You Probably Don't Remember Me, But...

...I'm still alive, I'm pretty sure!

Bunny is also an ant, lifting
things many times his own mass

So, long time no write, I know – a time of much jobsearching, interviews, unpacking, and D&D. Thankfully, Ike is way better at this 'moving' thing than I, so he's taking it on/putting it off on his own terms.

Whether it has been the soul-destroying enterprise of literally trying to sell myself to poser fatcats, or the stress of interviews, or maybe just a curse of unrest on my mattress, I have felt nothing but weary for weeks now. It’s taken its heaviest toll on my creativity; storywriting, blogging, drawing – usually an irrepressible font of ideas, both good and bad. Now I can barely doodle. I’m tired, guys; weirdly tired. It’s like I don’t have the energy to fountain ideas outwards – I’m only up to taking it in, hunkering at the bottom of a well of nightly escapism in paperbacks, telly and movies. I just can’t reciprocate. 

Grey spot on foot is where I was
stabbed by my own toes

In conjunction with this mental flat-lining and energy lull, I have also started to fall apart a little physically; a filling is missing on one of my teeth – when did THAT happen?? – and I accidentally kicked a Kirby vacuum, which has more in common with a Model T than a Dirt Devil. We think my toe is fractured, but can’t really get it professionally checked out. The dentistry is going to be expensive enough without insurance. Yaargh. Poor sucks. 'Nuff said.

So! Bitching and excuses aside, I am trying to shake off this feeling – we got a CO2 detector put in, and the toxic gasses I was half-sure were suffusing our new home and killing us slowly are simply not present, so this really is just me, and…well…I’m working on it!

1, 2, 3, 4, 5...6! 6 nerds! Ah! Ah! Ah!

On a positive note, I’ve DMed my first one-shot campaign, and am also now the proud momma of 4 little she-mice. We didn’t name them per se, but rather insult them on a case-to-case basis. The little brown one usually has shit-themed slurs, and the white one gets ice-queen allusions, but my Honeybunny called the dominant black one Ladysmith Black Mambazo, which has stuck for some unknowable reason. Lola the Fatass Kitty is more jealous than intrigued by them, although we have set up a chair for her to watch their terrarium, which we call Kitty Television. That scene of pure cute is helping me with my itis, fo' realies.

Aaawwwwwwwww

Glass Cat Wars

You might have seen them. Stupid, pointless impressionistic pseudo-cat shapes made from glass, which serve no purpose but to gather dust, and seem to spontaneously manifest and congregate in old ladies' window sills. This is what my mother thought I would want, one fateful birthday so much like this last tragic Christmas. Well, she was "that guy" even then, and handed over this glass cat with a pleased smile, which I tried to match. WARNING: Results may vary. 

"I am a dumb!"

It was molded of clear glass, and it had no face, or any other recognizable features -- but if you looked very closely, in just the right light, you would realize it had two ever-so-slightly raised areas on one side of its blank head, which were eyes, and THEREFORE IT HAD BEEN LOOKING AT YOU THIS WHOLE TIME. Ick. It stood, unwanted and somehow accusing, in whatever random corner was the least trafficked, for at least a couple of months. Until Fancy came over for some drinks with HunBun. Now, it's hard to tell whether or not Fancy is drunk, because he's, well, he's just...Fancy. But when he's drunk, apparently he likes glass cats. Or at least our glass cat. We gladly handed it over, hoping he'd at least accidentally break it so we could throw the damn thing away, but he wandered home in the morning still the proud, slightly tipsy owner of the glass cat. 

Mexican pervcat says: Hola, señora
hermosa. ¿Puedo sentarme en su regazo?

It was a far more sober Fancy that returned it to us the following weekend, to our great disappointment. But my ingenious Bunny tricked him back into it, saying he "had a present" for him, and so all was well again. Until Button and Fancy were married, honeymooned in Mexico and returned, sunburned and with nick-knacks. Ours? Was a blue Mexican glass-ceramic cat, with ornate South-American flowery embellishments all over. And a mustache, I believe. This was the beginning of the Glass Cat War, and terms were laid. 

-It must glass, ceramic, or somehow fragile. Lightness is key.

-It must be a cat, and not only a cat, but a cat in that stupid pose, sitting with its head turned at a right angle to the rest of its body, tail in close.

-The giftor must trick the giftee while still alluding to it being "a present" -- the keyword my Sweetie had tricked Fancy with initially.

-It cannot be mailed as a package, or presented at Christmas or birthdays...or any time of great gift-giving.

With these rules laid out, the real challenge began, and we were at a disadvantage, holding both of the existing cats in play. But Lovely went into a whirlwind of plotting, and got rid of both over the next month; cramming one (unconvincingly, I thought) into a Fallout game case and demanding that Fancy "check it out". He did, and howled for us most delightfully. But the real triumph was discarding the original hated glass cat. For Fancy was wary now, and on the lookout for Bunbun's treachery. 

But he still wasn't ready for The Glass Cat Mastermind.  

