In Defense of Dungeons and Dragons

As the story arc of the game I am GMing wraps up, I am preparing character ideas for Brad's game.  He is going to run an intermission game between each different GM's story arc, and he's gonna run it using Dungeons and Dragons 4th edition.

When D&D 4th came out I heard a lot of dissent about it on the web, and in real life. I've heard people say that it has been dumbed down, is more like a certain MMO (that starts with World, and ends with of Warcraft) than a role-playing game, or simply that in its quest to get new players it has gone too mainstream.

All of those arguments are valid. Some of them may even be true, but that shouldn't stop your enjoyment of the game.

D&D is a great game for the same reason that 'Shoot 'Em Up' was a great movie, or why playing games like Halo and Call of Duty are fun. It speaks to a visceral need within a player, something going back to our caveman days.....

Sometimes you just need to blow some stuff up. I mean sometimes all you need, after a long day, is to throw your +2 throwing axe into some orc's face. Add in the shininess of treasure, and hot darn, you got yourself a game.

D&D gives players a break from plot-heavy games like World of Darkness, or Gurps, or even to some extent BESM. That doesn't mean that D&D is all killing and no plotting, it's just different. It's more black and white than most games, I mean there are definite good guys and definite bad guys. Lolth is never going to pick daisies (unless they are daisies of....DOOM), and Melora is never going to wear a necklace of halfling heads or chain smoke.

There is something wonderful about defeating an ultimate evil (or good, if you're playing evil characters) that just makes you feel warm and fuzzy inside, and that is why D&D, no matter what edition, will always have a special place in my heart, and on my gaming table.

And two words:

Gelatinous Cube.

Come on, what other system makes you fight evil Jello?

Cycle of Doom!!

As most of you know, I have severe anxiety...uh...issues stemming from some stuff that happened about 5 years ago, and some more stuff that happened while I was a kid. I would like to take some time today to discuss my anxiety, in a humorous way of course, as a cathartic exercise.

Recently my anxiety has been a little cyclical, and looks something like this:



Let's break it down, shall we:

Things that cause Megan anxiety:

Crowds,

Clowns,

Public speaking,

Non-public speaking,

Spiders,

Any other insect/arachnid (with the exception of rolly-pollies and ladybugs),

Feeling guilty,

Yelling,

Loud noises,

Global Warming,

Global Cooling,

Bills,

Money,

Things not being in straight lines, or being out of order,

So yeah, I am pretty much anxious all the time. Unless I find a way to get fabulously wealthy and surround myself with puppies and kittens (and a cleaning staff for said puppies and kittens), I am going to stay anxious too.

Panic Attacks:

In all seriousness, something causes me to have a panic attack at least once a day (usually more). Panic attacks are awful. I feel like I am dying and there is nothing I can do about it. My chest gets tight, I can't breathe, my heart races. The worst part is most times I am so freaked out I forget to do the breathing exercises I am supposed to do. I have only passed out like once or twice. On a good note, if I do pass out, it returns my breathing to normal.

The Shame:

Aaahh, the shame. I am ashamed by my own ability, or more accurately lack of ability, to control my panic attacks. I am embarrassed that I have to turn down stuff that I used to love, and the fact that I have to plan my whole life around my panicky-ness.

The Guilt:

I feel guilty pretty much all the time. I feel guilty that I am not able to work in a public job, that Brad, and the rest of my friends, have to deal with me, I feel guilty that I am not pulling in any money, I feel like I should be able to handle things (even thought I can't).

So there you go. Now I don't want you all to think that my life is all bad, because it's not. There are just some things that I am working on changing.

Tomorrow, a happy subject. See you then peoples!

It’s that time again!

It's ITWSSG Saturday!!!

So, Lo' and unto you I do present the latest ITWSSG. The peasants may start rejoicing at any time.



See you on Monday folks! Tomorrow is Brad's day off and fabric shopping!!

King Tut's missing mummy member

I came across an article yesterday that said that King Tutankhamen's penis is missing.

Seriously.

I'm not even making this up (by the way, I linked the article because typing any form of 'mummy penis' into a search engine is a bad idea).

Apparently, the missing member was attached after the first unwrapping in 1922, and was thought to be missing in 1968 (but later found in the sand around his body), but apparently now the junk is gone.



