I took a late lunch break today.  Not suspecting the horror that was about to transpire, I calmly wandered into the kitchen with my cell phone, thinking about my frozen lean cuisine lunch and wondering if maybe, just maybe, this time it wouldn't taste like cardboard.

All was proceeding as it should. The frozen lunch went into the microwave and I sat down at the table to wait when I heard something, something that didn't belong.  Something.... buzzing.  Slowly, filled with dread, I turned and looked over at the window directly behind me, only to come face to face with a hornet.

This weekend I was on the phone with my mom, trying to remember the name of a game we used to play almost twenty years ago.

"It was that one, you know, with the knights, and they're running around Spain, and the intro music goes dun duuuun dun dun... we had that giant map that we kept having to look at!"

Fortunately Mom knew exactly what I was talking about since I'm pretty sure most people would have written me off as a raving lunatic at that point.

Thus I set off on my Mission - to find and download Vengeance of Excalibur, a 1991 DOS RPG. My shiny Playstation 3 sat unused and neglected as I curled up on the sofa and took a trip down memory lane. DOSBox, a handy DOS emulator, allowed me to experience old favorites from the early '90s just the way I remembered them. Vengeance of Excalibur, Prophecy of the Shadow, Zork text adventures, King's Quest...

Don't get me wrong - I love our newer video games, with their hyper-realistic graphics, their smooth gameplay and control schemes, their good (and bad) voice acting... but there is definitely something to be said for our old favorites. Sitting in front of a computer typing commands into a text based RPG can be just as satisfying as staring dumbstruck at the latest Final Fantasty CGI cutscenes.

You also tend to notice things about older games that you may not have noticed when you first played them. Like how King's Quest V is really a story about one man's EPIC acid trip.

I love my new job. I really do. The constant challenges of real estate are always exciting to me, and I love the small group of people I work with. But when my boss asked me to schedule a photo shoot for new team photos and a portrait of me for my business cards, I immediately hated my life. Having my picture taken is something I'm usually okay with, but a professional photo shoot? Ack!


Dutifully I called the photographer and scheduled the appointment, and on the assigned day, the three of us - myself, my boss, and the buyer agent - all drove to the studio. The photographer instantly put me at ease and I started to relax. She was gentle, soft spoken, and her studio felt homey. She chatted with us for a while, then sent us to the area where she planned to take her pictures. I looked down to make sure I was standing where she had asked me to, and when I looked back up, everything had changed.



Her eyes blazed red behind her camera, and I swear I could see tiny horns poking up from her forehead. "Rebecca! Get closer to Frank! Get that hair out of your eyes! Rob! Put that hand in your pocket!" The orders were barked with ferocity, and we scrambled to obey. She grinned at us, baring sharp, pointed teeth. "HAPPY HAPPY HAPPY!" I managed a bright false smile, shaking in my 4" heeled pumps.



The ordeal continued for several excruciating minutes as she snarled and snapped. Finally she walked over to me and raked my bangs out of my face. "Do you have any hairspray?" she asked. I told her I didn't, and felt my eyes widen as her eyes flared a brighter red and steam trickled out of her ears. "I'll fix it with Photoshop," she grated to herself. I resolved to have at least eight cans of hairspray in my car from then on out.



The shooting continued until she was satisfied. "All right," she said cheerfully, all trace of the demonic presence inhabiting her slight frame gone without a trace. "Let's take a look!" She loaded the photos onto her computer and projected the results onto a screen against the far wall. She offered friendly, gentle advice on which photos she would recommend. When we had decided, she turned to me. "We're doing a portrait of you by yourself, right?"



And it started all over again.



By the end of the two and a half hours that we were there, I felt like I had been raked over the coals. But the photos turned out nicely.

I've had a string of odd encounters while living in my duplex.  Take a look at Part 1 and Part II.  Actually... does three count as a string?  How many encounters would it take before it became a string?

