Nerds of a Feather

So, I had a pretty great weekend. I spent some time with a new man I’ve been seeing. Over yummy pub food and drinks, our conversation naturally turned towards my favorite thing to talk about on a third date. Dungeons and Dragons.

Don’t for a moment think I am kidding or being facetious. I really will talk about this on a date. But I've learned. I don’t want to get burned again by moving too fast. D&D is for Date 3.

We were in full-out nerd talk when I casually dropped this little bomb:

“I rescued my old Dark Tower game from a junk pile when my parents moved. It’s in my basement now. “

Uh, check please.

We went to my basement and dug out the dusty Nordstrom box and unearthed the magnificence that was the Dark Tower itself.  I flipped the switch on the bottom to on, knowing that, not only is the game over thirty years old, it was always a unpredictable piece of electronics.

Let’s take a moment to bring those of you who are not familiar with the game up to speed. I am not referring to Stephen King’s epic book series. This game was out a year before the first book. Coincidence? Or ka?

Dark Tower is board game where you amass an army to defeat an evil presence that has taken over the Tower. After collecting the keys that open the Tower, you have an epic battle for control of the land. The Dark Tower is an electronic unit that displays the events of the game.  It’s like if Risk and Speak & Spell had a love child.

I replaced the batteries, sure that the Tower wouldn’t work. It did. We put out the game board, and I would sure it would have many missing pieces.  It didn’t. I was sure that I wouldn’t remember how to play. I was right about that one. But, as luck would have it, the instruction book was at the bottom of the box.

We played the hell out of that game. Drinking, talking, laughing, telling stories about our 12-year-old nerd experiences.

Every day, I am surrounded by super smart people that are passionate about what they are doing whether creating a new memory-based computing technology or talking about the 12^th Doctor. These are my people.

The real question for me is: why haven’t I been dating a nerd all along? Maybe it was just too obvious for me to see. It was almost as if I hadn’t seen The Breakfast Club. I mean, I tried dating the athlete. That did not end well for me. I married a male version of the basket case. The stress and anxiety was making ME a basket case. I have no tolerance for a princess of either gender. I think I always understood that Brian was the real catch. Although, I would probably give Bender my diamond earring. And, let’s be fair… probably more than that…

I’m going to need a moment…

Anyway… Why was I fighting it? Of course I should date a fellow nerd! When a nerd finds something he loves, he commits to it completely. A guy that has a light saber collection separated out by Sith or Jedi—then further sorted by crystal color—that guy is the one who is really going to commit to a relationship.

Nerds are big on games. But usually not mind-games or sports-games. They are the guys who will use Super Bowl Sunday as an opportunity catch the latest Star Trek for the fourth time in a nearly empty theater. They don’t really notice if you are wearing a hockey sweater. But you better watch out if you put on your t-shirt with the funny math pun.

And if your nerdy love tells you he is spending the night hanging with the guys, you can almost guarantee that the only reason they will take a break from Skyrim is if they run out of Mt. Dew. The only hot girl they will be interacting with is digital, until he comes home to you.

You know what your nerd will find super sexy? Your book collection and your ability to tank during a WoW raid. Who the hell would pass up this guy? Nerds seek knowledge, but they are also patient while seeking it. They want to do things right. They are successful and resourceful. But they are also sweet and sensitive. They will run their fingers over the spines of the classics in your bookshelf before they run their fingers down your spine. Tell me that thought didn't give you a delicious shiver.

Nerds are authentic people. They have learned that there is no point trying to be anything but who they are. And at a certain point—usually around their late 20s—they decide that if the world doesn’t like who they are, the world can suck it. Nerds have too many empires to build to worry about running into the high school quarterback, who is serving up the fries your nerd ordered.

Nerds speak their own language, filled with obscure references and inside jokes. It is like all the world’s nerds have joined a single exclusive clubs. For example, nerds will always see that this is the best Batman cosplay ever:

Nerds are sexy. I mean, politics aside, Edward Snowden is way hotter than Edward Cullins.  Simon Pegg would take you on such an amazingly fun date, possibly including zombies. 

