King Me

Most of the time when people think of someone who plays games, they think of someone who cheats. While this is sometimes true because the secret carrying-on of two or several relationships takes strategy, I don't think it would be fair to limit a true Game Player to this one form of manipulation. I think that the most prevalent and annoying form of game playing happens in conversation, and I think that their victims would agree with me when they really stop to think about it.

When I was on-line dating I used to see this on people's profiles all the time - a huge disclaimer that said "Does not want someone who plays games." And you know what they're talking about when they say that, you know that they're not saying "Does not want someone who plays Scrabble" or "Clue" or "WiiFit." They mean manipulative slimeballs. 

This kind of disclaimer would be terribly offensive for any other group of people. Like if it were common to say "Does not want someone named Helen" then Helens would be very sad, feel oppressed, and maybe start a support group about it. But Game Players are not deterred by this, oh no, they see that warning "Does not want someone who plays games," and they think, "Well, I'll just have to work my way around that." (Note: this attitude also works for Helens.)

So let's say that you're dating on-line. You could either be looking for a man or a woman but let's just say for our example here today, you're looking for a man. And in all honestly, speaking as someone who has dated both men and women, Game Players pretty much work the same no matter what gender they are. So, you've made it clear that you don't want ANY manipulative game players by wearing a T-shirt in your profile picture that says, "Nogameplayo-sexual." But this only attracts Game Players more, and so now you've found someone who you think is a nice guy, and he has made whatever moves he must make to get into your life. You are in a relationship. Though you never would have thought of this man as a manipulative game player, you're beginning to notice certain things, and really, you should have seen this coming because he has a skinny mustache that curls up wickedly at the tips, and wears a top hat and a cape. But you've been looking past this to the beauty inside of him until one day you notice that he wins every argument you ever have. An example of an argument that you recently lost was this:

You're getting into the car to go shopping for a new pair of shoes. You've been planning this since yesterday. As he slides into the driver's seat, he says, "Do you mind if we make a quick stop first?"

"No. Where?"

"I need a new evil cape. It won't take me long. And it's close to the shoe store."

"Well, I have to meet my mother at-"

"I'll drive fast. Won't take long."

"Can you just drop me off at the shoe store then and I'll shop while you shop?"

"But I want you to be with me. We're supposed to spend the day together."

"True, but-"

"And," he grins. "Don't you want to help me pick out something sexy?"

"I trust your taste."

His curly mustache unfurls with his frown. "This cape is for us. Not me - US. If you don't want to be part of us, that's fine. Go get your shoes and I'll shop alone."

You sigh and give in. And then you realize that you've agreed to do something that you don't want to do, that was not discussed at any point up until now, and that you don't know how to tell him that all of his capes make him look fat.

After three hours of cape shopping comes the next type of argument that Game Players always win, and that is "Arguments that Should Really Just Be Discussions." The discussion that you lost that afternoon went like this:

You: I'm hungry.

Him: No, you're not.

Nothing is as plain that you are with a Game Player than when they argue with a statement that is an inarguable fact, and STILL WIN.

"I'm hungry."

"No, you're not."

"Yes, I am! It's noon! I skipped breakfast! Besides, I shouldn't even have to explain this. I know I'm hungry when I'm hungry, how do you know that I'm not?"

He looks hurt. "Why don't you tell me how you really feel?"

And this gets you every time, especially this afternoon. Because are you feeling something besides hungry? Yes! You're pissed at him and yourself for not having a new pair of shoes! And you're in the car with a bag full of new capes with this jerk who reminds you of an annoying kid that you used to play checkers with who would move a piece to the end of the board and yell "King me! King me! Ha HA! I'm BEATING you!" and you're hungry and you're barefoot, and goddamn it, Helen, you're not going to take it anymore!

So here's what you do. Roll the conversation again.

"I'm hungry."

"No, you're not."

"I'm going to eat your cape."

"Hey! That's new, get that out of your mouth!"

"Nonumumumum..."

"That's an $80 cape!"

RIP! "Five dollars now."

"You're crazy!"

"And hungry. Drop me off at McDonald's."

He swerves over. Congratulations! You are single and have lunch!

So readers, see what Helen did there? She didn't argue with him. Because you will not win an argument with a Game Player, you can only eat their cape and go.

