Five Cat Facts

     Based on painstaking research of owning several cats (not at once), and having friends who also own cats.

This is Harley. She is the best cat ever. Yes, better than yours. 

5. Sometimes, they lick.
   
    Cats are famous for not being dogs. They don't bark, wag, or lick faces. OR DO THEY? I'm my travels, I've found several cats, including Harley, who just LOVE to lick. She likes faces and feet particularly. If you let her, she'll sandpaper your face clean off.

     The problem with this is it can dull the barbs on your cat's tongue. Wonder why older cats look so much scruffier than their younger selves? Their smooth tongues aren't as good at grooming. Those barbs are there for a reason. So if you're cat is a licker, let her have a few slurps, then stop. Cat saliva isn't good for your skin, and it can damage their tongues. Don't let your cat lick you!


4. They aren't all snobs.


     Harley was the first good example of this, but now two of my friends have cats that have confirmed it: some cats really like people. Many cats will hide when guests come over, that's true. But more and more I'm meeting cats who love visitors.

      Harley is my best example: once we took her to Grizz's house to meet my inlaws and their dog. She'd never been there, never met these people, and never been around a dog before, so we were a little worried. Harley came upstairs, took one look around, and thought 'Well, this is happening.' She then strutted around, cuddled with everyone and ignored the dog (who already lives with cats). She didn't even freak when Bahamute accidentally trapped her in the reclining couch. That is one cool cat!

     My friends new cats are much the same: people don't bother them, they love cuddles, and they'll lavish attention on anyone. So not all cats are fridge stranger-phobics.

3. They have favorite people.

     From the moment we saw her, Harley picked Bahamute as her favorite. She jumped into his arms and cuddled with him, ignoring me and winning him over. I'm not saying she doesn't love me: she just like the tomcat better. And that's fine: that's how pretty much every animal do.

     Cats will spend more time with their favorite person, even if someone else feeds them and changes their litter and I'm starting to sound like a bitter parent, aren't I? NEXT TOPIC!

2. They make weird noises.

1. They're smarter than you think.

     I don't mean 'They predict earthquakes' or 'They have the vocabulary of a small child' kind of ways either. I mean simply this: my cat knows my routine. I go to work at 9:50 Monday through Friday, with an occasional variation. Harley sleeps at the foot of our bed, and will crawl out when I do for snuggles and noms. Then she crawls back into bed while I make lunches and write. The INSTANT I think 'Time to wake Bahamute up' she crawls onto my chest and nuzzles my face. This is a DAILY event. She knows when I go to work and has devised a way to keep me around for snuggles instead. That is a smart, and very manipulative cat.

     Don't think it's because she likes me better: she does the same thing to prevent my husband from leaving the house to pick me up. She just wants SOMEONE giving her attention, and doesn't care where she gets it.

You harlot.

     Cats, like dogs, are smart enough to know when you're getting ready to leave, or when you get up and go through your pre-work routine you're about to vanish for several hours. It shouldn't be that astonishing. The difference is, the dog is happy to see you whereas the cat either doesn't care, is angry, or will cuddle non-stop. But they do know.

AlmaCon: Epic-tastic

So, some time ago, I attended a local anime and gaming convention, AlmaCon. Granted, local in this case is a two hour drive, but it was well worth it. Only $5 to get in for the whole weekend, you can't beat that. The Motor City Comic Con charges about $25 PER DAY. And that's just to get in, not meet any special guests. I'm looking at YOU, Stan Lee.

So what was at AlmaCon? Well, the short list is:
Doug Walker, AKA The Nostalgia Critic
Chris Niosi, AKA Kirbopher.
Martin Billany, AKA LittleKuriboh
As well as several fine voice actors from things like DBZ, FMA, and other great artists.

I got to meet Doug first thing, with Bahamute. He complimented me on my home made Harley Quinn mallet. He congratulated Bahamute and I on our upcoming nuptials. "You (me) must be busy, and you (Bahamute) must be terrified." We got a pic, and scuttled off with a couple of signed DVDs. A great experience!