The perfect dinner party? Neil DeGrasse Tyson, Ben Folds, Tina Fey, Wes Anderson, and Bill Gates. Even my favorite literary characters are nerds. Hermione Granger, Daria, Encyclopedia Brown, Juno, and the Girl with the Dragon Tattoo.

And let’s not forget about this bespectacled redhead: Velma Dinkley.

Labels Are for Cans

So… this happened today. I was asked to be a guest on an internet radio talk show called Life’s Journey with Tim Manson on VoiceAmerica.com. It was a really fun experience. I talked about the way my MS took me to Roller Derby. I don’t think I sounded too idiotic. But I will never know because I can’t stand listening to recordings of my own voice.

It’s never nice to point out a flaw that cannot be fixed. Only tell a woman that there is a run in her stockings if she is at home and can change them. If she is nowhere that she can fix the problem, don’t mention the problem. Remember that advice as I give you this:

Life's Journey Moving Forward

You can only listen if you promise you won’t tell me if I sounded like a total dork.

Something occurred to me as I was having this interview. I wear a lot of labels. I’m not talking about fashion designer labels. My very favorite shoes are a $30 pair of Chuck Taylors.

Listening to Tim introducing my segment, I thought about all the different roles I have in my life. The most important are mother, daughter, and sister. A very close second is friend. Coming in for a solid third place is writer (a subset of which should probably be blogger). We should probably throw nerd into the label list.

But there are a couple new labels I am wearing as of the last few months. The first being patient. I had an MRI yesterday that made me feel like such a patient. This wasn’t my first time getting an MRI. It wasn’t even my fifth time. I am coming up quickly on 10. Ten times I have been slid into that tube armed with only earplugs and a meditation mantra. And in all those times, no one thought to scan my brain stem and neck. So, once more unto the breach, dear friends.

When I arrived at the hospital, I was told that the MRI room was being renovated. Not to worry. They have a mobile MRI unit in the truck in the parking lot. You read that right. I had to walk in my hospital gown and non-slip socks through the halls of the hospital and out a side entrance, where I then had to climb the painfully sharp metal stairs.

The actual MRI experience was pretty close to the ones on terra firma. Maybe a tad more… bouncy? But afterwards, as I stood there while my not-so-speedy tech was doing something that apparently needed to happen with me standing there, the door opens. Nice view of the cars coming and going about their health care business. I’m sure they had a nice view of me. The tech that opened the door was waiting for his turn to scan some other patient. It was cold, and a little bit mortifying.

So I tugged my hospital johnny and looked at Tech 2. “It’s cold,” I said. He agreed. “Close the door,” I said.

The apology came quickly with the door closure soon after. But it made me feel like a patient. Tech 2 had seen this scene hundreds of times. I was just one of many patients to him. I am starting to hate that particular label.

I’ve also been recently labeled as a skater. I love that label. But sometimes, in moments of frustration, I feel like a poser. I feel like I haven’t earned that label yet. Yes, I own skates. Yes, I can cross a room with wheels on my feet. Does that make me a skater? I’ve got to be a skater if I want to be a Derby Girl. And I so want to be a Derby Girl, but calling myself a DG does not make me a DG.

Am I a DG? Maybe? One in her infancy? One with all the desire to grow up and be a full-fledged Derby Queen? In fact, let’s go with this label: Baby Derby Princess.

Uh... I'm gonna need that shirt...

Here is one more label that I am wearing since the diagnosis. Ambassador. I am Ambassador Derby Princess and Ambassador MS Chick. I am strangely comfortable in this label. As my friends are finding out, I will try to convince you to try derby with religious zeal. I will talk your ear off about how much fun it is. I will explain the subtle nuance of the game that I am just starting to understand.

As Ambassador MS Chick, I will tell you to make sure that you are getting your Vitamin D. I will encourage you to make sure your kids take a daily multivitamin. I can tell you all about my symptoms and reassure you that you are most likely OK.

I can show you that I am OK. Better than that, I’m great. Mostly.