Well, it's a little disheartening to call yourself "all men" and your girlfriend "all women." That's a kind of blanket stereotype... >_>
But yeah that sounds like kind of a harrowing experience. I can see myself getting all suspicious of someone because they won't show me their text logs. 'Cause, yeah, I get jealous. At the same time I can see myself NEVER EVER wanting to show all my text logs to anyone else. Man, that's not only violating my privacy, but the privacy of the other person!!
Also, I recall that awful wish from Narnia: "I want to know exactly what people say about me behind my back." No, you don't. You never do!
Haha thanks for the warning. Given the option I don't choose look through somebody's personal space (emails, texts, facebook messages), because if you look hard enough you're always going to find shit you don't like, and it will start to become an obsessive habit.
I think I'd feel comfortable answering honestly with the women I date now that I'm older, but I can definitely imagine playing through it with my ex Miranda and have her bitching at me the way you describe.
I at least have an excuse...I haven't changed my user pic since we all decided to use VOLCANO as our user pic back at the rainforest cafe, I think it was like the first day I met you.
I think you made a mistake playing the game seriously. You should have just said you wanted to see what the game would do if you maxed out the evil side.
So first of all, I guess I should apologize for the tone of the post. I originally wrote this for a video game site because a bunch of my friends were lol'ing at my facebook and twitter posts about playing Catherine with Lindsey, and said I should write something about it. I made overarching and generalizing statements which reflected my mindset at the time I was playing the game, and not necessarily meant to be taken literally. I also embellished the story a bit by calling it "horrifying" and, as you said, making it seem like I was complaining about it to the internet. I guess sensationalist journalism has rubbed off on me, but it certainly makes for more entertaining reading in my opinion. (it also sparks a lot of debate, as you've so kindly shown
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Perhaps you should consider "sensationalist journalism" as a tag, haha. I'm sorry I just came in and tl;dr'd everywhere, but I by and large dislike generalizations and will go out out of my way to correct them, having been someone who's been generalized for being Asian, female, bisexual, and combinations of the above. (I call it "Someone is Wrong on the Internet Syndrome
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Yeah, not being able to clearly draw the line between my writing persona and my actual self is probably not a good thing, and it's probably a good thing that I don't write on the internet for a living too (although apparently it worked, because my post has like 1700 views and got put on the front page of giant bomb's community contributions section). It's not that I was trying to write ironically, just exaggerating things. In retrospect, it was probably not a good idea to post this here where I have friends who know my personality and know that I wouldn't make silly generalizations, but at the time I was just excited to have written something (which I haven't seriously done for about 4 years) and wanted to share it with the world.
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But yeah that sounds like kind of a harrowing experience. I can see myself getting all suspicious of someone because they won't show me their text logs. 'Cause, yeah, I get jealous. At the same time I can see myself NEVER EVER wanting to show all my text logs to anyone else. Man, that's not only violating my privacy, but the privacy of the other person!!
Also, I recall that awful wish from Narnia: "I want to know exactly what people say about me behind my back." No, you don't. You never do!
Anyway, women get scared about commitment, too.
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I think I'd feel comfortable answering honestly with the women I date now that I'm older, but I can definitely imagine playing through it with my ex Miranda and have her bitching at me the way you describe.
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So uh yeah, sorry about that.
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