It's all fun and games...

I’m a dork.

Yeah, I know that that’s probably no big surprise to most of you, but I’m occasionally taken aback by what a misfit I see myself as. The odd thing is, my good buddy J (As in Jason, not January. You really would never confuse them in real life) is very similar to me in his likes, dislikes, quirks, etc. and I don’t see him as a misfit at all.

For the last several years, J and I get together for “guys night” on a weekly basis. I know what you’re thinking…Drinking, smoking, and debauchery, right? Well, only if you consider my mass consumption of Diet Coke drinking, the pack of Kool’s that J goes through smoking (ok, I guess you’ve got us there) and debauchery lots and lots of card playing. And not poker or something socially trendy like that. Oh no… we’re playing Magic: the Gathering.

For those uneducated in the ways of the Planeswalker (players), Magic is a collectible card game that allow you to build a deck of at least forty cards and throw down your mighty horde against an opposing Planeswalker for fun and glory (aka bragging rights.) Are you going to use the mountain goblins of fiery red, or call upon the dark zombie hordes of the swamp? Or maybe the beasts and fairies of the green forest?

I can already picture my wife rolling her eyes as she reads this.

So in anticipation of their newest set of cards coming out, the designers of Magic, held a tournament so all those that entered could try out the cards two weeks before they were released to the general public. J and I, fantasying ourselves quite the card players, decided to go see how we faired against all of the other Planeswakers in the land.

In preparation, we talked strategy on the phone, email back and forth various spoilers of rumored cards, and theorize about potential combo combinations. Want to know the best part? We tend to do most of those things even when a tournament isn’t going on. And the trash talking. Let’s not forget—even for a moment—the epically bad trash-talking.

It’s not uncommon to have this conversation with my wife after hanging up the phone with J:

Her: “So how’s Kat?”

Me: “Um… ok, I guess. We didn’t really get into it.”

With a disapproving look, “You spoke with J for 45 minutes and you didn’t ask how his fiancée is doing?”

“Well, you know… we got to talking cards and stuff… and it didn’t really come up.”

“Of course it didn’t if you didn’t ask.”

“Well, I’m sure he would have told me if she wasn’t doing well.”

“Did you talk about the baby?”

“Um… yeah. He still likes the name Quinn.”

That’s met with the eye roll of “in-other-words-you-still-like-the-name-Quinn.” (sign the petition at www.vote4quinn.com)

Anyway… back on subject…

The morning of the event, I was wired, and woke up early like a kid at Christmas. J picked me up early and we headed off to the event. We were both prepped and ready for our various battles, and when we walked into the room, we swung the doors wide like we were a pair of gunslingers walking into the saloon.

With hundreds of people at these events, perhaps a dozen of them were women. I did note that one guy did bring a hot blonde to hang on him while he was playing and provide ample distraction for his opponent, but other than that, it was a pretty disheveled lot.

We went and traded cards with a guy named Ogre, who’s far nicer than his namesake. If you’re wondering how he picked up the nickname, well, if you put him in a line-up of everyone there, I doubt any of you savvy readers would have to much trouble identifying him just by the name.

My first round opponent was a sporadically toothless guy with a long goatee, shaved head and introduced himself as “Pigeon”. I also met a smallish girl nicknamed “Squirrel”. (Keep in mind, this isn’t D&D or some such thing. Nobody needs a nickname. They just have them.) Anyway, all of these woodland creatures proceeded to whoop my ass for most of the day.

In the afternoon, I got my revenge however, as I tied for first in a draft tournament. My final opponent said “you know, if we call it a draw, we split it. That’s better than one of us getting nothing.” Indeed.

Jenn called during the final round of the tournament and asked when I was going to be home. I said “in a little bit. I’m actually winning.” Then I turned to opponent and said “Now… you done?” Not realizing how those sentences might sounds strung together. I got “Ok. Fine. Whatever.” And she hung up.

Suddenly I felt like the biggest dork in the room again.

