I’ve been doing a piss poor job keeping up with my blog. The sad thing is, there’s not a really good reason. Don’t get me wrong, I have an explanation. It’s just not a good one.

Ready for this?

My PlayStation 3 has ruined my life.

I told you it wasn’t a good one.

I got the thing for one game, just one. I saw Heavy Rain, and I absolutely had to play it or I might die. And I did. (Play it, not die.) And good God in heaven, it was the single most amazing game I have ever played. Hands down. Even with the big gaping hole in the plot and the first hour of the game being tedious, it was outstanding. I can’t remember the last time I was so wrapped up in something.

Then I made the mistake of getting Assassins Creed. Italian men with violent tempers who stab people? In.

Then I made the problem worse by getting a copy of Resident Evil 5. As it turns out, you can play that online, and the character is this gorgeous man who shoots zombies. So I can spend time with my friends without actually having to see them or put up with their crap? In.

Then I made it even worse by getting Assassins Creed 2. A hotter Italian man with a violent temper who stabs people and does his share of womanizing. If he was real, I’d marry him. In.

So we already have a problem. Hot men, weapons, something to pass the time. It wasn’t bad until I hooked it up to the Internet. That was when I realized that you got trophies for playing video games. And don’t give me that bullshit about how it doesn’t matter because they don’t actually do anything and they’re not even real. I am too much of a perfectionist. I can’t let go that I have an 89% on Assassins Creed 2, despite beating the game. I have go back and get every achievement. I have to.

Why? Because I’m a perfectionist.

I was actually doing pretty well on making sure that this thing didn’t totally monopolize all of my time, until I started racking up the achievements in Resident Evil 5. Why? Because one of the achievements in RE5 unlocks a fucking rocket launcher. With unlimited ammo.

So, the characters look like this:
Which is like, a fake beautiful people convention that was interrupted by zombies.

So we have that guy (and that chick, look at the rack on her), and again, a fucking rocket launcher with unlimited ammo.

And let’s face it. I am a lot of things, but mature isn’t high up on the list sometimes. I can’t stop. I feel compelled to see exactly how much of this fake world I can make explode into a fine mist with a rocket launcher. I spent an hour shooting things that didn’t need to be shot just to see what would happen. Because that’s precisely what I’d do if I ever got a real rocket launcher. (My birthday is coming up by the way, so if you feel like buying me something, there’s an idea for you).

So like I said. Ruined my life. The number of games I’ve beaten was at 0. Which was a number I was totally comfortable with. Now? It’s at four and rising. FOUR. I’ve had conversations with a guy about backwards compatibility and how it’s bullshit that the PS3 doesn’t have it. (To this guy’s eternal credit, he still somehow finds me attractive).

I now have opinions about consoles, games, and controllers. I have been sucked into a new level of geek and I’m not entirely positive that I can find my way out.

Whatever. At least I have my rocket launcher.