Our wedding date was a coincidence; we wanted to ensure Megan’s maid of honor could (legally) drink. We had originally selected a date in late May. Our venue wasn’t available. The first Saturday they were available was June 7th.
What’s so special about June 7th?
Not much…usually. But June 7th, 2008? In American notation, that’s 06/07/’08. Your last chance to have a “sequential” date this millennium is 11/12/’13.
The date was a bonus I didn’t care much about. Even as a kid, I’d fantasized marrying the woman of my dreams.
Megan literally was. In every sense of the word. The Beatles must have had her in mind when they wrote Because: She turns me on, she makes me high, she makes me cry, more than the world, wind and sky.
It was the happiest day of my life…but so have many days spent together since. It’s a delicious paradox. Read More →
Monday, I told how I’d swore off dating and met Megan on my birthday; how my friend accused me of “trying too hard” and Megan herself forgot my name. Yesterday, I told how we discovered Megan was a gamer, and I called “dibs.”
Our story didn’t end there.
In fact, the story of our relationship properly begins with utter rejection and total humiliation.
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Many have asked how I got my wife to game. I don’t know how it is for others, but among my friends, there are only two kinds of couples: Mixed couples with one gamer…
…and BATTLE COUPLES, RAWR!
We’re a battle couple. We’ve played MMOs together. Platformers. Band games. Puzzle games. RPGs. Cards. Boards. Strategy. Despite our introversion, our BATTLE COUPLE status is the envy of friends whose partner (for unfathomable reasons) does. Not. Game.
Worse, the Muggle determines all shared activities, insisting that the gamer watch tv during family time, but the Gamer can never ask the reverse (for the Muggle to join in gaming). It’s one-sided. Personally, I think both parties should make sacrifices.
Their stories are familiar and heartbreaking: The raid cut short because your partner was irritated. Leveling slower than your friends because the honey-do list (intentionally?) leaves no time for play. Audible nagging in Ventrilo’s background.
They all ask the same question: “How did you get your wife to game?”
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In 2002, I lived in Harlaxton Manor in the United Kingdom. In 2003, I made my triumphant return to Stateside.
I’d made the Dean’s list. I was Gandalf at the costume ball. My fiction won applause at open mic night. My music won applause at the talent show. All the girls said they’d miss me.
I celebrated my homecoming by securing the worst job of my life, worse than my brief attempt in the military, worse than my year as Detention officer, worse than using cat litter to soak up liquid detergent.
I knew none of that. I had my first apartment, my first pager. My first private bathroom. From now on, my tuition was paid; no more loans. It would take me longer to finish school, but I was in no hurry. Life was good.
And I had determined never to date another woman for as long as I lived.
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13:01: Woke up in an Aperture facility; I should know, I’m a PLATINUM FOUR designer. I see those gray and white panels in my nightmares. Horrifically, I’m awake.
One of the alternate Caves must be running low on subjects. Unless there’s been another cascade resonance. God forbid.
I know how this works. I’ll have to navigate from room to room, solving puzzles and hoping to find a rift back to Earth Prime before I starve. Worse, some of the tests are deadly. Who knows how good the designers are in this dimension? There might be impossible tests.
As an Aperture Employee, it’s my duty to record my observations about the tests, so they can be recovered by AIs in the likely event of my death, and justice meted appropriately per Employee Handbook 17: GOOD DESIGNERS AREN’T TEST SUBJECTS.
The handbook must be different on this Earth, since obviously I’m a great designer and someone put me into the labyrinth. Read More →