Wednesday, May 14, 2014

The Horrible, Awful, Fluffy, Puppy of Joy

I would say that it is safe to say that I have always been an animal person. When I was a little girl I loved puppies and kittens and any other animal I could get close to. Growing up we had pet fish, rabbits, chickens, dogs, cats, and birds that I can remember. With the exception of the chicken (which was filthy and smelled awful) I loved them all.

For the most part growing up I was a dog person out of necessity. I would have much preferred a cat over a dog however my wretched allergies kept me from being in prolonged contact with anything in the feline family. It made me sad but I was content with my dogs instead.

When I got into college I discovered that I had miraculously outgrown my cat allergy and I never looked back. I am a cat person through and through and if it weren't for the fact that our middle cat is intolerant of new feline additions, we would have more than three cats in our home.

The husbeast is also an animal person but I don't think anyone could deny that he is, and always has been, a dog person. When he was growing up his family actually ran kennels and bred dogs. He raised champion dogs in all shapes and sizes from Maltese to Rottweilers, the latter being his favorite.

The problem with being young and just starting out is that you don't really have a lot of space or time, both of which you need for a dog. Cats are pretty self sufficient what with that litter box thing and all. Dogs require more attention and a lot more space. With this knowledge we decided early on in our relationship that there would be no dog until we had a house with a yard to be fair to the dog.

About two years after we moved into our house we adopted our sweet Rogue from a local no kill shelter. She is a sweet docile little omega of a dog that is half border collie and half black lab. She is precious and sweet and so very loving. We love her very very much.

Still, somewhere in the back of the husbeasts head, he kept coming back to the memories of his Rottweilers and thinking how much he wanted another one. We tossed the idea around for several years but the time never seemed right to add a new member to the family so we tabled the idea.

Last summer as we were slogging through bathroom remodeling we suddenly both came to the decision that it was time to start looking for a new puppy. We have spaced out the acquisition of furry family members by about two years, and it was coming up on the two year point of us having brought Etta into the family.  We were at our cat limit so a new puppy was the obvious choice.

We didn't start looking right away. At that time the husbeasts sister was moving in with us and bringing a cat and dog of her own into the mix. We wanted things to settle down from that introduction before we tried to add a puppy into the mix.

Our search started in earnest around Christmas.

Two days before Christmas we went into our local no kill shelter to say hello to the puppies and pass the time on a pleasant afternoon. We weren't expecting to find any puppies that we would fall in love with and want to take home since we had some pretty specific requirements we were trying to fill. We wanted a male Rot/Rot mix with a laid back and docile temperament that was under four months old. Not something you find every day.

So of course we walked in and found a litter of Rot/Lab 10 week old puppies with one male left who was sweet and docile; the perfect puppy. We should have seen this coming really. So the debate began about whether or not we were really ready for a puppy at this time. Our sister was still with us until June and so we were still heavy one dog and one cat. It was Christmas so money was a little tight. Faire was about to start and we didn't have a ton of free time.

We went to lunch to discuss all of the things that needed discussing. We both had some concerns and decided we needed to maybe sleep on the idea. By the time dinner rolled around we both knew that we really wanted the puppy and that as soon as the shelter opened in the morning we would be going to pick him up.

When we got to the shelter the next morning we were told he had been adopted about 10 minutes after we had left the day before. We were both very very sad about not getting the puppy that had seemed so perfect. We decided not to look again for a while.

The week after New Years Eve we were in San Antonio visiting my parents. Despite having decided not to look for another dog for a while I was cruising the internet looking at puppies when I came across a litter of Catahoula Leopard Dog/Rottweiler mix rescues. It just took one look and we were both in love.

I contacted the rescue about the one we liked best and they started to set up a sleep over with the puppy when we got back into town. A week passed and we heard nothing. Another week passed and we finally heard back that the puppy had already been adopted when we had inquired about him and that it had been a miscommunication. We were a little agitated but decided it was fine and we actually  liked one of his brothers better.

We showed up to the adoption event at a not so local PetCo. a couple of days later to actually meet the puppy. He was so incredibly adorable. He was sweet and a little more feisty than the other puppy had been, but was the sweetest little cuddle bug. In short we fell in love on the spot.

We spoke at length with the people who ran the organization and they scheduled a sleep over with the puppy since we couldn't actually adopt any of their animals at the adoption event. This rescue organization was very insistent on having multiple references, home visits, and access to your vet before they would consider adopting to you. It seemed like a lot of stuff, but we were willing to jump through the hoops.

