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Monday, April 19, 2010

Vegas Baby Vegas!!!! (older post; explaination of the VKOD)

What up everyone. I was feeling lazy and very worn out this week, but I found a good post from one of my old blogs that I thought I would share on Quit Hittin' Yourself since the VKOD will be a prominent concept on this blog and in our lives. Here it is...

VEGAS BABY VEGAS!!!

That’s right. Just got back from a weekend in Sam’s Town in honor of Matt’s upcoming nuptuals. I guess as far as Vegas bachelor parties go we were pretty tame. Pretty much a bunch of married or almost married guys drinking heavily, gambling a lot, and talking about life, sports, and Robocop (yeah, that’s right…robocop)

We stayed at Planet Hollywood which was fantastic! I’ve only been to Vegas one other time, but from what I have seen of the other casinos on the strip PH is right up there with the best. There were 8 of us in the Back to the Future II Suite which never stopped being awesome to me. We had all kinds of random stuff from the movie decorating our suite including hoverboards, costumes, and props from the best Back to the Future of the 3 in my opinion. One thing I was really dissappointed in was the lack (nary a mentioning!) of the Flux Capacitor. I know it was somewhere in that hotel and my failure to see it in all it’s 1.21 jigawats was the major dissappointment of the weekend. Well that and all the money I lost. But mostly it was my failure to see the Flux Capacitor that will hang over this trip with that one-that-got-away feeling.

Oh, yeah…the money. It could have been a lot worse, but I was still peeved to walk away from the weekend down $200. Mostly because three separate people in our group walked to the Airport with 4 more figures in their bank account then what they showed up with! More on that later. I wasn’t jealous. Well, yes I was. BUT that’s not really the issue I have been dealing with in the wake of my poor performance. I’m sad to say that the Varela Kiss of Death is still a looming presence in what is otherwise a terrific existence for yours truely.

For those of you who are unfamiliar with the VKOD, here’s how it works. When Richard Varela (that’s me) wants something. When, in his heart of hearts, he truely believes something can be attained. When he is CONFIDENT (that’s the real key) in the likelihood that whatever it is he has an opinion on is true…the oposite is what will happen.

A couple of examples. I went to UNCW. Not because I wanted to go to UNCW, but because I DIDN’T get into Carolina. I had the grades. I had the scores. Dumber kids than me from my high school got in. But not this guy! Why? Lot’s of reasons I’m sure, but the foremost being that I truely believed I was a lock to be accepted. The same thing actually happened 7 years later when I applied to Law School at UNC on the heels of what I thought was quality work at UNCW and a few years of real world experience under my belt. I surely couldn’t be snubbed twice! Alas…

The VKOD basically is that when I want something badly enough and subsequently have the confidence that I will get what I want. I don’t get it. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not complaining. I just thought the VKOD was vanishing into obscurity. Between marrying a girl as wonderful as Pam, getting a job I actually like, and a number of other positive results for your boy in the game of life I was sure the VKOD had moved on to another poor soul.

Well, then I hit the Blackjack table. See the first time I went to Vegas I was very unprepared for gambling and was thusly punished for not respecting the table. I didn’t learn the rules before sitting down. I did stupid things. I lost a lot of money. I even had trouble doing the math quickly which led to this exchange:

(Cards are dealt and I have 13 against a dealer 7)

Me: Hit (it’s another 3), Hit (Ace), Hit (9)

(with a straight face like I am concentrating on my next move) Stay.

Dealer: You already busted.

Me: Oh yeah, I knew that. I was just testing you. Good work! Now punch me in the face as hard as you can and I will be on my way.

You get the picture. ANYWAY I was not going to let that happen again, so I have been studying my blackjack. I had been playing it on my phone, studying odds, and talking to more experienced players about techniques. I was ready! But worse…I was confident. I thought if I played the right way there was no WAY I could lose. I figured the worst case scenario was going to be that I log a couple of marathon sessions at the tables, crack jokes with the boys, drink the complimentary vodka, and possibly walk away from the table after a couple of hours at break even or just slightly down.

One of the big problems with the VKOD is that it’s too smart for me. I can’t reverse it by saying I feel differently than I actually do to throw it off the scent. So if I had tried to combat the VKOD by saying I wasn’t sure about gambling and that I wasn’t planning on winning I would have, of course, been lying to the VKOD and possibly causing it to further incur it’s wrath! I didn’t tempt it, but it got me anyway.

