Old.

I am currently sitting in a foreign land, an apartment, not many miles from my own, where a good friend of mine lives… with his wife.  His pregnant wife.

I just turned 21 on Sunday so you might understand how this comes as something of a shock, my friends spawning podlings.  It is deranged and disturbing on a base level.  I am barely equipped to handle the idea that my own physiology is capable of spawning a hybrid version of myself with the aid of a host maiden.  To see friends, friends of similar age, engaging in the practice that results in this horrific merging is common.  To see them complete the horrific merger and not, I believe this is the correct term, “freak the fuck out” is unheard of.

Yet now I have seen it.  A happy married couple barely older than I, living in an apartment of their own, with a son on the way.  A boy!  A male human!  I know this is how I was produced and I’ve seen my aunt pregnant twice, I’ve held babies lovingly in my arms but they were all family, not friends.  To see it made real so suddenly is jarring to say the least.

Still, in the interest of science, I persevere.

In any case, when I arrived I found to my surprise, there is a way to make an environment more geeky than my own citadel.  There are anime wallscrolls and posters/prints covering 90% of the wallspace, and action figures/statues from World of Warcraft, Hellraiser, Megaman (lots of Megaman), various incarnations of Gundam, more manga than I’ve seen in most bookstores,

The characters I recognize are few and far between.  Comfortable icons of gaming are largely absent, a Big Daddy exists on a shelf, partially obscured.  Disgaea characters can be found among the gallery atop the mantle, as one might find flowers or commemorative plates in another scenario.

Did I mention my friend is married?

With a child on the way?

Clearly there are women out there who not only tolerate this level of geekiness, they revel in it, they thrive, they SPAWN in it.  Compared to their apartment, taken as a whole, my single room appears… normal.

Time goes on, we talk about World of Warcraft, a pastime we both share in (as does his wife, apparently) and call in another member of the old guard to throw down in some Soul Calibur.  It suddenly loses the feel of a distant experiment and the four anti-anxiety pills I had waiting in my pocket appear as if they won’t be needed.  The people I knew haven’t changed as much as their circumstances would indicate.  They have not mutated fundamentally.  I begin to question: Am I the mutant?  Am I the aberration?  One friend is married with broodling en route, the other is engaged and so content in his relationship that he doesn’t even notice when he flirts with other women.  I’ve always known him as something of a ladies man, not a predator, but a smart guy with a pretty face and a way with words.  Something I envy, to be sure, but I’m content with my own gifts for now.

Am I the mutant, though?  Marriage at 21 seems unthinkable, but clearly it is being done.  I have seen with my own eyes the evidence.  Not too long ago another friend of mine was engaged.  A former friend of mine married recently as well, as did my first girlfriend (to a contemptible prick).

We told stories of our lives and laughed, reveling in how funny everything seems now, even if it was horrific and painful at the time, at the very least embarassing (and in some cases punchassing, don’t ask).  Another epiphany:  Here we were, three barely-men of age 21 reminiscing about the good old days, when things were simpler and somehow more vibrant.

I felt old.

I am a mutant.

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It’s been a bad case of February

Life’s been a bitch lately.  It’s about that time of year.

Anyway, I do have a musing to share with you all.  I’ve remarked before about how many of my fucking idiot friends are doing things such as getting engaged/married at ages comparable to my own, that is 20 years old.

That’s retarded.

Another one seems to have fallen victim to this breeder curse, albeit one of the psychotic religious nuts.  Bet you didn’t know I had any of those for my friends, godless heathen that I am, eh?   The whole notion of marriage is a dubious one to me.  It hasn’t exactly worked out for the people I know, so I’m reticent to try it.  Of course trying it would require a woman crazy enough to hitch their wagon to a dumpy misanthrope like myself, which is a whole other blog.  Getting married at 20?  That’s just ridiculous, I mean there’s crazy and then there’s scientology crazy, I think getting hitched at 20 falls into the latter category.

Oh well.  If it weren’t for worshipping space Jesus she’d have been pretty hot.  Best of luck in your descent into madness!

You never quite realize

I’ve been in this odd place for a while now. I call it the Cryogenically Unfrozen Effect, where I’m relatively unchanged, and the group of people I’ve known since childhood have undergone any number of cataclysmic shitstorms while I’ve been dark, so to speak.

Every now and then I check up on the miscreants I grew up with just to see what they’ve done.

The cute irish girl who slugged me after I asked her out in the seventh grade is pregnant. And she’s not the only former-friend with pod. Three others are as well.

The guy who I’d goof on in ninth grade looks like he’s fifty years old, completely bald.

My best friend from youth is married, as is my best friend of junior high.

Several friends from ninth grade are betrothed.

About ten people I know are dead, seven of those to Iraq and the rest to suicide.

My first girlfriend married thee walking embodiment of “puss”, who manages to retain that title despite being a Marine, apparently.

Untold numbers are completely debauched, unemployed, thrown out of college.

Most notably, the girl who made a bombing run on my ego in high school lost her porn job by getting knocked up. Ah, sweet justice.

You never quite realize how quickly the world moves until you slow down to watch it. It is oddly comforting in a way, to know that while many of my contemporaries have shot themselves out of the gun of youth straight into the supple flesh of world-ending cataclysm, I’ve only gotten better with age.

It’s good to be the King.