Sunday, August 8, 2010

Retro Week

I am trying to adhere to my vow to write a post at least every two weeks. This week was tough. What should I write about? Would you believe that my son inspired me? For those of you that know my son, you probably dropped your coffee cups in your lap and are now trying to figure out how to sue me. You will have more of a chance getting money out of McDonald's again than me.

Anyway, enough said about frivolous litigation. My son has been trying to finish many achievements before the Cataclysm release. He has been working on the Dungeonmaster, Loremaster and a few others. He asked me last night if I could assist him, considering he doesn't have any of the keys for the heroic Burning Crusades instances. I must say doing those instances was a lot of fun. I even needed quite a few of the achievements. Apparently when Blizzard brought in the achievement system they didn't realize my priest had run Heroic Ramparts about 50 trillion times.

Tonight we are going to finish another 10 or so instances. I will be having a yard sale from the plundering at an Auction House near you.

Real Life Retro

This is my usual weekday morning.

My alarm goes off about 6:50am, I snooze it and begin rocking back and forth sobbing about how crappy my life is. This goes on about 4 times until I desperately need to get up so I can get to work on time. Sometimes however; I do drift back to sleep for those agonizing 9 minutes that some sleep study guy determined was just right. Those nine minutes toy with your emotions. Anyway, as I was saying, sometimes I do fall back to sleep. When this happens I usually have a dream. I can't seem to have dreams during the night when I have, well all night to enjoy them. I have them during those 9 minutes of hell.

This is the dream I had the other day.

I found myself on second base. It was an evening game, it felt like late July. The air was humid, the sounds of the cicadas calling out for their mates. I must have been dropped into a very important game, the crowd was large and loud (and by large - more than the 5 people that showed up to my little league games). The were undulating in that lame "wave" that people seem to want to do when they are a part of a large crowd. I was doing the dance, taunting both the pitcher and the catcher. "I'm going to steal third", I was saying in my head.

At that moment, there was a pitch to the batter. Strike! The catcher fell for the bait. He hurried his throw, it sailed over the baseman's head. I was off. Full speed in two strides. Like a North American Bison. I was barreling towards third, the coach waving and screaming me on towards home. I rounded third, I saw my prize, the pentagon, the home plate. Now I am not about to go on a Robert Langdon-esk rant about the shape of home plate. Needless to say I was almost there. I started to slide - not the wussy foot first slide, but the manly diving slide. It seemed like an eternity (remember I only have 9 minutes - maybe this was the same inspiration Madonna and Timberlake had for their song). Then I felt the rubber of home plate. I made it, the crowd erupted, I guess we won. My team mates rushed to me striking my back and congratulating me, it was one of these pats on the back that jarred me from my snooze time slumber.

I awoke, sweating, heart racing, out of breath, I felt as if I was about to experience a heart attack. It took a whole other snooze cycle to bring myself down from that dream. I then laughed and thought to myself, "what a looser." You know you are out of shape when you can't even handle "DREAM EXERCISE".

So yeah, what can I say, off to work in the yard. Apparently I need a lot of exercise.

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