The trap was carefully laid; a drinking night, lowering Fancy's defense against glass-cattery. A huge glass mug, that Fancy, as a heavy drinker, prefers to use. The presence of YouTube videos. While he stared glassily (ha!) at a YouTube video, my love went into action; to the kitchen, in which to remove the glass cat from the junk drawer that had been its rightful home. Placed ever so gently, ever so silently into the tall glass mug. Then ice from the refrigerator dispenser to, ah, 'cloud the issue', before actually mixing the poor fool a drink. The YouTube feature draws to a close, as Sweetness comes bearing "My gift to you, Buddy." And BOOM. He'd been glass-catted. 

Oh, the look of astonishment, of defeat, of drunken dismay! 

Oh, glorious victory.

 

Picture this with fur. Yeah.

That's when Fancy got the womenfolk involved, and Button made the next foray several months later, offering me the most obscene bag I could have ever imagined -- all cute-as-a-Button like she is, saying "Look what I got for you! It's a preeeesseeent." I was all unsuspecting, as all my warning bells were already in a clamor about the bag itself, not What Lay Within. It was made out of red, blue, orange and green Kool Aid pouches. It was trimmed with blue faux fur. It was vivid, metallic, and truly awful. So full of garish visual stimuli, I had no time for what my ears were hearing. I took the bag. It was heavy. It had the blue cat in it.

It went nicely with the faux fur, actually.

Apparently my dear sweet Muffin had immediately called shenanigans right at the door when she'd said "present" -- he has no time or mental space of purses, but apparently plenty for treachery -- but had agreed to let her try it on me, with the agreement that she not even try to play again til after Christmas. It was July. Even though his lady let him down, and totally fell for it, it was still a steal of a deal. When Button attended her first D&D game with us in August, Bunny gave her her own dicebag with a full set of die. And a glass cat stuffed in for good measure.

Pants shook it up by introducing two small, incredibly broken and just generally shitty cat figurines from her parent's house -- one now resides with Fancy, the other is on our kitchen counter to this very day. But it wasn't me! Honey totally fell for it. Who knows what ingenious revenge plot he is concocting? He definitely knows how to play the long game.

Friend Criteria

Friend prototype; although

shown singly, comes in pairs.

As 1/2 of a mature, awesome couple that's in the success lane, fast-tracking to...something good, we're fairly sure...I have begun to notice some premature maturity (yes, it's a thing) budding here and there in our lives. Like we're much, MUCH more defensive of our bedtimes than we ever have been before. We fight for it, and clutch it close like it's precious, suspiciously eyeing all social invitations for possible sleep-robbery. (Also a thing.) I personally have started to clean. Those who do not know me will not understand what a bizarro alternate universe statement that was, but it is. It seems to be a combination of being ready for when parents visit with little warning, being criticized by friends who can't ignore kitty litter smell quite as well as we can, and...for myself. Because I care. It bothers me. No words for how weird that is.

But mostly our nascent fogey-ness can be seen in our friends. Sure, we have friends who don't fit the profile below, but they are satellite friends, orbiting in and out of one's social circle on their own social trajectories. The people who we see every week and/or day, and who mainly see us in return, fit a very specific profile of premature maturity. (See, saying it twice makes it a thing.)

My sweetie hoards 3 of the 4 Fancy cats - its effin' exciting!

They are cat people. Fancy and Button (friend's names are obviously and deliberately fabricated for their privacy, just in case anyone managed to care enough to Google them) have gone critical, plateauing after the initial outbreak at 4 cats, while Pants and McDuck only occasionally pet-sit McDuck's mother's cat - nonetheless, they are cat people. It counts, believe me - imagine the personality of Scrooge McDuck (hence the moniker) in a man who is mostly sideburns, likes to weight-lift while roaring silently at his own reflection and blasting heavy metal, and who has been known to make people cross the street to walk on the other side when he comes bearing down on them on a dark night - this terrifying dude loves holding our fat Lola kitty like a baby and crooning at her about her "diddah kitty pawsy-wawsies," etc.

They are couples. Fancy and Button were recently married, as were a more distant satellite couple that consists of my Sweetie's cousin Wiggles and her man Teach...let me just say, going to two weddings in one summer where you are friends with the couple instead of the children of the attendees makes one feel positively ADULT. Brr.
Add Pants and McDuck, Lit and Linux, Shrinky and her Bill (his name is boring enough to be real), & a few other unmarried-yet-paired types, and we are condemned to social gatherings that will always have an even number of people. What is it about being in a long-term couple that makes single people evaporate like dew in the sunshine? It's not like we play 'No-I-love-you-more' and then start measuring whose relationship is longest. We wait until everyone else goes home before we do that.

C/o madbrewlabs.com

They are nerds. We had a non-nerdy couple, but it broke. Probably not from the combined power of all the nerdy couples they were in keeping with, but it does set a clear precedent; nerdiness reigns supreme. If you don't know how to spoof an IP to stream past caps, stream music and movies for free, love both western cartoons and anime, and at least know what WoW or D&D stand for, we don't love you. We pity you. If, however, you own at least one set of polyhedral die, or have at least one character on our WoW server, we're fine, just fine. Attending the Ren Faire or Forest Fair with us in the summer is bonus points.

This is apparently the trifecta for Responsible Adulthood, and we have all fallen prey. Fancy AND McDuck both OWN THEIR HOMES. At the ages of  23 and 25, respectively. At least Bunny and I rent. With a roommate, even. Ahh, wild youth.