Next, there were a few fun panels. How to make a Manga Character (hilarious and informative), Kirbopher's Flashstravaganza, (lots of info about animating and how not to be in it for the wrong reasons), an acting workshop with the voice of Shou Tucker where Bahamute got to do a fun acting exercise. Lunch at the Braveheart Pub, and back to the Con for Doug's panel about movies that you love/hate and every disagrees with you on. Then, on to the FMA panel with Shou Tucker, Scar (Brotherhood) and Jean Havok. Those three are a FREAKING HOOT, and told a LOT of fun stories when they weren't tossing around water bottles.

Then back to the merch room to buy one more character coin from LittleKuriboh. He was nice enough to call Grizz as Seto Kaiba. I was crying, it was so funny. And LOOOONG. Like at least 5 minutes.

Then, I was a creep.

I overheard the volunteer mention that Doug and the other Talent were going to the Braveheart Pub for food and drinks. So, I muttered to Bahamute "Wanna go back to the to Braveheart?"

 "That's where they're all going, isn't it?" He knew.

"Yeeaah, but I'm not gonna ambush 'em or anything."

"...Sure. I could use a drink." He agreed. So, we were creepers together.

On the way, I confessed a small fantasy: That the bar would be nearly empty, and Doug would recognize us and call us over to sit with him and the others, to just talk and hang out. Stupid. It was a college town on a Saturday night. No way would the bar be empty. No way would they want to hang with some weird fans.

Well, when we parked and got out. I wasted a few minutes throwing on a shirt over my leather bodic (borrowed from my RenFest outfit). As I closed the door, Doug Walker walked past with a small group. Holy Crap! Was my fantasy about to come true???

I fell into step a few paces behind, and we all entered the pub. The very, very full pub. Doug and the others headed for the back. Bahamute and I grabbed a table a few seats away. My heart sunk. No fantasy becoming reality today. We ordered our drinks and got ready to head out. I went to the restroom, nearly slipping on the wooden floor behind Doug.

'Perfect. Fall and break your leg in front of The Nostalgia Critic and LittleKuriboh. That'd be a really shitty end to the day.' I made it to the bathroom, admittedly a little buzzed, and headed out a few minutes later. Passing back by Doug, my mind flashed to a scene in Hannibal where Lecter is on a Merry-Go-Round behind Starling. He reaches out and barely brushes her hair. She turns, but he's already gone, and she's not sure he was even there.

'You could do that.' A devilish little voice whispered as I saw Dough's thinning, short hair.

Then, the voice of reason perked up 'Okay, you just crossed the line from fan to stalker. TIME TO GO.'

And go I did, leaving Doug Walker unmolested, and not landing myself in jail. All in all, a good day.

The (Job) Hunger Games: the odds were in my favor.

I'm employed.

Next week I'll be working part-time two days a week, and on call for 6, at three local funeral homes.

If you read my last blog, you'll already know my feelings on working at a funeral home. 

I'm so happy to be employed again, even if it is part time. Essentially, it depends on how many people need their services. So, here's hoping for booming business!

Not that I want more people to die.

Practically, it means a few life-style changes. No more going to sleep at 2am. Not as much time to mess around Tumblr and Tickled. I won't be able to cook and clean like I (mostly) have been.

But I think this is just what I need to get writing again. I'd always feel the drive to write when I was at work, ideas flying into my head. Then, I'd go home and sort them out. This might just get me motivated again.

And if not, at least I'll have some money coming in. Even part-time is better than nothing.

So, next week, it starts. Thank you to everyone who helped me, and wished me luck over the last month and a half. And don't expect these blogs to stop: it's only part time, after all.

For now.

The (Job) Hunter Games: DoA?

Well Maria, you always said I'd wind up working at that funeral home in Keego. And now, it may be coming true.

Let me back up a bit.

A long time ago, when proto-hominids walked the earth, and my friend Maria lived 10 minutes away, I was in high school.

