I Want To Play Lady GaGa in Scrabble

”The only true currency in this bankrupt world is what we share with someone else when we’re uncool.” – Phillip Seymour Hoffman as the late great Lester Bangs in Almost Famous – 2000.

The thing I like the most about personal blogging is I can be myself. This is the place where I can tell you how much I dig superheroes, music snobbery, and my anxiety disorder.

I have another aspect of my personality to reveal. My favorite board game is Scrabble. I really really really like Scrabble. A lot. I would watch people play it on television. I like it so much, that getting beat by my wife yesterday 238 points to 231 points didn’t upset me because I spelled aqua and adorns . I was happy.

The Agony and The Irony

There was something missing in his eyes. I couldn’t make out the color or the shape. Lucas’ might have been green, blue or gray, but they weren’t vibrant.

“How long have you been fixed?

Lucas took two steps toward me. I saw his large hands clench his slender waist.

“Six years. I went through some personal issues. I became desperate so I tracked Anson Cluber and Connor Bulas down through my Air Force contacts. The technology is very advanced. I decided to upgrade everything, including my heart and nervous system. My quality of life is impressive.”

Mr. Brightside

I was 45 minutes deep into a post about grilling when my wife, the all knowing Bobina, says “you know that funny story in the grocery store today has to be a blog post. It would be great.” So none of you are getting my hamburger recipe or steak marinading advice. Instead, you get to read about what a wanton, man whore of a cheater my kids think I am.


My wife and younger girls (aged 6 & 7) are very slow in the grocery store. They derive pleasure from talking about what cereal to buy or how rolls are cooler than loaf bread. I can do an entire list and have my cart put away by the time they get to the produce. While they loitered around the deli meat waiting to chew the fat about roast beef, I ran over to the another section of the store and picked up a few items. My phone rang.

Pomp and Soccer Pants

My hands shook and a cold sweat formed on my brow when she popped the question.

“Are you looking for something special for your significant other?”

I had never considered my daughter that. She was always my little girl. I smirked at the middle aged woman with heavy lipstick and pageant queen smile .

“My daughter is graduating from Pre-K tomorrow. She’s 4 years old. I want to surprise her with something simple but pretty.”

Lose Yourself

Summer turned into fall. Lines of communication between doctors and patients were now open. Lucas Bonner and Bruce Nolans were not heard from, but Clare, Lena, Breann and I talked every day. We made plans to meet in New York next week, the first of November. I was still ambivalent about having the surgery. Lucas words haunted me. I didn’t want to imagine myself as emotionally detached for several more decades.

Lena and Clare were looking forward to improving their health conditions. Breann was just looking for the experience. I was starting to see Lucas’ point about her. She had a hell of a story to write, if that was her intention.

All The…Small Things

I slept through my alarm, you guys. I stole 15 extra minutes of blissful sleep while my clock radio blared classical music for the rest of the house to enjoy at 6:45 am. I wear earplugs, so this has always been a risk, but I’m a very light sleeper and I usually wake five or six times a night no matter what and I’ll take them out when I see the clock read anything later than 4:00 am. Just in case. Last night, however, I slept like a log. Like a rock. Like a normal person.

My dream before I was so rudely interrupted by Morning:

Always The Optimist

school yesterday in the most magnificent mood. She had had a great day. Her friends were nice and played with her and everything was grand. She was happy. She said she told her one friend that if she wasn’t nice to her that she wouldn’t come to her birthday party and she wouldn’t buy her a Monster High doll, which is basically bribery and I told her that I was glad she stood up for herself but she shouldn’t bribe people to be her friend.

It’s a start, anyway. She took her happiness into her own hands, called her friend out, and worked out a solution. Even if I’m not 100% sold on her methods, it’s a start. We’ll work on delivery as we go.

Outdoor Stuff

festivities, AH and I set to some back-breaking manual labour in the form of a complete front door makeover. Since moving into our home five years ago, we’ve despised our front door. A builder-selected forest green, a shade not resembling anything that has been in style since the early 90′s, and only then in folk art and floral upholstery. It was ugly, is what I’m saying. Between the green paint, the sad, boring windows, the chipping brass handles, the thick crust of dust from living in a construction site for five years, and the peeling paint from around the frame, the doors were practically begging for a makeover. IN ENGLISH.

This is the only photo I could find at the last minute. Unfortunately it’s in black and white, so you won’t be able to fully appreciate the green. But you can see the grit and grim, the flaky paint, and the windows, which look like sad, weeping eyes.

No Guarantees

An old friend of mine from high school days lost her daughter yesterday morning. She was only a few months younger than Eirinn. I never met the little girl and, truth be told, it has been probably 10 years at least since the last I spoke to my friend in person. These are the days of Facebook, and so I’ve followed her daughter’s struggle from a distance. I’m not good in these situations. I never know what the right thing is to say or how to behave or even what to do with my arms.

I didn’t even have the courage to ask her what exactly her daughter was fighting against. All I knew was that her beautiful, truly gorgeous, little girl, with a mop of curly hair and a smile that stretched all across her doll face, was pictured with wires and tubes, and then with a bald head. She was only a few months younger than Eirinn, clearly struggling with all her might against something very serious, and yet I never once saw a picture of her without that smile.

Learning To Blend

I know it’s hard to believe, given the abundance of charm I spew all of this place, but I’m sort of a forgettable person. Now, now, I’m not saying this to illicit sympathy or disbelief, I just am. It comes from years of Blending Into The Wallpaper training and not saying any words outloud with my mouth. I don’t go out, when I do, I don’t say much, I don’t eat lunch in the breakroom, I don’t attend after-work social functions like staff appreciation days or Christmas parties, I don’t play sports or belong to any clubs or groups, and I don’t really keep in touch with anyone. I’ve made myself forgettable. That was sort of the end-goal and hurrah! I’ve succeeded!

Example 1:

“Your face looks so familiar.”

“I’ve worked with you for nine years.”