Went to Anime Night last night, but our host Mike had just gotten a Wii, so very little anime was actually watched. Somehow I wound up boxing three rounds with friend Wes. For those who have not played the boxing game on a Wii, it's...a little exhausting. You're basically shadow-boxing furiously until the other guy goes down.
"Just do it like you're really punching," advised Mike. "Yeah, I'll just tap into the memory of my last fist fight, shall I...?"
Two rounds of this, and I was panting so hard my throat was raw, and Wes had managed to strain his arm. If the Wii interfaces catches on, gamers may become the most athletic section of the populace, or at least we'll have a lot of Wii related heart-attacks.
"Oh...going for the low...blows...I see..." "Heh...(pant, pant)...what can I say...(pant, pant)...I fight like a girl...(pant, pant)"
He won in the end, but I am proud to say that he had to work pretty hard for it. "I can't believe you beat up a girl," muttered our charming hostess. "Look, it wasn't easy!" Wes protested.
Musing on Wii-ness, it suddenly occurred to me that it's been awhile since I played a game other than a desultory pass through WoW.
A really long while.
A...oh my god, was the last game I played REALLY "Viva Pinata"?! For the 360, which my ex-husband retained possession of, meaning I haven't played it since I moved out?
Holy shit, no wonder I'm going barking mad. Get that woman a video game infusion, stat!
I hied myself down to the local GameStop and raided the used "Greatest Hits" section for classics that, owing to one thing and another, I never played. What the clerk thought when confronted by a mad-eyed woman carrying copies of "Harvest Moon" and "God of War" we'll never know, but his expression was not unlike the video store clerk who once rang up two rentals from the "Adventure" section for me, those being "Watership Down" and "Full Metal Jacket." I have notoriously eclectic tastes.
As I was driving back home, armed with video games and microwaveable bacon (Look, I need a break from cheesecake for breakfast.) I drove around the small pond in my apartment complex. And there, perched on a spar, a bright spot against the brown water, a belted kingfisher was sitting in the rain.
"YES!" I said, pumping a fist in the air. Totem, mascot, desperate grab for superstition--I don't know and don't care. I will take what signs I can. Hopefully that means he approves of my new digs.
And now, to get some work done. And try to locate where I packed my damn PS2...
Today, as I was slicing open the last of the book boxes, and setting up the last of the bookcases, I finally realized which of my books had gone missing during their disastrous journeys across the country.
I am a woman who believes in guides. Manuals. Handbooks. Books for all of life's sundry activities. Including sex.
Call me geeky, but there it is. (I also researched every drug I've ever done before I did it. Often in the school library.) I don't have a penis, I don't expect this crap to be intuitive, I WANT A MANUAL. With pictures. Color-coded, if possible. I learned to give a blow job more or less the way I learned to dissect a fetal pig and it's basically the same headspace.* Thus I own a fair number of books, from the technical to the raunchy, on how one performs various acts. I can't say I've had opportunity to use 'em all, but by god, I was prepared.
At least, I was.
They all vanished in the mail.
Every. Single. One.
We're talking a half-dozen hardcovers here, yanked from their boxes. Stolen is not too strong a word. Yes, I can replace them all on Amazon, but jesus, what that'll do to my Amazon recommendations makes the heart quail. ("You recently purchased "The Borrowers," "The Cricket of Times Square" and "Blow Jobs for Dummies." We have the following recommendations for you...") Damnit.
Somebody in the post office is havin' a fine old time with a highly specific portion of my library, and by god, I hope it burns when they pee.
*No insult intended to those on the receiving end. But it totally is. "This is all very biological and would be mildly disgusting if one thought too much about it, so let's have fun with it! Now which bit's where...?" (Look, I enjoyed dissecting the pig. I made it dance around and sing "Start Spreadin' The News." Really, this isn't an insult...)