Some archeologists claim that the penis was detached because it may have been small, or underdeveloped (due to Antley-Bixler syndrome), and removing it saved the boy king postmortem embarrassment. I think they may just be projecting their own inadequacies. I mean, can you imagine that conversation?

"Hey Jenkins, King Tut's penis is missing."

Jenkins looks down at his own pants "Tiny..."

"Yes, maybe it was small. Maybe that's why it was removed from the mummy."

"Yes......the mummy...That's what I'm talking about."

Other archeologists disagree, but still, the theory is out there.

Poor King Tut, if you follow the Egyptian view of the dead, he is wandering around the afterlife penis-less and confused, and now in the real world every one is talking about how tiny his proverbial Pharaoh's staff could have been.

I wonder how everyone else is missing the big picture. I mean guys have tiny dicks all the time.

What is the bigger issue here you may ask.....Where's the beef? I mean his personal pyramid is missing.  Is someone on the penis patrol (again, do not search that term)? Or is there a mummified penis being sold in some seedy Egyptian bazaar? Or even worse, is it being used like some kind of twisted monkey's paw?

Either way, I hope they find it. Both to assuage the tiny man-bit fears, and to give the poor guy back his junk.

That is all folks; I literally can't type another euphemism for male genitalia without it getting freaky up in here.

Penis, penis, penis, penis, penis.

I lied.

Blahsmo, or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Hate the Mag

When I first started dating Brad I started reading Cosmo. I did this for several reasons: A) Because I thought all grown-up women read it, B) I thought it would give good relationship advice (because dating in the real world is different from dating in school) and C) Because I am an idiot.

I read the magazine religiously for about a year, then I stopped. Well less like stopped, and more like came to my senses.

I realized that nothing I had read in any of the magazines had helped in my life. Ever. Nothing. All the articles and fashion tips and relationship advice had been for naught. Well that's not exactly true. They did provide Brad and I a source of hilarity after a while.

I mean, every article, it seems, is about getting a guy, keeping a guy, what you're doing wrong with your guy, how to get rid of a guy. It's a tad bit disturbing. I love Brad, but every bit of my day doesn't revolve around him.

Or the articles that weren't about pleasing a man, were about fixing what was 'wrong' with poor lil' ol' me.

Then one day I looked around, and realized that I didn't need fixing. I mean, yeah, I may be messed up, but I highly doubt '8 awesome ways to wear white' will help my anxiety. Plus looking at all those stupid stick thin, skinny bitches just reinforced that I was way not societies standard.

In the years since, with Brad's help, I am slowly getting over my insecurities. Yeah, I may not be a perky, blond, idiot in a size two mini-skirt, but I am a kick-ass cook, and I have friends that love me.

So I don't read Cosmo anymore, and I think it's for the best. I have plenty of other things I can be doing with my time, like writing to you guys, or kicking butt at Magic, or, ya' know, anything else.

And I asked Brad if men's magazines do the same thing for him. He said no. So maybe it's just a girl thing.

Peace out b*****es!

Happy Birthday Little Sister!!!

We are about to head off to my little sister Josalyn's birthday at my mom's house. Yay for steaks and birthday cake! So I will see you guys tomorrow.

Until then:

For your viewing pleasure:

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Trailer!!


Monkey/pirate/robot/ninja/zombie rock-paper-scissors

AT-AT day afternoon (Super cute)

Nicolas Cage wants cake

He-Man said Hey

P..P..P..Poker Face

I have no poker face. None. At all. It's kinda sad actually, especially since Brad, our friend DT and I have been playing Magic: The Gathering at least once a week.

Inevitably this is how it goes down:

I get something awesome in my hand, and, before I have time to stop it, a look of triumph flashes across my face. Now if you play any sort of card games at all, you know that if you have something in your hand under no circumstances do you let anyone else see what you have in your hand. Ever.  But noooo, I just get so excited by the awesomeness that is my hand that I have to let everyone know.



This happens every time we play.

At this point, I know I am doing it. They know that I do it. So instead of the awesome play that I could have pulled off, had I kept quiet, both Brad and DT know to smack me down, and they do...hard. Sometimes I still manage to pull off some crazy stuff, but it is few and far between.

I am trying to think of some solutions until I can get my face's act together, but all I have come up with so far is the whole "Look a dragon riding another dragon...Oh you just missed it," or maybe wearing a colorful mask (Magic...Mardi Gras style), but I don't think either will work.

Until then I will just have to be content with the constant face ownage or get Botox.