I've been extremely fortunate to have never found myself in a vehicle versus vehicle battle to the death, which is how I tend to think of car accidents. The closest I've ever come was running into a deer going 55 mph. The poor suicidal thing leapt right out in front of me, leaving me literally no time to react. Even if I could have swerved, I wouldn't have. Huge trees on one side and a steady stream of oncoming traffic also going 55 mph makes that decision pretty easy. The deer, a fairly small specimen, crunched in the hood of my car and nearly came through my windshield. My insurance barely covered it.

When I finally made my way to the Gamestop register, I smiled nervously at the cheerful man behind the counter. I could tell he was just as excited about the product release as I was, and didn't mind being at work at midnight. Which of course made what I was about to do even more humiliating.

"I fail at life and didn't pre-order," I admitted, my face flushing in shame. I couldn't look the man across from me in the eye. "Any chance I can still get a copy?" The last was almost a mumble. I couldn't bring myself to raise my voice. Surely the rest of the line behind me would hear.

"That dumb chick," they would whisper to each other, snickering behind their hands. "She didn't pre-order and thinks she can still get a copy. HA! I pre-ordered my collector's edition, like, a year ago."

Instead of laughing in my face and sending me out the door wrapped in a shroud of embarrassment, the Gamestop employee graced me with a benevolent smile which transformed his face from that of an ordinary human to something radiant that clearly transcended the mortal plane. "I've still got a couple copies left," he told me. "I'll get one for you."

I nearly cried with relief. "Oh, thank you, thank you!" I gasped. It was all I could do to not fall to my knees in gratitude. I still had the presence of mind to realize that although he was obviously a divine being, he might not appear so to the rest of the line behind me.

He pressed the box into my hands. "Servers are going to be a mess tonight," he said gently as though bestowing a saintly prediction.

"Yeah, no kidding," I replied. I flashed him my best smile, thanked him again, and moved away from the register before the line behind me started foaming at the mouth and/or having seizures.

Yes, I am now the proud owner of a brand-spanking-new copy of Wrath of the Lich King. And yes, you bet your ass I tromped out of the house at midnight to stand in a huge line in front of my local Gamestop. Fortunately I wasn't alone in this geekery - Pat and our friend John were there too.

The time we spent waiting in the line was fun. We babbled happily about instances, Death Knights, inscription, siege machines, and all the grand new things that were coming with our purchase of WotLK. Periodically when discussing a raid, Pat would call out "looking for more heals! Need four more heals!" to which he received responses such as "what about DPS? I'm DPS!"

We also got to see a lone woman dressed in a guild tabbard and wearing a full length black cloak. Honestly, not a huge deal. I'm sure in the larger cities there was a lot more dressing up going on. Really the only reason I mention this woman is because she had to be in her fifties. I would generally expect teenagers or especially geeky twentysomethings to dress up - not women nearly old enough to be my grandmother! But you know what? I hope she had a blast, and if she wants to dress up, more power to her.

The wait was actually very short. The Gamestop had set things up very efficiently, and they powered through the line in what I'm sure was record time. It helped that most of the people there had pre paid for their copies, so all they had to do was waltz in and flash their receipt.

Ah.... good times.

Of course...

...I can't actually install WotLK yet because my freaking DVD drive is still broken.

/epic fail.

Oh, chimney fires....

I was driving to work this morning thinking about what my life had been like a couple of years ago and saw a fire truck go by. No lights, no sirens, just meandering along. I found myself laughing.

I believe it was New Years of 2007*. I had a friend over crashing at my place, and I had fallen asleep on my living room sofa, as I did quite frequently at that time. My friend had started a fire in my wood burning stove, and everything was all cozy, cheerful, and warm. I remember waking up briefly in the middle of the night and seeing the room completely choked with smoke. I was vaguely alarmed for a minute until I saw my friend busily doing something at the fireplace. Oh, he's got it handled, I thought, and immediately fell asleep again.

The next morning everything seemed to be fine. My friend took off to run to the store, and I started picking up a bit - my place was a pit, as usual. I was in the dining room when I caught a whiff of smoke. I shot a glance at the stove. It sat there, innocuous as ever, doing its best to look completely innocent. I wasn't fooled. I marched over and pulled open the door.