I'm not that old. I'm not even as old as this poster!

Well, near my home there's a small funeral home. None of my relations were ever memorialized there, and I've never been in the place. But I pass it every day. It's literally a half-hour walk from my home, and even closer to where my friend Maria used to live. We saw it every day in high school.

And with my fascination with all things dead and dreary, Maria would joke "You should work there!"

I only have 122 horror movies on this shelf ALONE (the tall one).

I would laugh and smile, but didn't take it seriously. I was going to college. I was going to be a teacher. I didn't need to work so close to home!

Now I've applied for a part time job there. My teaching aspirations are long since tucked away (no regrets there, not in this job market), and a part-time position with on-call possibilities sounds like a great way to get back into being employed.

I'm an approachable person, I'd like to think. The kind somebody would feel free to talk to if they have a question or an issue. I think that would translate well to the memorial industry. I've been to enough of them: I know the atmosphere of quiet dignity and grace. I think I could do that.

I think I could help.

I'm not gonna bring you down much longer, promise.

That's what it really comes down to, in all the positions I've had. Help. Help answering questions, approaching hard to approach people, finding a table, finding a file, getting drinks, getting figures, getting the right info to the right people. I can help. I am a good helper. I am a person to ask for help.

I miss that. I've been unemployed long enough to miss things besides the money. I miss people. I miss getting them answers and hearing 'thank you'. I miss being helpful.

I don't know if being helpful is 'What God put me on this earth to do', or anything that lofty/pretentious. But there are a lot worse ways I could spend my time here.

So. I'm off to seek jobs, post silly pictures, and clean the house. Maybe it'll help someone, maybe not. 

Maybe it'll just help me.

Post-Christmas Non Hangover

Usually after Christmas I'm a wreck, just coming off all the joy and adrenaline and stress and awfulness and wonderfulness that's wrapped up in the holiday.

This year, everything is moving at a glacial pace, and I'm ecstatic.

So far I've spent my days hanging at Grizz's house with his family, watching TV, eating pizza rolls, and playing World of Darkness (like D&D, more vampires and faeries). This is what we all should get after the holidays: time to recover. A vacation from the vacation. I know I'm not the first to say it, but it's still a great idea.

If I could just stop having nightmares about not being prepared for the wedding, it'd be perfect. That and the end of the world. But that's pretty normal for me. Zombies. Nameless monsters with yellow eyes and my friends faces. Normal. For me.

So, back to blogging, applying for jobs (a few interviews and such are coming up, hooray!) and writing. Started the morning with a rejection letter from a flash-fiction site. Well. At least I submitted something. It's a step forwards. 

What's on the agenda for today? Maybe seeing The Hobbit with the family. Maybe more. Maybe something worth writing about that doesn't make me sound lazy and spoiled. Well. Besides my in-character notes from gaming last night. That felt good. Very good.

I'll keep this short, as most people besides me are busy. Happy holiday hangover. Hope this helps:

The Desolation of Smauglock NO SPOILERS

You know what's not easy? Being  Sherlock fan. Not only is the show utterly heartbreaking, it takes literal YEARS between series, due to how the BBC operates. Here's a handy list of things that have happened before Sherlock Series Three came out:


N'Sync came back.

Agent Coulson came back.

The U.S Government shut down AND came back. 

Harry Potter came back.

Moriarty came out. 

So yeah, it's been an eventful few years in between series, and the fans are getting impatient. I only saw the series about a year ago, but for a viewer used to 3 months at most between seasons, it's hard.

Then there's The Hobbit.

 Not only does it star Martin Freeman as  Bilbo Baggins, AKA Dr. John Watson, Arthur Dent, Oliver Chamberlain, Tim Canterbury, Declan,  and many others, but Benedict Cumberbatch, AKA Very Silly Name Sherlock is Smaug!

"Beachbody Compasstrap!"Also, try the name generator! I got "Butawhiteboy Cantbekhan"

And in Desolation, these two get to talk to each other for a WHILE. Seeing as the book is 75 years old, and most fans have read it, this has led to a rather interesting phenomenon. A phenomenon called SMAUGLOCK. Smashing Sherlock and The Hobbit together has created some rather intresting stuff...

