Why The Internet Is Both The Life And The Death Of Me

Okay, that was a dramatic title. I’m also half joking. My life would suck a little more if I wasn’t able to scroll down my Instagram feed and look at the one-inch waists of girls that got carried away using a skinny app.

But in some ways the Internet really sucks.

Today I took a quiz on Buzzfeed called, “Which “Friends” Character Would You Have A One-Night Stand With?” I’ve never even seen one fucking episode of “Friends.” Sidenote: I got Chandler is this a good thing? What’s he like? Will he text me at 2PM or 2AM? Do I email him? Please LMK. But also, what the hell am I doing?

I literally sit on my computer looking at the same shit on my Facebook newsfeed and don’t even realize it. It reminds me of my mom and the news. Every day at six o’clock she would have a mini panic attack insisting upon turning on Nightly News while we ate her mediocre dinner (love you mom). Anyways, while she was scouring the living room for the remote I would ask her the same question I always ask on this nightly routine, “What happened on the news last night mom?” She has given me an answer to this question a total of zero times.

I’m a hypocrite though, I’ll admit it. If she asked me, “Carly, who looked like they were wasted last night on Snapchat?” I’d be like “I don’t know who cares.” But in reality if I had missed a second of all my friends partying together with the slightest chance of the guy I like appearing in their story, I’m all over that shit the second it comes on the snap feed. Snap feed? Is that a thing? I don’t know what the proper name for it is.

The Internet is like that boyfriend you had where you know he’s bad for you but you just keep going back to.


Or like the ex boyfriend that you can’t avoid, because you can’t bring yourself to delete him off Facebook, Instagram, Snapchat and Twitter. Whatever, she’s not even that hot and I hear she sucks…at least that’s what my friends tell me.


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Honestly though, there are good things about Social Media and the Internet. It takes me two seconds to know if we are capable of being friends by one glance at your Instagram profile. If your info reads “gluten-free” or “vegan,” we will most certainly not be friends. If it says your hometown with a little sun emoji and your age, please stop this isn’t Tinder and the only person who would reach out to you on Instagram is a forty-year-old man living in his parent’s basement with no job and questionable hygiene.

It’s also my main source of news besides The Daily Show with Jon Stewart. I was all over that story of the white girl who wore braids and said she was black. It also enlightened me about the emergence of the Pizza Hut Hot Dog Pizza, which I’ve sadly still yet to try.

Alright I’m getting a little off topic. The Internet is the life and death of me. It’s where I get that amazing feeling when my Instagram ratio is fucking killing it, but also that constant questioning of my popularity when my profile picture is seriously slacking in likes.


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In a way it’s like Adam Sandler. You’re rooting for him because Happy Gilmore and Billy Madison were some of the best movies OAT. But now he’s making movies like Grown Ups 2 and Pixels and you know its going to be horrible, but you have to see it anyway because you have this little bit of hope he might pull through and you might actually see something worthwhile.