But if you feel that you must win the argument, then you have to know their winning strategy. Game Players play on your insecurities and fears. Your best defense, therefore, is to have a solid view of yourself. Sounds simple enough, unless you have low self-esteem. Helen will prove this point for us in the following example:

Helen and Todd are sitting at the table reading the paper. Helen lowers the comics and says to him, "I think I'd like to take up photography."

"You have no eyeballs," says Todd from behind his paper.

"Yes, I do."

"How do you know? Sure, you see them in the mirror, but what if everything you think you see is just a projection of your imagination because you can't bear the fact that you have no eyes?

"That's ridiculous."

"Prove me wrong."

Helen thinks about it.

"You can't, can you?" he says.

"No, but that doesn't make you right."

"True, but it means that if I am right and you buy a camera you'll look like a fool, a fool with no eyes, and I love you too much to let that happen."

Helen, who suffers from poor self-esteem, is now only aware of the fact that Todd said, "I love you" and tells herself that even though he's a little nuts it's sweet of him to care.

(Fast forward Helen's life two years, add one nervous breakdown, lots of therapy in the aftermath, some self-realization, and a steady yoga routine.)

Confident Helen and Todd are having breakfast and reading the paper.

"I think I'd like to take up photography," says Helen.

"But you don't have-"

"Your chair's on fire."

"ACK!"

Helen, with her keen ever-present eyeballs, lit the fire while he read his paper, thus distracting him long enough so that she was able to slip off to the camera store. Win!

But do you always win an argument with a Game Player by starting fires? No. Arguments with Game Players can also be won by the following methods:

1) Point out their own fears and insecurities. "Todd, you should get over your fear that if I have a hobby outside of our relationship I'll leave you."

2) Play on their fears and insecurities. "Todd, I'm leaving you."

3) Freak them out. "Todd, I started that fire with my eyeballs."

Now you are ready. Go forth and fight the fighters. 

Four Speakers

I lost my balance in yoga class the other night and it was all John Lennon's fault. I was in tree pose which looks something like this:

This also confirms your suspicions that I actually am a cartoon. Anyway, my instructor plays music throughout class, which is ordinarily not a problem. It flows with the class, and it's usually groovy music with Indians chanting things that I don't understand. The other night he even snuck in a song from The Life Aquatic soundtrack, one of my favorites, with Portugeuse singer Seu Jorge covering David Bowie songs, and I was fine. But Monday night he played "Across the Universe" and it was all over.

"Words are flowing out like endless rain into a paper cup they slither wildly as they slip away across the universe/Pools of sorrow waves of joy are drifting through my open mind possessing and caressing me." I want to write the moment I hear it. I know he was probably singing about drugs but it reminds me of how I feel when I write and the way the words flow through me. "Pools of sorrow waves of joy are drifting through my open mind possessing and caressing me." That's what it feels like when I'm in that third place - that place where it doesn't even feel like it's me writing, something just takes over. I don't even have to try to write. Something comes in and possesses me but not in a bad way, not in like a way where I need a priest or anything. Just in a way that compels me to sit down and write something.

So when I was in tree pose and I heard those first few guitar chords and then heard him say, "Words are flowing out," I lost my balance and fell. I caught myself, I mean I didn't fall over like this:


I just lost my footing and didn't quite get it back until the song was over.

Music has that effect on me. I have a difficult time writing without it and it's usually what motivates me to write in the first place. The words don't even have to be good, the energy just has to go with what I'm trying to say. I wrote The Daily Dylanson Obituaries almost entirely to "Godless" by the Dandy Warhols. I listened to the whole album Thirteen Tales From Urban Bohemia in a loop, but sometimes I would just repeat that one song because when I heard the opening I could see my main character Judy riding her bike in lonely circles around her neighborhood and I could see Sammy lighting a cigarette and taking a walk because he can't sleep.

Other times, it just echoes what I feel and the echo comes back to me twice as loud as it sounds in my heart. Sometimes, the music is so loud it's like the four chambers of my heart are four big speakers that gush sound and blood.  Especially if I'm feeling broken-hearted or angry.

One night a couple of weeks ago my yoga instructor had us lie down in a restorative pose towards the end of class. I was on my back with a bolster along my spine, so my torso and chest were higher than my head and legs. I know it sounds weird, but it feels good. Or that is to say it usually does. That night my lower back ached, and I kept squirming on my bolster trying to relax.