There's less savory NSFW stuff too, but that's true of LITERALLY EVERYTHING on the internet. For the most part, you've got a lot of dragons whining about mysteries and wearing purple scarves. No harm done, right?

Well, the problem is, John and Sherlock are friends, and Bilbo and Smaug are not. Duh. But for fans of both, Desolation is the first time in literally years when their favorite actors are back on screen together. And some are having a wee bit of a hard time processing the fact that not only is Smaug a straight up villain with no redeeming qualities, HE GONNA DIE!

Seen here in this strangely leaked footage.

There's a LOT of talk about how 'sad' it is, and how they're 'rooting for 'Smaug'. The only sad part for me is that the fans can't separate two great actors who just HAPPEN to be working together again without making it mash with another fandom. I'm glad the filmmakers didn't put in any little nods or winks: the word 'Deduction' is NOT mentioned by either party during Smaug and Bilbo's meeting. It's exactly as it should be. AWESOME.

It's not wrong to enjoy Smauglock silliness (if it is, I don't want to be right). But don't let fanon get in the way of someone telling a story properly. Take both for what they are: amazing works with the same actors. Nothing more, nothing less.

Creepshow (real life edition)

Four towns cemetery is a small graveyard near my home in Michigan. You could find mentions of it if you looked hard enough online, but it’s mostly just a tiny little church graveyard. I used to pass it every day on my way to college, and I still go by about once a week. Now I’m a little older, a lot wiser, and never inclined to go in again.

About two years ago a group of my friends and I went ghost hunting. Bahamute wasn’t with us (he’d not interested in the outdoors or the supernatural), but I was in good spirits anyway. It was a warm night, clear skies, and I was raring to catch a ghost on my friend’s camera or tape-recorder. Even a cell-phone video would do.

The cemetery is less than an acre, so it wouldn’t take long to scope out. We broke into groups of two and three and traversed the grounds quickly. Somebody pointed out a few graves behind the fence, in a swamp. He said it was probably where the unwed mothers and babies had been buried. I shivered. This cemetery wasn’t all that old: things like that happened in colonial times, not recently.

Not in my mind anyway.

I wandered with a few people, changing from group to group. I felt restless. Usually when we were ghost hunting, we cracked wise, but nobody was saying much now.

A group near a tall monument, at least seven feet high and shrouded in vines, called us over. There seemed to be a cold-spot about the size and shape of a very tall man. I waved my hands through the air. It did feel a bit cooler, but that could have been my imagination. Everyone began taking pictures, claiming they could see a figure in the digital photos.

I hung near the back of the group, not seeing anything. I still felt disquieted. I didn’t want to be here.

That was when a cold shock squeezed my hand, right between the web of flesh between my right thumb and forefinger. I cried out, yanking my hand away. It hurt. The cold radiated slowly off my hand, and I retreated towards the gate. “I’m out. Something grabbed me. I’m out.”

I was quickly followed by the rest of the party: not so much because of my encounter, but NOBODY wanted to be in there anymore. A few pagan friends burned some sage. Being Baptist, I reasoned God wouldn’t mind me being near a burning plant. We were all uncharacteristically quiet as we left, seeking more hospitable climes in the local diner.

It wasn’t until the morning the bruise showed up.

Deep in the meat of my hand: not a bad bruise, not bad enough to turn black and blue, but definitely there. Yellow and painful, right in the spot where I’d been grabbed by that cold hand.

I know there are mundane explanations. Probably. But they don't hold a candle to cold reality.

Very cold. 

Spam spam spam spam...

So, this is my daily(ish) blog. I’m hampered without internet access (this is being written pre and during rehursal for Spamalot), and my sudden burst of creativity dried up like a trickle of dog piss on a hot Michigan morning.

That’s poetic...that’s pathetic.

