Some women refuse to acknowledge that their lover's mistress has a name. It makes her too real to handle. It means she exists and isn't just an unpleasant thought that won't fade away. I'm different. Though I have several names for my boyfriend's hi-tech temptress, Sexbox is what I usually call my competition because besides her, sex is the only thing that can hold his attention for that long.
Unlike other jilted women, I have no choice but to recognize the reality of their relationship. I see them together all the time. So day after day, I must come to terms with the fact that I may eventually be replaced by a video game console.
It wasn't always this way. When we first started going out nearly four years ago, he didn't even have a Game Boy. We did all the cliché things that most new couples do: picnics in the park, candlelit dinners, movie nights, making out in the backseat of a car, and so on. I know the honeymoon doesn't last forever, but I can't help but think that Sexbox has something to do with the ever-increasing Saturday nights we spend at home. In front of the TV. With Chinese takeout.
His bedroom is a pretty sound indicator of the transformation he has undergone since we first started dating, when our relationship was sans-Sexbox. His magazine rack was once filled with Entertainment Weekly and the occasional Maxim, his book shelf with dog-eared Chuck Palahnuik novels. If he spent more than two hours in front his flat-screen television, it was because TNT was having a Rocky marathon. Now Game Informer magazines overflow their flimsy, plastic container, green videogame cases are piled where books once stood, and he can easily spend three or more hours in front of the TV with Sexbox, (thanks to his comfortable gaming chair, of course.)
Don't get me wrong, he's a great boyfriend. For the most part, he's still the attentive, romantic and affectionate guy I fell in love with in high school. But when he's playing with Sexbox, he becomes a zombie-version of himself, especially during phone conversations.
"Oh man, babe. I barely slept last night. I kept having all these crazy nightmares," I remember saying to him over the phone over a year ago. This was during the time when he really started to bond with Sexbox; during the same time I began to test him to see if he was really listening. I had purposefully left out the details of my nightmares; they were my bait.
All I could hear was the sound of a machine gun.
"Cool, cool...," he finally said after an awkward pause, his voice trailing off. "Cool" is his automatic response during gaming sessions. Unfortunately for him, this response is only effective about 65% of the time. My bait was left unbitten. Not even a nibble.
"In other news, some nuclear power plant in Elizabeth exploded, releasing noxious gases that are believed to decrease penis sizes by three to four inches," I lied, convinced that absolutely anything I said would go unnoticed.
"That's cool...," he said. Pause. "Wait...WHAT?!"
Apparently pairing the words "penis" and "decrease" in the same sentence sends a red flag to his brain, the only two words that can filter through his virtual haze.
"I can see you're busy. Call me when you're done." CLICK. I hoped my attitude would make him feel guilty, and in most cases, it does.
But sometimes I'm just as guilty. Whenever talk turns to video games, I just tune him out. New releases? Graphic enhancements? Special features? I barely feign interest and supply the appropriate "ooohs" and "aaahs."
Now I know that I had really underestimated Sexbox and her power. At first, I was far from worried. He'll get over it, I thought after he first brought Sexbox home. She was like new lacy lingerie; the novelty would certainly fade after a couple of weeks. Problem is, there is always a new game, new accessory, new something to buy to make him re-fall in love.
New video games are released every Tuesday, so at least once a month, he rushes over to the nearest Game Stop (conveniently located just five minutes away from his house) to purchase more goodies. He plays his new games during his time off from work for about a full week non-stop until he comes out victorious. How can I compete with the thrill of conquering every level, defeating every boss or achieving a top score?
Time not spent playing with Sexbox is mainly spent on thinking about playing with Sexbox. There are game previews and reviews, trailers and hundred of blogs where gamers can express their undying devotion to the virtual world. Yet knowing that there are thousands, maybe millions of devotees just like my boyfriend does ease my pain a bit sometimes. Behind every obsessive gamer, there must be a neglected girlfriend! Maybe I should start a support group, Girlfriends against Gaming (G.A.G., conveniently). I could lead a movement like in "Fahrenheit 451," only instead of books, I would burn game consoles across the globe.
But I try to be rational. Just when I think it's too much to deal with, I stop myself and think that maybe it's all a matter of compromise. Because we so often have such similar interests, wants and needs, my boyfriend and I have never really mastered the art of compromise. Maybe one hour of Gears of War should equal two half-hour trips to Sephora! So lately we have been practicing. If I'm at his place, game time is usually over (or as soon as he "just finishes this level.") Once Sexbox is tucked away, it's Alina time, which can include conversation, foreign cinema and nakedness. During these times, I can't help but be smug. I smirk because I'm victorious. He's mine again, if just for a few hours.
Be the first to comment on this article!