboard so I would have to take my eyes off the road for a few seconds to find it. And taking your eyes off the road is just plain unsafe. I should thank my car’s manufacturer for designing my car to meet such rigorous safety standards.

The stress continues to pile up. The road conditions, listening to the boys in baby blue not quite finishing off the game the way they should, the two and a half beers I consumed during the hockey game… it all adds up. I should let it be known that being stressed out is a bad way to drive. Luckily for me, I’m a safe driver. I made it home in one piece and without incident. Unluckily for me, the UNC game went into overtime.

And, as you already should know, UNC lost it in overtime and were swept in both games this year by Virginia Tech. The boys in blue let me down. So that’s why I’m right here, on a Tuesday night, sitting in front of my computer, drinking beer and attempting to write in semi-proper English, which is not an altogether easy task, let me assure you. Ah, beer, you’re my one and only true friend.

Well, that isn’t entirely true. See, I didn’t exactly buy my tickets for tonight’s hockey game. A friend of mine was kind enough to give me a spare she had. It was pretty much a last minute thing, and it is nights like tonight that make me proud to have a near non-existent social life. Hey, if I wasn’t going to the hockey game in person, I would be watching the game on TV anyway. Luckily for me, Andrea was nice enough to take me to the game so I could watch it in person.

Being the nice guy that I am, and we all know how nice I am to women, I took Andrea out to dinner before the game. Hey, if she’s cool enough to take me to a hockey game, I can treat her to dinner. Let me recap for a second just for your benefit: I had dinner with an attractive girl and then she took me to a hockey game. This, my friends, is what we call a win-win situation. Well, not quite as good as winning the lottery then being named the sole heir to Hugh Hefner’s estate, but still, it’s pretty damn good. And Hugh, if you’re reading this, I still expect you to leave me the Playboy Mansion in your will.

So, that was my Tuesday. It was pretty eventful, all things considering. And today, Valentine’s Day, probably won’t be nearly has eventful. I won’t be having dinner with any beautiful women tonight, nor will I be watching any collegiate or professional sporting events. I usually boycott Valentine’s Day because well, as far as I’m concerned Valentine’s Day was invented by the De Beers family. You know the De Beers, they’re the people who basically have cornered the international diamond market. They’re the reason why you have to spend three month’s salary on a shiny, semi-ounce rock that otherwise has no rational value.

If you don’t believe my conspiracy theory about this love-sick holiday, then simply turn on your TV. If you don’t see at least two commercials for jewelry during every commercial break, then I’ll give you 100 carats worth of quarters (which is probably just one quarter… possibly two). But you know what, you really should go out and buy your loved one lots of presents. If you don’t spend a crap-ton of money on your favorite female, then it shows that you don’t love her (1 crap-ton = 100 short tons). Love is indubitably tied to gross materialism.

Don’t let the circuitous media fool you, love isn’t some all-prevailing romantic force. Simply put, love is money. Although, as a quick disclaimer, I feel the need to inform you that I was the guy who spent his entire college career trying to marry into money. Let me tell you, marrying a wealthy chick is a lot harder way to get rich quick than I thought. Seriously.

As far as I’m concerned though, love is money. In fact, I love money. Every night when I go to bed, I curl up with a 100 dollar bill and caress it as I fall asleep. It is my one, my only, my everything. Now if it would just hurry up produce a couple hundred more bills just like it, I’d be one happy and content man. The man who coined the term “money can’t buy happiness” most assuredly was poor. I know that I would be happy if I had one million dollars… actually, ten million, I’d be happy with ten million dollars. Well, you know what, we’d better make that an even 100 million dollars, just to be on the safe side. If I had 100 million dollars, I’d be one of the happiest men alive.

But unfortunately, I don’t have quite that much money right now. I don’t even have the Playboy Mansion either. Apparently, I don’t have much. What I do have is another three beers in the fridge that aren’t going to drink themselves. Hey, the Tar Heels lost today, I’m entitled to my booze. But hey, life could be a lot worse. I could be a Duke fan. What are they ranked again? Oh, that’s right, they’re not ranked. Sucks to be a Duke fan.