In local news, I’m trying to re-start my pet sitting business. I have 20 some year of experience, and I do it all from walking, to potty visits, to sitting, to vets. More importantly, I’m cheap and dogs love me. Like, almost unnaturally. Even abused dogs think I’m the best thing since rotting roadkill on the highway.

Bad choice of words, but you see what I mean.  

Haven’t worked on my book for about a week, but considering I’m editing the completed manuscript of the first book and editing chapter 5 of the second, that’s still not bad. Lost my audip book contracts, however.

In more positive news, I found a new funny pics site, Tickld. You can find the following gems there:

 

 

I’m on the site as TimTheEnchanter. What dontcha click on and see me sometime?

BTW, Knights of the Round Table is a hard-ass number. The movie song is soooooooo much shorter than the broadway version. There’s way more tap, singing, dancing on the whole, and genral silliness. Watching a bunch of guys trying to tap is almost as bad as trying to tap myself.

That sounds so dirty.

Whelp, I see by the ol’ clock in the corner of the screen that it’s ‘get back on stage and learn this shit’ O’Clock. Wish me luck, constant reader. I’ll need it.

To the girl sitting next to me at Insidious Two

So I attended a showing of Insidious 2 with my future brother in law Grizz last night. We went to a 6:40 show since Grizz had to be up at 6:00 for work at a place that rhymes with Lowgers.

That was our mistake.

What we failed to realize is that a 6:40 showing for a PG-13 flick is going to be PACKED with teenage girls. Now, when I was a teenage girl, I never screamed at a horror movie. Frankly, I’ve never screamed at a movie. Jerked, sure. Clutched Bahamute’s arm, maybe. But screamed? Nope.

The usher was walking the aisles regularly, so talking was kept at a minimum, as was cellphone use. Not completely gone, mind you, but tolerable.

Then, the girl next to me (no older than 14 surely) started talking to me.

“Oh my God, it’s so scary!”

I raised one hand. “It’s fine.”

“But they’re gonna dieeeeeee!” She trembled, blond hair jittering.

“It’s fine. It’s a movie.”

The next thing I knew, her head was in my lap.

I looked across to Grizz.  “I don’t--how do I--what do I--Nothing in life has prepped me to deal with this situation!”

Grizz just grinned. Eventually, the girl left the safety of my lap. The screaming continued unabated.

I turned back to Grizz. “Can I dissociate myself from the gender right now?”

But it’s not a gender thing. Plenty of boys were hollering during the jump scares (which sadly, are ramped up from Insidious One’s total of one to about a dozen. Forgivable, but noticeable).  

I have to assume it’s a maturity thing. Even when I was thirteen I never squealed at scary movies. I might clap my hands over my mouth, but I never once screamed out, even if I was terrified. I was too conscious of breaking the mood and drawing attention to myself.

But even in my day, there were plenty of girls who were squealers. And I guess there always will be.

Puzzled

Tonight I'm having some friends over to watch Troll 2. Last night it was Jaws. I'm re-reading IT for the umpteenth time.

I love horror. Good horror, bad horror, horror books, horror drawings, cons, props: ALL of it. Most of my friends don't share this interest: Really, only my future brother in law Grizz feels the same way about it that I do. We'll sit and discuss Stephen King, H.P. Lovecraft, Insidious, anything for hours on end: in that way he and I are closer than my fiancee, his brother.

But not in this way.

For a long time, it was just something that I did. It never occurred to me that my interest in horror wasn't shared by everyone around me. They were misguided, I thought. They just needed to be shown how cool it was.

After a few years with my fiancee, I got over that. He doesn't care about horror one way or the other. It's fine. It's good that we have different interests.  It's healthy, etc.

So here I sit, counting down the hours until Troll 2 and Halloween when I can force everyone into participating in my interests. Selfish? Yeah. But it's one of the few times I push what I want to do. I usually try to make everyone else happy and never consider my own wants first (I fail a lot, but at least I try). 

Also, no qualms about them grabbing my ass or my tits. Like, zero.