I walked down the the tables with Chris and Matt with the confidence of a Matador and promptly lost $100 before I even got my second drink. Yipes. I made a mini-comeback during that session and ended up coming out of it relatively unscathed, but without logging the hours at the table I had planned on. We didn’t even make it an hour at that table but I didn’t want to risk it when the dealer who had just given me some of my money back switched out with some lady that looked like what I can only best describe as a PirateNinja. I can’t explain what that means really, but I think we can agree you don’t want to play against one in Blackjack.

So we were out of there. We had other stuff to go do that night so there wasn’t anymore blackjack until the next day, and at that point I was poised to strike! Riding the confidence that got me through my comeback I sat down prepared to win. I brought $175 (I was only down $25 at this point and $200 was the limit I set for myself) and I told myself I wasn’t going to get up until that money turned into $1000. And the crazy thing is…I almost had it.

I have a feeling I’m going to have nightmares about the number 11 for years and years. Or at least until my next Vegas trip. I was up. I was up pretty big, but not quite to my goal. And it happened. I was increasing my bets little by little which is how I got up, but a couple of bad hands saw the dealer chipping away at me. After a few up and down series I hit 11 against a 6 and doubled down. Dealer blackjack against a 17 for me. A couple of hands later I hit 11 again. Against a 2! Double down. I hit 19. Dealer hits 20. I hit 11 four other times against weak dealer hands, doubled down each time, and lost EVERY ONE OF THEM! I wonder what the odds are of something like that happening. I’m gonna say pretty slim, but the VKOD came through BIG TIME on that one.

I left the table shaking my head, but in my battle with the VKOD I will NEVER surrender. “We will not go quietly into the night. We will not give up without a fight!”

On to the winners. Eric had to get back home to his new baby boy and his lovely wife but he got a 24 hour pass to come out there for the first night. And boy did he. Eric was in a cab to McCarran airport on Saturday morning with $1300 more than he showed up with thanks mainly to a video roulette machine. Yes. A video roulette machine. Whatever Eric has is the polar opposite of the VKOD and he has been using it to his advantage his whole life. It came through once again. Maybe he and I are some kind of cosmic force that was separated at the creation of the universe and now we’re best friends because our opposing states of being are somehow attracted to each other like a magnet. That’s for another blog though.

Scotty sat down at a blackjack table long after I had given up on it, and made $1000 in about an hour. He was betting big, but he was getting the cards. Well done.

Mitch is the story of the weekend though. There was a point on Saturday night when he was down $2000 and sporting the not-sure-if-I-will-still-be-married-when-I-get-home face. I had never seen him so visibly upset about anything. Well, in an unprecedented display of softball shaped cohones, Mitch walked to the roulette wheel.

Mitch: What do you think? I’m gonna put $2000 down on Red or Black.

Me: WEll, that’s insane, but if I have learned anything from Wesley Snipes in my life it’s to always bet on Black.

Mitch: I’m going red.

The wheel spins…………and spins………..and spins…………..

bounce, bounce bounce….RED!

The color returned to Mitch’s face as we cheered. The VKOD was poised to strike. But Mitch countered it. And defeated it. I’m just glad someone did.

Thursday, April 8, 2010

Our Life with a Zombie

I watched a lot of "Married With Children" in in it's heyday, and now that I am older I have a whole different appreciation for it. Although I haven’t seen an episode of the show in well over 10 years I find myself thinking about it from time to time because one of it's central themes is been something I have been wrestling with since I graduated college. One of the deepest comedic wells MWC always dipped into was that being a grown up is kind of a buzzkill. Doesn’t matter if you are a shoe salesman, a professional golfer, or a mid level management employee at a freight railroad. If you are an adult with any feeling of responsibility toward anything, the pressures of the real world can overwhelm the shit out of you. But what the hell? When you have a family that loves you, friends that are there for you, a steady paycheck, food on the table and beer in the fridge is anything else really that bad? Hell to the no! So turn on the game, crack a cold one and rest your hand down the front of your pants goddammit cause you’re the man or woman (we are SO women’s lib at “Quit Hittin’ Yourself”) of the house and this is your domain! This was what Married with Children was so good at. Telling its audience that everything was going to be ok, no matter how hard things seemed to get.