There was no fire, not even any residual burning embers, but the inside of the stove was filled with smoke. I slammed the door closed and glared at it for a long moment. Don't you dare, I thought at the stove. This is unacceptable. Reluctantly I pulled the door open. Smoke flowed out into the room, and I slammed it closed again. I grabbed some shoes and walked outside to look up at the chimney. There was definitely smoke. Not just a little bit of smoke. There was billowing smoke.

I did some creative swearing, Fire Fear** suddenly raging full force. I knew it had to be a chimney fire, and I was furious. I knew the chimney had been cleaned and inspected less than a year before - there was no reason for anything to be catching fire up there. It was a good thing there were no visible flames, or I may have had a panic attack and fainted before I was able to call anyone.

And of course the first person I called was my friend. "You need to get back here right now!" I shrieked into the phone when he picked up. "This is your fault!"

"What?!" he asked, confused and alarmed.

"Just get back here!" I snapped, voice still shrill. I hung up the phone and waited outside until his car pulled into my driveway a couple minutes later. He got out of his car, and I stabbed a pointed finger towards the chimney.

"What?!" he asked again.

"What do you mean, WHAT?" I cried. "LOOK! There's smoke! There shouldn't be smoke! Something's on fire, and you're calling the fire department, because this is your fault! You're the one who wanted a fire last night!"

He cringed, knowing about my fire fear, and wisely didn't argue with me, even though in retrospect I was possibly overreacting. "Okay, okay."

I followed him inside and watched as he checked inside the stove, then called 9-1-1. "This isn't an emergency," he said calmly to the operator, "but we've got a bit of a chimney fire going here..."

I had calmed down a bit now that the situation was being handled, and suddenly was struck by a deep horror. Firemen. Were coming here. To my house. And it was a mess. I exploded into action, attacking the pile of stuff on the dining room table.

My friend watched me, bewildered. "What are you doing?"

I gave him in incredulous look. "My house is a mess!"

He raised his eyebrows. "Yeah.... it's always a mess."

"I know. But there are strangers that are going to be walking around in here! Firemen, for God's sake! Come on, help me clean!"

My long suffering friend helped me clean as much as we could in the few minutes it took the fire department to arrive.

And oh yes, they made quite an entrance.

I live on a tiny, quiet little dead end street in a duplex. So when the fire trucks came roaring into the neighborhood, lights on and sirens going full force, it drew some spectators. Including my new neighbors living in the other side of the duplex whom I hadn't had a chance to meet properly. After assuring them that no, our duplex wasn't going to burn to the ground, and hi by the way, I'm Becca, I went inside to watch the firemen.

One of them was hot. And by hot I mean really hot. And after a moment, I realized I recognized him. He looked at me and gave me one of those funny little smiles that said he recognized me but couldn't quite place who I was. I had met him once and instantly lusted after him - he had dated a crazy former co worker for a couple of weeks. He was responsible. He owned a beautiful house. He was gorgeous. And did I mention that he was a fire fighter? Uh, sexy?! And now he was here. In my house. My messy looks-like-a-hurricane--and-a-tornado-had-its-way-in-here house. Putting out a chimney fire. Looking at me with my tangled hair, sloppy sweat pants, and ratty t-shirt.

I listened to one of the older men tell me I need to have the chimney cleaned and inspected again before using the wood stove, waited until they had all filed out of my house and driven away, then did a face plant into my dining room table.

"No more fires in the wood stove," I told my friend. "Not ever."



*I could definitely be wrong about this... I have a terrible memory for past dates. But I'm pretty sure it was '07... except maybe it was '06.... damnit.

** I am so paranoid about fire it's not even funny. Before I go to bed I wander around and make sure everything electronic that emits heat is unplugged. I run my hands over the stove burners to make sure they're off because I don't trust the knobs. I sleep with a fire extinguisher next to my bed. No, I'm not kidding.