Tonight is about doing what I want. I feel a little bad about my selfishness, a bit worse about NOT feeling worse, and mostly happy that I'm going to watch bad movies with friends. Anyone else ever get that?

A wild source of income has appeared! Rebecca uses CONTRACT! It's super effective!

Yes, true believers, I have a new source of income. I'll be recording audio books for Novel Publicity. So far I have 3 upcoming contracts. "Walk Away with Me" by Darby Davenport is the first, and as for the other two...well, those will be a surprise. Suffice to say, I'm excited to be a part of the voice-acting industry after long having been an aficionado.

Wish me luck!

Comic Con has got it going on.

I purchased two $27 ‘advance admission tickets’ for the 2013 Motor City Comic Convention. I was looking forward to seeing some stars, attending some panels, and overpaying for food.

I got in line with my fiancée (It was out 11 year anniversary date), and another friend at 9:30. The line stretched all the way around the Suburban Financial Showplace. There were literally hundreds of people, not counting the line for people who had paid extra to meet Stan Lee or the Boondock Saints. But it was sunny and we were in good spirits.

Then 10:00 came.

We were told that advance ticket holders would get in ½ an hour earlier than those poor suckers who bought tickets on site. Not only did the Suburban Financial Showplace merge both sets of holders into one line, that line didn’t even start moving until 11:00; half an hour AFTER the on-site ticket holders were supposed to be let in!

We later found out they’d run the Stan Lee and Boondock saints tickets though before starting our line. We got in at 11:45. Clearly, the Suburban Financial Showplace was NOT equipped to handle a convention of this size. We were just lucky it was warm and sunny. Had it been raining or snowing (Michigan!) we would have been SOL.

As always, Harley Quinns abounded.

Upon gaining entrance, and standing in line for some free swag (Star Trek hats! WOOT!) we wandered around, meeting artists and buying trinkets. At 12:50 I headed to the back, behind the media guests (such greats at Walter Keonig, Micky Dolenz, and Cary Elways) to speaker room 3 to a long anticipated panel on Comic Book Censorship from 1937 through 1960.

Room 1 was there. Room 2 was there. There was no room 3 to be seen.

I asked a security person where room 3 was and was told “There is no room 3.” I went to the front and was told it was outside our hall, closer to the other conventions consisting of sports autograph memorabilia and osteoporosis. While I was told this, a family with a 5 year old boy missing was told that security couldn’t ‘really do anything’ to help them find their missing son.

I walked past real Doctors in my Dr. Horrible outfit. I got some looks.

Yep, that's the one.

When I got to the small, air-conditioned, darkened room, it was a welcome relief. I took off my labcoat and chatted with the 20 or so attendees that were waiting.

And waiting.

After 15 minutes, some people left. I thought the speaker might be having difficulty finding the room, as I had. I stuck it out until 1:45, vainly hoping he’d show and I’d get my presentation.

The only person who came by was a busboy with a water bottle. When I asked the management what happened, he professed bafflement and apologized.

I trudged to Cary Elway’s panel, heart sunk. I’d paid for this? This messy, disappointing, frustrating walk through hell?

You tell 'em Westley!

Then Bahamute gave me my anniversary present: a hand-crafted purple duct tape wallet and some cards of my favorite characters.  Then Mr. Elways gave his panel. Then we met him, and he was really nice. So was Micky Dolenz.

The convention is a messy, ill managed, poorly supported, overpriced fiasco. But the people who attend are for the most part (Screw Adam West!) wonderful artist and fans that are all having a great time.

I’m not sure if I’ll go back to the convention. It’s been my anniversary date spot since my first anniversary 10 years ago. Every year it gets bigger, the guests get more fabulous, the tickets get more expensive, the lines get longer, and the management gets worse.

If I do go back, it’ll be on a Friday. It’ll be because there’s a guest I really want to meet. But it won’t be in high hopes. And it probably won’t be in costume (I was mistaken for Dr. Insano at one point. Score!).