The morning of our sleepover arrived and we had not heard from the organization in a couple of days. I called one last time to confirm everything and finally got the president of the organization on the phone. This is when she told me the puppy was not up for adoption.

The foster family, who we met at the event, wanted to keep him. This was understandable if not upsetting. The worst part was that they had decided this a week before the adoption event but had brought the puppy out to meet potential families anyways. They had let us get our hopes up for nothing.

((The woman tried to talk me into adopting another dog that in no way was what we were looking for. In the end I was actually glad to not be working with this organization because it was questionable at best. I am fairly certain they were stealing dogs from people that they did not feel were good pet owners. Also their definition of abuse was leaving a dog outside unattended ever. It didn't matter the size of the dog, or the yard, or if the dog had a nice dog house and wading pool to relax in the shade; if you put your dog outside unsupervised you were abusing the animal. Also if you kenneled your dog inside for any length of time no matter the reason you were abusing them. She also didn't believe that people who worked should own dogs because the dog would be alone for more than an hour (which according to her was the maximum amount of time any dog should be left alone without human contact). She was a little crazy to say the least.))

At this point we were pretty disheartened. We decided to really not look for another puppy for a while. We just couldn't handle the heartache again. Like I said we are both animal people and get attached very easily. There is only so much disappointment a person can take.

When we went to North Texas Irish fest the last day of February the last thing we were thinking about was a new puppy. Sure they always have dog rescue set up at the festival, but they are mostly dogs with an Irish theme to them. We again had very specific requirements. We should really know better than to expect to go in not looking and not find the perfect dog.

We saw the little Rot pups right off the bat but we both avoided going in and looking at them. We casually looked at all the other animals and moved on from the rescue pavilion. We were not going to get sucked in again. We made our rounds around the festival, met up with friends, looked at pretty art, listened to awesome music, and of course ended our evening back at the rescue pavilion.

This time we were unable to resist looking at the puppies we had avoided earlier in the night. The little boy was perfect. He had just the right temperament, all the right markings, and he was the right age. He took to the husbeast right away. It was again love at first sight.

The women running the rescue group took our information but told us we couldn't take him that night. He had a parasite in his tummy that he had to get rid of before he could be adopted. We were told the meds took a week to work and at that time we could adopt him. We were promised it was a done deal and no one else would be allowed to adopt him before we got there.

There were pictures taken, we shared the news with friends, and started trying to pick out a name. Monday morning we got an update that he was responding to the meds and should be ready for pickup on Saturday. We were already into faire at that point so I started trying to arrange to pick him up on Monday morning instead of on Saturday at the adoption event but I stopped getting responses to my emails.

Sunday evening, after not having heard anything about our puppy since Tuesday, I got an email from the rescue organization. The email was short and to the point; the puppy broke with parvo and despite their best efforts he had not survived. The loss of the puppy was especially hard on the husbeast because it had been lost to parvo. When he was younger he had lost almost 200 dogs, mostly puppies, when a new strand of parvo had made it over from Europe.

Two months passed before either of us could look at puppies again.We had friends adopting puppies and kittens all around us and it was hard to be happy for them when we had had such a terrible time trying to adopt one of our own. We had both become a little bitter and jaded.

May rolled around and some of the bitter had worn off so we started to look again. We still wanted that Rot pup so we knew it was going to be a long road. Short of going to a breeder (which we really did not want to do) and paying close to $1000 we were not going to so easily find what we were looking for. Weekly online searches and visits to the no kill shelter were proving to be fruitless.

It was on a lark that I opened up Craigslist on Monday morning and started looking for puppies. It had never occurred to me to look there for possible adoptions. The list was full of people selling or re-homing animals that they could no longer care for or trying to off-load unexpected litters of puppies they had found.

It took less than ten minutes before the husbeast had two different ads that he was contacting about puppies. We were not surprised, considering our puppy search history, that within an hour of the add being posted all the male puppies were gone already. That evening though we struck upon a little male Rot pup that was 6 weeks old that wasn't part of a litter.

He had been bought as a gift for a woman from her husband, only she didn't have the room for such a large dog and needed to find him a new more suitable home. The husbeast talked to her on the phone for a while and we decided to meet Wednesday evening to see if he would be a match for us. Neither one of us were really getting our hopes up.