CAST:

NILS

BECCA

Becca had gotten the day off from work after manning the office solo for nearly a week with the express purpose of visiting Fort Worden with her best friend and honorary big brother Nils since their work schedules rarely allowed for days off at the same time. After trekking out all the way to the park, Nils and Becca were very excited to be at the beautiful coastal area (and, more importantly, not at work).

The day was starting off wonderfully. Nils and Becca were armed with a flashlight in anticipation of exploring the old bunker, gummy sharks, granola bars, and Propel water. They were a little bit sad that it was so cloudy and not sunny and warm so they could play in the water, but they weren't about to let that dampen their day. Then they walked on a little farther, and noticed the first ill omen.

Nils and Becca were a little bit concerned about the tsunami hazard sign, but the beauty of the park soon let them forget their concern.

Then....

Terror struck!

Fort Worden was infested with ZOMBIES!!!!

Fellow park goers were being attacked left and right! Becca and Nils had no idea where the zombies had come from, but there was no time to ponder these mysteries! Becca and Nils fled to the nearest secure looking structure, but it was locked.

So Nils and Becca fled to the ominous looking abandoned bunker in the distance!

Nils and Becca immediately started exploring the old bunker, looking to a place to hole up while they figured out what to do. The bunker seemed safe at first, and after a little while of searching, Nils and Becca allowed their guard to drop. Nils leaned up against a wall to take a break, then the zombies STRUCK! They seized his camera case and tried to pull him down to the room below!

(Becca was tempted to be mad at Nils for taking pictures instead of rushing to her rescue, but after a moment of reflection she decided not to say anything.)

Nils was getting angry. "That's it!" he told Becca. "We have to get that phone!"

"No, Nils!" Becca cried, still shaking from her near brush with death. "There are zombies down there, in case you haven't noticed!"

"Well, what else are we going to do?" Nils demanded. "I'm going, you stay here!"

Paralyzed with fear, Becca watched Nils descend to the lower levels.

Then she went after him. Unfortunately, her first attempt to find Nils didn't go very well.

Reunited, the two took a deep breath.

"What the hell are we going to do now?" Becca demanded. "We don't have a phone, we're totally surrounded, and there are zombies all over the lower level!"

"Well...." Nils was unhappy. "I guess we should go practice martial arts on the beach and prepare for the worst."

Becca thought he was kidding.

He wasn't.

Suddenly Becca realized something. "Stay here," she ordered Nils, and before Nils could regain his balance as he came out of Shaolin Bear Strike, she was off, tearing across the roof of the bunker and down the ladder.

Five minutes and she was back with the phone. The national guard showed up a half hour later, killed all the zombies, and after giving Nils and Becca a thorough medical examination to make sure they weren't bitten, they were released and sent home.

What did Becca realize that allowed her to retreive the phone so easily?

Becca is really a superhero.

But don't tell anyone.

Myspace is not my favorite thing ever but I still keep in contact with several friends through the site, so I log on every now and then. I logged in today to check mail, and on the sidebar where they keep the big obnoxious advertisements I saw THIS:

(*crossing fingers* Please don't get sued for snaking that image...)

I got a good laugh out of it. I admit, I'm not familiar at all with dating sites, but this just seemed silly. And shallow. And wrong.

So of course I clicked on it.

Apparently this is "where the classy, attractive, and affluent meet". The front page told me I could start interacting with the most attractive, wealthy, and desirable people in online dating, should I so choose. Still, I was hesitant. Even though they proclaimed they had been delivering a superior dating service since 2002 I was wary, so I decided to check out their testimonials.

Well! High praise from a lot of rich men who hooked up with beautiful women. And hey! Even a few recommendations from some satisfied ladies!

I was impressed. I was convinced. I was ready to meet attractive, wealthy, desirable people.

I went back to the home page and selected "I am a woman looking for a Sugar Daddie (male)" from the drop down menu. I left the country set at "All Countries". After all, who would turn down a foreign Sugar Daddie? Age, lets see... well, I'm not going to be too picky if they're affluent and pretty. Between the ages of 21 - 45? Sure, why not.