No matter what, I have fond memories of the convention from years past. And I’ll keep them boarded and bagged with the best moments in my golden age. That’s a promise, True Believers.

The Star Trek Into Darkness Midnight Express

Since I was as the midnight release last night, I understand that virtually NOBODY will have seen the movie yet. As such, I 'll post a mini-review of the midnight experience for now, and a more spoileriffic one later.

After grabbing a quick bite and some snacks from the local Kroger, Bahamute and our friend Millie headed to the MJR Theater. We were there by 10:50 for the 12:05 showing. So, we picked our seats (middle of the last row), and waited. And waited. And nattered. And waited. And it was fun, as it always it.

Hooray meatspace interaction!

To my disappointment, the theater didn't have many patrons. Maybe it was because a 3D showing was playing at 12:01. Maybe it was because the release had moved to Wednesday night for unknown reasons. But there were only about 20 people, making it a strangely intimate experience.

Another small annoyance was the trailers: there were only three, and only one was new. Granted the new one was a Hangover Expy starring Robert Di Niro, Kevin Kline, Morgan Freeman, and Michael Douglas. Totally awesome!

So, how was this in comparison with the Iron Man 3 midnight showing? QUIETER. But no less epic. In fact, I liked STID more than Iron Man 3. Ahh, that felt good.

Now I'm off to sleepwalk my way through my shift. Totally worth it. Wish me luck.

New friends, or the saga of The Hobbit (not that one)

There's a local restaurant that's open twenty four hours, and has low prices--you know the type of place. My friends and I eat there at least once a week, due to them all being night owls. Nearly every time we're there we see other frequent diners. We've made up names for some "Pepperidge Farm" for a well-dressed older gentleman. "The Wired Couple" for two who are constantly on their laptops and kindles.

Then there's The Hobbit.

No, not that one.

A shorter man, wild brown hair, long beard. He is always in a group of other men around their mid-twenties. We saw him much more than Pepperidge Farm or the Wired couple: every time we've been there, he's been there. The other faces change, but his never has. So, we began to wonder: who is this guy? Why is he here EVERY night? Is he a nerd like us, just seeking a cheap hangout? Curiosity was burning.

Last night, we made contact. The Hobbit and his other friend were outside smoking as we left; it was odd as it was much earlier than we usually went out.

"Hey, sorry we were starring at you." My friend Jay (names replaced to protect the "innocent).

"You were what?" He replied, looking blank.

"Damnit Jay, you blew our cover!" I scolded him sarcastically. "Now they know!"

"I'm sorry, but we're in here all the time, and we always see you." Jay replied.

"You are?"  The Hobbit's friend looked just as blank.

My heart sank a little. We'd been watching these guys for months: they had no idea who we were?

The my fiancee Bahamute walked out, and their faces lit up. "Oooh, YOU guys!"

I guess the 6 foot long haired scruffy guy would stand out more than the rest of us. For his part, Bahamute just looked confused.

"So,"  Jay's wife Selena got into the act "are you nerds like us?"

Well, nobody could say we didn't speak our minds.

"What do you think of the new Star Trek?"  The Hobbit addressed me.

"Love it. It pays respect to the old--"

"While letting the new do new stuff!"  He finished. I began to get excited.

No word on if they support Spirk.

We talked about EVERYTHING. Superheros. Star Trek. Card Games. Video Games. Musical theater! The Hobbit's friend studied in New York.

It was amazing. Everything we'd imagined about these guys was true. They were just like us. We agreed that next time we'd make one massive table and take over half the restaurant, to indulge in all our nerdism.

"I'm Mike."

Well. The Hobbit finally had a name.

"One last thing--do you know you look a little like a Hobbit and a Dwarf combined?" Jay asked.

My jaw dropped. So much for our burgeoning friendship.

"Thorin Oakenshield is my adoptive Father." Mike grinned. We all laughed, me with a mix of joy and relief.

We have met the diners. They are us. If only more friendships could be formed that easily.

Also, Mike may be my genderflip clone from another universe. More on that later.