Tuesday morning I got a text asking us if we could meet that afternoon as she had other interested parties but wanted us to have first right of refusal. There was some finagling for getting out of work early, but we agreed to make the drive and meet her and the puppy. I was just pulling out of my office when I got the text telling us that her husband had sold the puppy to one of his friends without consulting her and she was so sorry but he was no longer available.

Par for course.

I texted the husbeast the bad news and decided to go grocery shopping. It was becoming pretty clear that we weren't really meant to have a new puppy. To say I was a little depressed would be pretty accurate of my mood as I roamed up and down the canned food aisle at the grocery store.

My phone suddenly rang and I found a very excited husbeast on the other end. He had been in contact with a second person from the Craigslist search unbeknownst to me. Apparently about a minute after I texted him the bad news this woman had called him asking if we wanted to come see the puppy they had.

Not wanting to allow something else bad to happen we agreed to come out at once. I sprinted through the grocery store and ran to the house to pick  up the husbeast. We threw the groceries into the kitchen and were out the door like a shot.

The entire drive up to Denton we talked about how we were not getting our hopes up. For all we knew this puppy could not be what we were looking for. He might have the wrong personality, he might not take to us, he might have been adopted in the hour it took us to get there after we received the call. In short we were prepared for the worst.

When we pulled up to the house the entire family was sitting on the front porch with the puppy in the teenage daughters arms. I tried not to look at his fuzzy little face and notice how ridiculously adorable he was. I tried to ignore the way his little nub for a tail wiggled with excitement. I tried not to watch his tongue lull out as he yawned widely at us. I was not going to fall in love with him just yet.

I of course failed as much as the husbeast did. The moment they placed that puppy in his arms I knew that he was the perfect puppy. He was docile and sweet and cuddly. He was full blood German Rottweiler which was exactly what the husbeast wanted. He was one day shy of 9 weeks old. He was healthy and still available.

We talked to the family for about half an hour so that we could make sure the puppy was coming from a healthy and loving environment (since with breeds like Rottweilers you sometimes get people breeding them for all the wrong reasons) and the family could make certain that we were going to do right by the puppy. Once everyone was assured that this puppies past had been good and his future was going to be better we agreed that this was a good match.

I handed the lady the money, they petted the pup one last time and made us promise we would send pictures as he grew, and we were on our way with puppy in arms. It felt completely surreal. I was waiting for the other shoe to drop as we pulled away from the house with our new pup slumbering in my arms.

It was a very long, frustrating, and painful road to find our new furbaby, but in the end I feel that we were really just waiting for this one to come along. This baby was the one meant for us the entire time. We are so very happy.

Welcome home Nero!



Friday, May 2, 2014

Little things

It is the little things that you overlook that make up love. These are just a few things that remind me that the husbeast loves me.


- He never buys me flowers for my birthday, anniversary, or valentines day, and most certainly  never buys them when he has done something wrong. He only buys them for me on random seemingly insignificant days to remind me I am special even on a lonely Tuesday in March.

- He has never bought me roses because he knows I do not particularly care for them and would prefer simple white daisies to anything else.

- He lets me put the cucumbers from my salad on his plate when we are in restaurants.

- He always lets me steal fries off of his plate with little to no grumbling.

- He knows to bring me apple juice when I am sick because I prefer it to orange juice.

- He knows to put a bowl of ice on the nightstand when I have an upset stomach so I won't dehydrate.

- He cheers for the Longhorns because he knows I like them.

- He always makes me my own pot of gumbo that has no seafood in it.

- He never makes me eat the heel of the bread because he knows I like the middle parts better.

- He gives me the bigger bowl of ice cream and have the first pick of Popsicle flavors.

- He reads me the funny bits out of books I will never read.

- He turns off the ceiling fan when he gets out of bed in the morning so I won't be cold once he is no longer in the bed.

Thursday, April 24, 2014

For days when we forget

I am confident. I am confident. I am confident. I am confident. I am confident. I am confident. I am confident. I am confident. I am confident. I am confident. I am confident. I am confident. I am confident. I am confident. I am confident. I am confident. I am confident. I am confident. I am confident. I am confident. I am confident. I am confident. I am confident. I am confident.

I am beautiful. I am beautiful. I am beautiful. I am beautiful. I am beautiful. I am beautiful. I am beautiful. I am beautiful. I am beautiful. I am beautiful. I am beautiful. I am beautiful. I am beautiful. I am beautiful. I am beautiful. I am beautiful. I am beautiful. I am beautiful. I am beautiful. I am beautiful. I am beautiful. I am beautiful. I am beautiful. I am beautiful. I am beautiful.

