As I was mowing my yard today, a series of events occurred that prodded me to write this.
My neighbor on one side has 3 kids. He was attempting to wash his car and was constantly interrupted by said kids wanting shit.
“Dad, will you do x?”
“Dad, can I do y”
“Dad, z!”
It took him almost 4 hours to do something that I could do in 2, and it didn’t look like he was having much fun.
I am 32 years old. I have been married for 11 years. I don’t have any kids. My ‘office’ in my home is full of comic books, toys, Judas Priest posters, books, and photos that I have taken.
My wife and I take a nice vacation every couple of years where we spend a relatively lot of money and it doesn’t really matter; the only people we’re responsible for are ourselves.
Aside from owning a home and working a little bit more, I more or less live the same life I did when I was 18; I play video games, I listen to music, I slack around. I go to sleep late and wake up late. We go to various events from concerts to sports at the drop of a hat.
I have a lot of ‘online friends’. Many of them are in the same age demographic that I am. They’re all the same. They go to work, they pay their taxes, they go home and they get on the computer. They are, almost to a man: white, married professionals without any kids. There is the odd non-white dude or the guy with some kids, but by and large we could be cut from the same cloth.
I have read a few articles before that go into deeper detail about the pussification of the American male, and I use that phrase completely without self-loathing. I love my life, I’m totally content with what I am and the fact that to a large number of men I’m an impotent wuss that would rather jackoff to my newest McFarlane toy than knock my wife up.
OK? I get it.
However, the hostility towards guys like me seems more like envy.
Case in point: my neighbor on the other side of me is in his 40s, married with two kids. In July of 2010 I come rolling up big in the brand new Camaro and this guy gives me a look like he busted me watching his wife take a shower through a telescope. Of course, afterwards he’s like “Man, bad ass ride!” and so forth, yet there it was.
When I come flopping out of the front door at 1pm on Sunday with bedhead still to grab the paper or pay the pizza delivery guy, and he’s out sweating his ass off working on his 10 year old junker, you’re damn right I feel content. Content in my supposed loserhood.
I guess the moral of this story is this: don’t hate on us nerds just because you’re unhappy with your life. Live vicariously through us, like we did through you for 5 minutes back in high school before we realized that underneath the blustering, macho facade, you really did want to play Dungeons & Dragons with us, you were just too scared to admit it.






