And no character on that show said it better than Al. Outwardly he was a worn out, angry shoe salesmen who seemed completely miserable. Half the jokes on that show were at Al’s expense in a vein of humor that said, “look how awful my life is and how much I hate everything. Guess old Al Bundy is just never gonna catch a break” *trombone goes wah waaaaaaaaaaaah*. But MWC always offered a little wink at the audience. Within the context of the show’s framework it consistently gave Al these soft, redeemable moments that let us know that even though he was rude to his wife, annoyed by his kids, didn’t seem to particularly enjoy the company of his friends, never had any money and acted as if his life was nothing but a cliff he jumped off of once his Polk High glory days were over there was still love in Al’s heart. And somewhere in there Al was glad to have what he did. Having watched so much of it in the 90's I constantly find myself thinking about Al Bundy when I get down on myself. Nothing can be THAT bad right? Now let’s move on before I realize my understanding of adult life and how to navigate it was cultivated by a sit-com. Crap.

Anyhoo I have been thinking about Al lately because one of the things I always thought was sweet about him was that he never referred to Kelly by her name. He always called her “punkin” and he was the only person in Kelly’s life who did this. Just one of those redemptive winks that let us all know Al was a big softee underneath his weary disposition. Now I don’t have such a depressing visage as my buddy Al, but as I said, I can relate to some of the things he was dealing with in his life. Maybe I am a little (only a little!) dramatic about it sometimes, but being a grown ass man with grown ass man responsibilities kind of wears on me sometimes.

Now I have 2 levels when it comes to expressing hard to channel emotions. Even keel and blinding intensity. Anything that falls in between those extremes is dealt with mostly inside my own head because whatever I am thinking about at the time is probably too stupid or petty to be worthy of a conversation. This can be misleading. Because I have a shitty poker face, I always appear to have more critical things on my mind than I acutally do, and sometimes Pam thinks I am upset with her when I am actually just being a baby. When you don't use words, you leave things open to interpretation which is not a good idea when your wife is trying to have a conversation with you on the heels of a drastic change in your lives. Last week she saw me over at the computer doing the monthly budget with my head in my hands, sporting a glassy, 3 mile, where-did-it-all-go-wrong kind of stare and when she asked me what was wrong I just sort of grunted. I was pouting. Not taking her perception of this response into consideration I didn't realize she may think I am over there regretting our choice to have a baby and live on one income. She may think I am wishing I had a different life and I am sitting there plotting my escape(ed. note: this is what she was thinking) when all that is really going on is that I am over there pouting because I want a goddamn X Box but I had to pay the stupid electricity bill instead and that makes me sad.

Only I know how truly ridiculous I actually am, so when Lucy is old enough to pick up on the fact that daddy is in his head about something I want her to be sure it’s no big deal and that no matter how weird I am acting it could not possibly be because of her. I really want her to feel like we have a good relationship, and one of the things I think would be cool is if she has a nickname that only her daddy calls her like Al had with Kelly. So I have been trying to come up with some things, but I don’t want to pluck some random bullshit out of the air. Something like Punkin or Angel would be so generic and boring, and I don’t want to be lazy and just call her LJ or Lu Lu or some other play on her name. I mean, I am sure we will be calling her any and all of those things at some point, but I want us to have something that only I call her. I want it to be something I came up with that shows her how well I know her and how in tune I am with the person she is. Something that only someone who loves her as much as I do could come up with.

Only problem is, she doesn’t really have a personality yet so my initial attempts at giving her the perfect nickname have been…well, how can I properly convey this?…Oh I know…a COLLOSAL FUCKING FAILURE! Here’s what I got so far: Alien Baby. Animatronic Baby. Hulk Baby. And my favorite…Zombie baby. And I wonder why she punches me in the face so often.

It's not that I have something against her. I just calls 'em like I sees 'em. And from what I have seen this baby is pretty much an Animatronic, Zombie, Ailien, Hulk child. Let me explain.

We've already covered Lucy's otherworldly baby strength in this space, so I won't harp on that. But her kung fu grip and propensity for issuing beat downs has earned her the Hulk title.

The Alien/Animatronic titles are related. They all stem from her inability to control her own motions. She's only 2 weeks old so she's not really aware of her limbs and digits yet. All of her movement is involuntary and reactionary and the look on her face always makes it seem like she's very surprised that her body is in motion. She gets all bug eyed and starts shifting things from side to side and up and down in a robotic looking way. I shit you not, the first thing I thought of when I saw her looking around, doing her robot thing was the scene in "Aliens" when Sigorny Weaver was falling to her death and the Alien she was pregnant with pops out of her stomach and starts flailing around. Lucy looks just like that, but much much cuter, you know, like a human. It just didn't seem right to walk around associating my baby with Sigorny Weaver's Alien love child, so Alien baby became Animatronic baby.