Goodness. There's certainly more than a few decent looking guys, and several showing off perfect steroid sculpted bodies. Hey, check it out! A 40something man introduces himself with the quote "WELCOME TO THE PLEASUREDOME!" Dream come true! Ooh, here's another one that sounds promising: "Cadillac on the loose seeks brakes". I'll give him points for being creative.

Unfortunately one can't view full profiles without registering, and though I clearly could see that the site would definitely be able to hook me up with the Sugar Daddie I had been waiting for all my life (as long as I put on something slutty that showed off my breasts for the profile picture, of course) I didn't feel that I was quite ready to take that next step.

So what did I do next? I wrote a blog post.

In all seriousness, although I do feel a little bit bad for making fun of this dating site..... HOW SHALLOW IS IT? I mean, honestly!

It's really not that much of a story, but I thought I'd tell it anyway. ^_^

I was reflecting on my car today. My car, a little 2001 Suzuki Esteem, does not have power windows. I'm very glad of this. Why? Because I can roll up my window ten times faster than the power motor can roll it up when I spy an incoming bee headed straight for me, intent on destruction and pain. I demonstrated this just a half hour ago. It's amazing what adrenaline can do.

I live in mortal terror of bees getting into my car. Not for any good, logical reason - I'm not allergic to them, and it's not like being stung is that big of a deal, but I am reduced to a quivering bundle of nerves when I happen to spot one a football field away, much less one that's sharing a ten foot radius with me. And God FORBID one get into my car.

Which reminds me...

Last summer I was driving my buddy Pat home. We were going through the downtown area of the small city that we live in. It's a lovely little area, good to visit on a weekend and peer through the windows of the quaint little shops and even more appealing because adjacent to the shopping area is a quiet bay waterfront park. Fortunately the speed limit is 15mph, and you're often going slower through the area because of the abundance of pedestrians choosing to cross the street wherever they happen to decide they want to instead of using the crosswalks.

As Pat and I crawled along through town, I felt something bump my leg - wearing shorts made the feeling that much more acute. I instantly got a very bad feeling and reflexively reached down without taking my eyes off the road and swatted at my leg, biting my lip. Pat gave me a quizzical look, but I was too focused on what was going on around my unprotected bare flesh to pay him any mind.

About two seconds later I happened to glance down and nearly choked. Sitting calmly as you please on my seat right between my legs was the biggest freaking bee I had ever seen. I shrieked something along the lines of, "OH MY GOD OH SHIT THERE'S A BEE!" Pat instantly came to attention, and responded intelligently with, "where is it? Oh FUCK, that's a big bee!"

Yes, thank you. I am definitely aware of this.

I'm still not sure how I managed to slowly pull into a mostly empty parking lot and park my car without hitting anyone or anything, but I did. After the car was motionless I sat still as a statue, whimpering and staring down that the biggest bee ever. I didn't know what to do, and I was convinced that if I moved, the bee was rouse itself and attack me with a vengeance for swatting at it.

Pat was my hero that day. "Don't. Move. A. Muscle." He spoke slowly and carefully, apparently afraid I would bolt like a startled deer right into oncoming traffic. He fumbled around for a moment and came up with a CD case, and slammed it down, trapping and probably killing the bee. He moved as though he was going to lift his hand up.

"WAIT!" I screamed. "I'M GETTING OUT!" I flung my door open and squirmed my way out of the car around Pat's hand and arm. "Okay," I said breathlessly. "Get rid of it." Pat raised the CD case and deftly flipped the now dead bee out of the car.

And from then on that be was referred to as the Anti Christ Bee. Epic tales would be told of the battle. I have no idea how far they've spread, but if you've heard tales of The Epic Battle with the Anti Christ Bee, now you know the real story. ^_^

I apologize if I've told this story before - I don't recall ever blogging about it before, but you never know, my memory isn't all that wonderful. ^_^