Anyway, it was all lots of fun, the new cards come out today and that means a brand new bit of trash talking begins. J has to find a new Warrior Bandit, and I a new Eight-and-a-Half-Tailed Fox Cleric to bitch-slap each other with.

Let the games begin!

Beautiful Dreams

I rarely talk to anyone about my dreams. Oftentimes I’ll have dark imagery that others would constitute as nightmares, but I see as vivid inspiration. In those circumstances it’s easier for me to show people my dreams than describe them. Other times, they simply aren’t noteworthy, or they will swing to the absurd and I’ll recognize the dream for what it is.

But there is an additional category. One that shakes me more deeply then any nightmare ever could. It’s the dream where everything’s exactly as I want it. The girl loves me deeply. I’m successful at art. My friends find me charming and my parents truly understand me. I’m at peace.

But there is always that one thing that’s just a bit too good, and I wake up. I wake up and I find that it’s all a fucking lie. The heart’s still broken. The art still listless. The friend sits idly by as others disparaged my name. It goes on and on.

Nothing is ever right.

Such was the pattern for about 32 years of my life. But then I met my exquisitely lovely Jennifer and my life turned a corner.

I knew our second week that she was the one, and I told her as much. I said, “You know what? I think you’re it. Now comes the fun part because now I get to convince you I’m it for you too.”

Within three months we moved in together. Within six we’d flown to Naples Florida where I surprised her with a proposal on a secluded beach. And within a year of our first date, we were married. I don’t know how I defined happiness before her, but it was a shell of what we have now.

My art has taken some amazing strides, I’ve had a couple of gallery showing, and I have a clear vision for what my next piece of art will be. The truest of my friends have nothing but the best wishes for me.

In short, for the first time that I can ever remember, everything seems pretty damn right.

While there are always the day to day toils to deal with,(see any number of post below) this time in my life seems so much better—so much more vivid— then any dream could hope to be.

Which brings me to that one thing... that if this were a dream, would truly push it over the edge to being “too good”.

Two weeks ago, I saw my baby’s heartbeat.

If I’m dreaming, leave me be. If this is just another time I’m blinded by hope, let me never see again.

Jenn had been told years ago that she might have difficulty having children, so we didn't have our hopes up. But now, just when everything seemed so perfect, life gets better.

I’m sure over the next six and a half months or so, I’m going to have plenty of times that I’ll joke about the good and the bad of living with a pregnant woman. I’ll fully admit to having a cocktail of emotions from fear to excitement, joy to panic, but without a doubt, I’m happier than I’ve ever been.

the "thing"

Some days need a fast forward button.

My morning started at three thirty this morning when I woke up, still quite sick. I took some more meds, the kind that are supposed to knock my punk ass out, but instead just turned me into a zombie. I decided to browse the net since for the first time in a long time I didn’t have that “swamped at work” feeling looming over my head.

I’m not sure if it’s age or illness, but even porn browsing sounded unappealing, so instead I decided to check out my friend’s blog. There was a political discussion going on where someone said that is was hard to tell the far left from the Al Qaeda. Of course, with such a moronic statement, I had to add my two cents in. It was clear, cutting, and somewhat witty.(almost like a bumper sticker… hmmmm…) I was very happy with it… right up till my browser posted it three times. Fuck.

Still not feeling sleepy, I decided to go to watch a DVD we got from Netflix, a cancelled TV series called “Undeclared”. It’s kind of like American Pie, only not funny. I mean really not funny.

I started wondering what I’d wear to work for the day about the same time as the zombie meds kicked in. I decided I’d wear the new shirt I got this weekend, but it was going to need to be tumbled really well in the dryer. So I get that started and decide I’m going to try and snuggle in with my lovely wife for the last hour before I needed to start getting ready. That hour turned into an hour and twenty, and soon I was running late.

