WHAT THE SHIT. No MORE OF THESE!

K and I no longer measure the length of time we've been together in years... we measure in Call of Duty releases. So far, we've survived Modern Warfare, World at War, Modern Warfare 2, Black Ops, several stupid map pack releases in between, and now MODERN WARFARE 3?

When I say survived, I mean HE survived. The wrath of me, when he stays up all night and comes to bed at 5am. 

K has strategically failed to mention the release of this new gem, probably with good reason. Have I mentioned I effing HATE call of duty? With the firey passion of a thousand burning suns.

I know there are plenty worse things he could be doing that I could be yelling about, but Call of Duty is a thorn in my SIDE. And I want to punch it in the face.

Maybe I'm really just mad at myself for joining K's dirty threesome, trying to learn how to play and subsequently being mocked by all of K's online gamer boyfriends.

It looks like it's going to be another stormy Call of Duty season. I'll batten down the hatches. And stock up on US Weeklys to keep myself entertained.

Ruining K's Netflix Street Cred

Netflix bases its suggestions for new movies to you on your previous viewing history. Knowing this, I treaded lightly in the beginning of our relationship, respecting the boundaries of the Flix. Gradually though, one of my favorite new hobbies has become jacking up K's Netflix street cred. The other day, under "Suggestions For You" it said:

"K, Because you enjoyed: Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants and The Notebook, we recommend Maid in Manhattan."

Awesomeeee.

The creepy thing about Netflix on Xbox is that other people can see what you're watching. This proved to be humorous when K jokingly turned on "Maniac Nurses Find Ecstasy" to piss me off and we both wound up wrapped up in the plotline. Come on, I had to see if those Nazi Nurses found what they were looking for. The story was HILARIOUS. I would recommend it for you to watch if we were Netflix friends.

Back when K and I first moved in together, I'd go on Netflix via the Evil Xbox Machine under his gamertag and a little box would pop up:

"AWESOMEXboxGUY wants to play Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2"

I don't know how to answer messages like this, so I just ignored them for the first several weeks. Eventually, the messages stopped coming, I think his friends began to realize I wasn't K when they could see I was watching Army Wives and Rock of Love Bus.

Poor K, trying to keep up his badass Kill to Death ratio... he had no idea what he was getting into when he asked me to move in. First came the pink gingham pillow as a permanent fixture on the bed, (not to mention giant carebears and the purple unicorn) then his street cred went out the door. Oh the things you sacrifice when you find yourself a girlfriend.

Dirty Xbox Hooker

This weekend, I did the unthinkable. I joined in a twisted threesome with K and his skankalicious mistress, Call of Duty. It felt wrong from the start, but after an hour of running into walls, getting shot repeatedly and clogging doorways with my clumsy inertia, I'm sad to admit that I actually got hooked on it.

I know, girls. I swore I'd never join in on this sort of lunacy. Call of Duty is a life ruiner. An Xbox hooker of the worst kind. But once you get that controller in your hands and you've actually played long enough to shoot a player or two, she sings her siren song, lures you to her lair, then turns you to stone like a modern day Medusa.

The real kicker is the feedback you receive over the headset from the other players who have shot you in the back, blown you up with grenades, and stabbed you with knives. It's what draws you in, keeps you in the game. The incessant harassing, sarcastic jabs and verbal abuse is just impossible to resist.

So maybe next time instead of initiating a verbal beatdown on my boyfriend for immersing himself in the world of his infidelity, I'll join in. Because nothing feels better than looking that hooker in the eye, hiding behind some sandbags and sniping out random strangers from three countries over.