I am talented. I am talented. I am talented. I am talented. I am talented. I am talented. I am talented. I am talented. I am talented. I am talented. I am talented. I am talented. I am talented. I am talented. I am talented. I am talented. I am talented. I am talented. I am talented. I am talented. I am talented. I am talented. I am talented. I am talented. I am talented. I am talented. I am talented. I am talented.

I am worthy. I am worthy. I am worthy. I am worthy. I am worthy. I am worthy. I am worthy. I am worthy. I am worthy. I am worthy. I am worthy. I am worthy. I am worthy. I am worthy. I am worthy. I am worthy. I am worthy. I am worthy. I am worthy. I am worthy. I am worthy. I am worthy. I am worthy. I am worthy. I am worthy. I am worthy. I am worthy. I am worthy. I am worthy. I am worthy.

I am loved. I am loved. I am loved. I am loved. I am loved. I am loved. I am loved. I am loved. I am loved. I am loved. I am loved. I am loved. I am loved. I am loved. I am loved. I am loved. I am loved. I am loved. I am loved. I am loved. I am loved. I am loved. I am loved. I am loved. I am loved. I am loved. I am loved. I am loved. I am loved. I am loved. I am loved. I am loved. I am loved.

I am good. I am good. I am good. I am good. I am good. I am good. I am good. I am good. I am good. I am good. I am good. I am good. I am good. I am good. I am good. I am good. I am good. I am good. I am good. I am good. I am good. I am good. I am good. I am good. I am good. I am good. I am good. I am good. I am good. I am good. I am good. I am good. I am good. I am good. I am good. I am good.

And so are you.

If anyone tells you otherwise, ignore them. They are small sad petty people who are unhappy with themselves and only strive to make you as miserable as they are. Their hurtful words and lies are meant to do nothing more than undermine your happiness and highlight what pathetic wretches they are.

You can pity them that they can not take responsibility for their own misery and must instead infringe on others happiness with vicious lies and blatant untruths. To give them more than your pity is a waste of your time and energy and only feeds their wretchednesss.

Take all those hateful and hurtful words, lies, and rumors, and know that they are just words that mean nothing. Your worth shines through, and no one can take that from you but you. Do not let them win.

Take a deep breath and let it go because they are weak, cowardly, petty, sad, wretches who are not worth your time, and the louder they insist upon their hatefulness, the clearer that becomes to the world as a whole.

You are confident. You are beautiful. You are talented. You are worthy. You are loved. You are good.

And so am I.

Tuesday, April 15, 2014

Adventures in dining out

Last Wednesday the husbeast and I decided we were entirely too tired (or possibly lazy) to cook dinner and opted to go out to eat instead. We try not to eat out too often, but during faire it happens more than I would like to admit. My energy and give-a-damn is often too low to cook on a weeknight.

Eating out is supposed to be a nice relaxing event. I don't have to cook, I don't have to clean, all I have to do is enjoy the food and the company of the husbeast. Of course if you have spent much time dining out in America you know that the experience is often anything but relaxing since you have to deal with humanity while dining out.

I knew the evening was going to be a long one when the hostess seated us in a mostly empty dining room next to the only other occupied table, which had a toddler sitting at it. I don't mind children in restaurants as long as they are not screaming or throwing things. We were at what is a family restaurant so kids are to be expected.

People who have children need to eat too, and deserve to eat out. I do not expect them to hide until their kids can be taught to sit quietly at a dinner table. I do however expect that they will be considerate enough to remove a screaming and disruptive child from a restaurant instead of ignoring or indulging them.

This child was not misbehaving. This child was not screaming and throwing things. This child was simply happy. Unfortunately happy translated into incredibly shrill squeals of glee that caused me to flinch each time it happened.

I was going to simply ask to be moved to a table on the other side of the dining room. The sound was only jarring because it was less than a foot from me. Really the hostess should have thought better than to seat us where she did.

Before I could do anything the husband hopped up and took his happy baby out of the restaurant. I was pleasantly surprised. It is always nice when the parent recognizes that their child is being too loud and takes them for a walk to calm down.

The next thing I know the wife has come over to our table to very earnestly apologize for having disturbed our dinner. We tried to tell her it was alright, but she was insistent that loud children were not acceptable. She told us that before she had a baby she always hated being in a restaurant with people who wouldn't do anything about loud children, and she wasn't going to be that person.