When I went downstairs to get my shirt, instead of fluffing, the dryer had turned it into a big, wrinkle ball of nastiness. Not having the time to iron, I ran back upstairs, and started flipping through my closet. The problem with my closet is that because it’s in the same room with my sleeping wife, the well-documented morning dragon, I can’t turn on the light. I had a flashlight in there for the longest time, but she keeps putting it away, so I’m left fumbling around in the dark. I grabbed a shirt, pulled it out and realized it’s my lucky Nintendo Tech Support shirt. I love this shirt and just pulling it from the closet brought a smile to my face.

I sat down next to my wife to put on my saddles, and said, “lovely girl… it’s about time to start ‘the process.’” We’ve dubbed her waking up “the process” ever since she sat straight up in bed, glared at me, threw a pillow and said, “don’t you know waking up is a process?!”

So I wasn’t expecting a great response. However, what I got was, “I can do it. I don’t know why you even do that thing… man. So…fucking annoying. Can’t you just leave me alone?”

Personally, I don’t even know what that thing is. So now I’m left wondering what the hell she was talking about. I know that the last couple of weeks the thing has been making sure I’m shutting not one, but two doors when I shower because the waters too loud. However, knowing that both doors were firmly latched this a.m., that was decidedly not “the thing”.

So I take the dog out and when I’m in the stairwell with him I get a really bad smell of dog. That strikes me as really odd for a number of reasons. The first being that I haven’t been able to smell shit for last several days, so something must be pungent to get to this sniffer. The second is that we just had the dog groomed on Saturday, so he shouldn’t be stinking yet.

Once I got outside the smell went away and didn’t come back until about half way to work. I found that odd to since, well, the dog wasn’t with me. I was in typical St. Louis traffic, so I only gave it a passing thought until I was parking my car. Even then I was thinking “why does my car smell like dog too?” Then I sniffed the lucky Nintendo shirt. Oh good god.

Occasionally, when I’m getting ready in the dark, I put on a shirt, decide against in and put it on the bed. When I’m in a real hurry I don’t deal with the shirt again until I get home. The best I can figure, last week, before the grooming, the dog slept on this shirt. That’s the only thing I can think of for the rancid dog smell of what I thought was a perfect clean shirt.

So now I’m sitting at work, it’s 8:45 in the morning, I feel like a zombie, and I’m smelling like week old dog ass. How’s your day going?

Random Ramblings from the Sicky

I’ve been sick as a dog the last few days. Or more specifically, sick like my dog. Snotty, blurry-eyed, random-sneezing-so-hard-my-whole-body-hurts, and most importantly, sitting around with a blank stare on my face.

Luckily, I think I’m keeping my snaggle-tooth in my mouth.

With that said, I’m going to ramble a bit.

I think it’s always a good thing to know your virtues and limitations. For example, one of the things I’m terrible about is patience. I hate waiting. My biggest pet peeve are the words “we have to talk… but not right now.” Or “I don’t want to talk about it right now.” Or pretty much anything having to do with "talk", “not” and “right now”. This lack of patience gets exponentially worse when I’m sick and the little things really start to stand out.

For example, I remember when those Lance Armstrong Foundation armbands were novel and meant something. Now, everyone has them for every damn thing under the sun. Same with those magnetic ribbons on the back of cars. They started with the “Remember our Troops”, and "Breast Cancer" and now I just saw one for the Cardinals. I mean really... The Cardinals? I know they've been loosing a lot lately, but do they need thier own ribbon?

And speaking of things on the back of cars, it’s bad enough if you’re going to ghetto up your car by putting a bumper stick on it, but at least take the time to put that shit on straight. I saw a, “In God We Trust” bumper stick slapped on at a 30ish degree angle. At that point you’re not even trying.

And speaking of the “In God We Trust” is there any way of saying “I haven’t bothered to research any real information on my stance” then being able to sum up your political view with a bumper sticker? I don’t care what side of fence you’re on. If you can sum your opinion up with “Man + Woman = Marriage”, or something equally as *cough* clever, then you’re beliefs are as shallow as your wit.

Ok… well, I’ll ramble about more stuff later. Time to go take some more medication that my Pharmacist tells me I can make Meth out of. Weeeeee…