I'm working on finding a more palletable substitute for Zombie baby right now, but Lucy is not really helping. It just that...she keeps acting like such a fucking Zombie. Being a 2 week old baby Lucy gets hungry quite often. Her lack of body control sometimes makes things more difficult than they need to be and she sometimes has trouble latching onto her food source. When she's not able to find the grub she goes nuts. She starts frantically rooting around, bobbing her head up and down, and snorting in between bursts of very angry, scary crying. It's crazy to see. She moves so fast and so violently! Now these may not seem like zombie-ish qualities in the traditional sense, but if you have seen "28 Days Later" you will know what I am talking about. At this point I would embed a video, but I can't figure out how to do it (or if it's possible) to embed something from the web so here's a link. Just watch.

http://www.hulu.com/watch/55517/28-days-later-shot

That's pretty much exactly how Lucy acts when she is hungry and not getting what she wants. Lucy's hunger cries and subsequent freak outs are uncannily similar to the 28Days Later zombies' thirst for brains. Sometimes when she's flipping out it even sounds like she is screaming, "BRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAINS!" It's just too obvious to ignore.

Needless to say, these nicknames will be on the scrap heap before Lucy is old enough to know what is going on, but if she wants better nicknames it's really on her. Like I said, I want this to be an organic process and I want her name to reflect her personality and to show how well I know her. And I feel like I do. We've spent a lot of time together. Clearly we need to work on this, but Lucy, I beg you, a little help here. Until then...

BRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAINS!







Thursday, April 1, 2010

This Week in Uncontrolable Weeping

I was a little dissapointed in myself when Lucy was first born. If movies and TV have taught me anything the birth of a man's first child is supposed to be this trancendent moment where he feels the greatest love he has ever known. A love from which he can never return. That moment is supposed to be special and beautiful. The first words out of my mouth when I saw my daughter for the first time? "Holy shit." I kind of whispered it to no one in particular and I don't even know if it was audible, but still...I know what I said. And I know what I felt, which was nothing in particular. Not good. Not bad. Just kind of like, "Welp, that certainly is a baby. Hope I don't fuck this up."

I haven't told anyone about this because, honestly, I couldn't shake it and I was begining to wonder if I am some kind of soulless freak that doesn't feel things anymore. I mean if a guy can't love his own child unconditionally at first sight that is a serious red flag. We were talking about how much she looks like me the day she was born and my sister in law told me that babies look more like their fathers when they are born as a biological defense mechanism that prevents the father from eating his own young. She was on to me.

OK, obviously I wasn't going to EAT her. Those little ribs could be a choking hazard! But my feelings on that first day ranged from "I hope Pam is going to be ok" to "I hope I don't fuck this up" with nothing about how madly in love I was with my new baby daughter and much more about how cramped our stupid hospital room was and how I couldn't wait to get out of there. Don't get me wrong. I have held that little girl, talked to her, and done as much "good daddy" stuff as I could possibly do since the day she was born. It's just that...there was no bond. No immediate connection. And it made me feel like a total scumbag.

I had been trying to manufacture it for days with nothin' doin' so I stopped beating myself up about it and resigned myself to being the scary, intimidating dad from The Wonder Years. That would be my role. Hopefully Pam would pick up the slack. I kept on keepin' on with the duties of parenthood, but there was just this weird, nothingness kind of feeling about the whole thing that was seriously bumming me out.

So I am at work on Tuesday listening to some Pandora radio at work and the Pandora gods selected "Float On" by Modest Mouse for my listening pleasure. I had never really paid attention to the lyrics to that one before then, but since it was all up in my earhole in a quiet office I paid more attention. It's a very positive song about how life can be hard sometimes, but that's ok because even though bad shit is going to happen to you from time to time good times will be just around the corner. When I heard lyric right before the bridge, "We'll float on, good news is on the way" I imediately flashed into a daydream about having a conversation with Lucy and trying to cheer her up when she feels bad about something. I would give her this exact advice. And as I sat there, having a fake conversation with my daughter in my head, I started to well up. Realizing what I was experiencing were genuine tears of happiness, joy, and love for my baby girl got me all crazy emotional. The first domino had been tipped, my friends, and I let out a straight up SOB and was sporting a serious happy cry face. It took me a solid minute to reel that shit in.

Guess Lucy doesn't have to worry about me eating her anymore. We gon' be 'aight.