We thanked her for her consideration. It was only then that we realized that the husband had not just taken the kid out for a walk to calm down; they had their meals packed up, paid the bill, and were leaving entirely. I was a little shocked seeing as how they had just been served their food. If I had known that was what they were doing I would have bought their dinner for them.

It was so very nice of them to consider how others meals were being effected by their child. It was refreshing to know that there are parents out there like this. I felt bad that they did not get to enjoy their dinners at the restaurant. There is part of me that feels guilty that they left. At the same time I really am glad they did.

So dinner started out strange, though it did give me a little more faith in humanity.

I should have known that it wasn't going to go uphill from there.



Tune in next time to find out how my new found faith in humanity was dashed by some irreverent youths.

Wednesday, April 2, 2014

Ode to a Best Friend


My Niki! - Photo by me!
This is my Niki, isn't she pretty? Niki is one of my best friends in the entire world. She also happens to be my partner in costuming out at faire. She and I have been doing this together for two years now, and honestly I don't know what I would do without her.

She is my rock and she is my sanity. When I am ready to scream and quit she is the one who calms me down. I am fairly certain I have not ripped all of my hair out yet because of her. I know no matter what I am not in this insanity alone, and that is often enough for me.

There are a lot of people who don't understand that Niki and I are partners in this whole costuming venture. Neither one of us is in charge and never have been. If you want to blame someone for being in charge you have to look to our director, as he is the one that makes all the real decisions. Our sole job is to make sure that the cast is wearing the correct things to help realize our directors vision for the faire.

We do this by working together and sharing equal responsibility for every decision made.  Neither of us make any decisions unless the other has been consulted. Whether it be as simple as color or fabric approvals or something more complicated like actual design aspects, we always consult one another. I spend more time carbon copying her on emails than just about anything else it seems.

We have both been doing costuming in some form or another for a very long time, so we know that the other knows what they are talking about. I know that she has researched our period of costuming just as much as I have so we never worry that the other is going to suddenly start to try and pull in non period aspects of dress. That alone is very important.

Matt (Thomas Cromwell)- Photo by Ariana Berdy
I tend to end up handling most of the paperwork and bureaucracy of the job. One of us has to make all of the announcements, posts to the e-groups, and be a main point of contact. It turns out I have a desk job where I sit in front of a computer all day and can easily draft emails and make lists and spreadsheets to my hearts delight. It allows me to be useful while I would otherwise not be able to contribute to the process.

Niki handles the lions share of the sewing that we are responsible for. She doesn't have a job outside sewing so she is able to dedicate large amounts of time to physically working on costuming. I will take in minor repair work and basic construction that I can squeeze into my evenings while Niki does all the heavy lifting.




Let me break it down a little more for you:
There are about 126 memebers of the cast.
32 of these people are wearing a costume made by Niki. (12 of those are bodices only)
Husbeast (Anne de Montmorency) - Photo by Bill McCurry
23 of those costumes she made this year.
3 of those costumes made this year were full mens court garb (one being the husbeast), including one great coat.
 4 of those costumes made this year were full womens court gowns (one being mine).

So she is doing a lot of work. We thankfully  have some other insanely talented seamstresses working with us also making beautiful costumes for us, because I honestly don't think Niki could do any more work. She started sewing for this season back in October, though she only got a few completed since most of the work was for new cast members.

Doing this job isn't simple. We don't just get to let everyone make something vaguely historically accurate that they like. If it were that simple my job wouldn't really be a job. There is making sure that the costuming is as historically accurate as we can manage while understanding this is theater and there are modern restrictions we have to account for.

Joe Baker (Jean-Pierre le Droit)- Photo by Bill McCurry
The harder part of this is the fact that this is an ensemble show with a directorial vision. Our performers have to in the end make that vision complete. We have to assure uniformity to a point so that our groups are recognizable and at the same time have to create a sense of identity and individuality for each character.

I love that we get to go through character class with all of our performers so that we can make costuming adjustments as is needed. I can look at our coffin maker and know that we need to make sure she is in darker muted colors with clean simple lines because it accentuates her characters personality. At the same time I can look at our nun and know that we need  to make sure that her habit has extra room in it because she is going to be fighting.

Me! - Photo By Ron Wheeler

Our work won't stop just because faire starts. Every day will start with us laying eyes on all of our actors to make sure they are still looking their best. Many times you will find us backstage patching pants, replacing buttons, and doing other last minute emergency repairs. Come the end of the weekend we will typically each have at least one item of costuming coming home with us to be fixed or altered. I spend far more of my day checking peoples crotches for holes than I ever should.

Every day from the first to the last Niki is there for me. We lean on one another so much that I am not sure we can stand on our own most days. I swear at this point we share a brain. We vent to one another, and laugh together, and work together, and I can't imagine it any other way.

Niki is the most important person in my faire world. I am not certain she realizes just how much she does for all of us. She would say that she is just doing what she does, which is just another reason she is so amazing.




Thank you for being my Niki. Thank you for holding me up when I want to fall down. Thank you for making me laugh when I want to cry. Thank you for slapping some sense into me when I need it. Thank you for making me beautiful, not to mention the rest of the cast. Thank you for being my sounding board. Thank you for standing by my side and holding my hand. Thank you for making all the pain and annoyance bearable. Thank you for letting me be your thumb. Thank you for being you. 





Wednesday, March 26, 2014

March Madness

March has sort of gotten away from me. I swear that it was just yesterday that February was still in my rear view mirror. Now all I can see it April looming in front of me and a jumble of March lying in my wake. Such is the way of time.

March is always a hard time of year for me because of faire prep. My days disappear in a blur of costuming, fight practice, rehearsals, and desperate attempts to keep the rest of my life in order between very small fits of sleep. It is a really damn thing that I love faire so much since chaos and exhaustion are my rewards for all my effort just now.

The end is in sight. We have our final dress this weekend which means two weeks from Saturday it will be time for faire again. I am not saying things won't still be hectic once faire actually starts, but they will be quite a  bit easier. In theory all the hard stuff that comes with preparing for faire ends once faire begins and then we are just left with a routine of no time to get the general maintenance done.

Hopefully I can find time to be less zombie like in my day to day life once the stress and worry of workshops are done. Once I am sure that all my cast members are dressed and that the husbeast and I have all of the things we need perhaps I can relax just a little. Perhaps then I can focus on some other things in my life like, oh say, my blog.

So basically what I am saying is that I am sorry for the radio silence of late. I have chosen to bead sleeve panels, and field costuming questions, and do character research, and occasionally sleep instead of blogging, and I don't regret that at all. Honestly all of that has left me pretty brain dead so I am not certain I could have written anything entertaining or interesting anyways.

Anyways, those are my excuses. Please stay tuned for us to return to our regular minion ways in April.

Friday, March 7, 2014

Yes I have a sword and I know how to use it

It is a Monday morning and I am limping into the office again. My boss gives me a strange look as I wince in pain just trying to type.

"You alright?" he asks politely.
"Yea, sword fighting." I answer with a painful shrug.

He just blinks at me a moment and then goes back to what he was doing. After 6 years he has simply stopped asking.

I sometimes forget that my hobbies are not what are considered normal. It doesn't really occur to me that my coworks are going to balk when I tell them I can't come to happy hour because I need to go home and work on fight choreography. I mean I would rather swing a sword at my friends than drink with my coworkers any day of the week, but they find that a little hard to grasp.

I remember I was working at a different job about 8 years ago and I was having a conversation with the husbeast about our evening plans which included going to a park with a bunch of friends and sword fighting.

"Did you pick up all the swords? Don't forget both scimitars and the short sword." I was saying to him trying to remember all the weapons he was likely to need since he is often forgetful. It was a very normal sort of conversation for me.

It was only as I was hanging up that I realized every coworker that was in earshot was now standing and staring at me with looks of utter confusion on their faces. I had to look around to make sure they were looking at me and not some sort of three headed monster lurking in my cube.

"What?"
"Were you just talking to someone about swords?"
"Yes"
"Why?"
"Because we are going sword fighting tonight."

There again were those blank blinking stares before they sat down without questioning me. I am not sure if they were afraid to ask more or just didn't care enough to inquire. I do know that they never quite looked at me the same way again.

Every once in a while I get someone who thinks it is interesting or cool and will ask me a million questions about it, but really those are few and far between. We just live in a society where people who actually sword fight are considered weird.

They say weird, I say awesome. It is a damn good thing I stopped caring what most people think of me a long time ago. I am weird and do weird things with my weird friends and I love it. You can go have beers with the office all you like, I will be over here swinging a sword at the people I love.