"This is supposed to feel good," my instructor said. "So if anyone is feeling any discomfort, and would like me to help, just raise your hand."

My hand went up. I used to be shy about having the teacher adjust me in class because it meant a stranger touching me, but I've learned two things about myself: one, I would rather ask for help than lie uncomfortably for ten minutes, and two, I like it when my teacher adjusts me...what? Look, he's got strong hands and he asks me if I'm ok. With that kind of attention once a week I can survive being single. But that's beside the point. My point is, I raised my hand and he knelt down by my head.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"I'm ok," I said, sitting up. "But my lower back hurts."

"Your lower back? Ok," he said, sounding certain that he knew what to do about that. "Lie back."

I laid back down and expected him to do something with my legs or maybe he'd swap out one hip bone for the other but instead he planted a hand on each of my shoulders and pushed them down.

I cracked open like a boiled crab. Air rushed into my chest. I had to open my mouth to take it all in. Breaking open never felt so good - I felt it everywhere. My chest, my back, my neck, and with the rush of air and the rush of relief in my sore muscles, came a rush of sound. The four speakers of my heart exploded with music, and echoed all the pain and frustration I've felt lately and it sounded like this

Funny Lookin'

You might not be surprised if I tell you that you can not eat off of the floors in my house. Well, you could, but then you might not feel very well, and then you might also start to wonder about yourself, about why you would eat off of someone's floor in the first place and not, say, a plate. Oh, by the by, you might not want to eat off of one of my plates.

I clean about as often as I feel that I have to, and you can tell from looking at my place that I don't feel very obligated. Unless someone comes over to visit or if someone tries to eat off my floor and then I have to stop them and say, "Hey, you might not want to do that." "Yes, I really do. I HAVE to," he'll say, because I would imagine that this is how a person who eats off the bare floor would respond. "Ok," I'll say handing them a fork. "If you can find the floor, it's yours. Just kick around the laundry and move those papers. And that dog. There you go. Hey! Look at that! I DO have a floor!"

And to tell you the truth, the kids and I don't wash our hair or brush our teeth as often as we should. Hey look, you asked!...oh wait, no, you didn't ask for that information. I'm just giving you the cold hard facts here. Life is a little crazy lately and sometimes the kids and I fall asleep in our clothes, on the couch, with the dog and the cat and the rabbit. Teeth unbrushed, faces unwashed, pajamas unworn. But we get to school and to work every day. And when we do people are overjoyed to see us! Until they get too close and breathe. Then we might smell a little funny, and truthfully we might look a little funny. The other day when we were running late I told Christopher to put on his socks and he yelled from his bedroom, "Ok, they're on!" He walked into the kitchen with his socks draped over his head. He thought he was hilarious, and even though we were seriously late I still had to laugh. What a smart ass.

We are making each other laugh more. That's been a good change. A few weeks ago I was lying in bed, depressed about something and Emma snuggled down next to me and said, "Hey Mom." "What?" I grumbled back. Then she boasted, "I have 50 electric peanuts in my pants." I smiled. I hadn't smiled all day. "Do you?" I asked. "Yes! Oh - what a minute..." she snuck under the covers and came back up. "I'm not wearing any pants." Somehow Emma knows just what to say to make me laugh. I could be coming home from the funeral of both of my parents and Emma could say the words "electric peanuts in my pants" and I would still giggle. It's not just the ridiculous things that she says. It's that, at age 8, she has mastered a dry tone so she says these things very matter of fact.

The other day I was able to turn it around on her. She, Claire and I went to a mother-daughter yoga class on Sunday and Emma started off class upset about something. She cried quietly for the first 15 minutes. There are so many big changes going on for that little kid and when I saw her crying like that I wanted to make everything better, but I didn't know how. So when we were lying on the floor I whispered, "Hey! Emma!" She looked at me, and she seemed so sad and tired. I probably looked the same way weeks before when she found me in my room. "I've got 50 electric peanuts in my pants," I whispered. She smiled a little, but she didn't laugh.

The class worked on her after a while. The teacher had us doing fun, playful poses and Emma began to giggle a bit. Then in the last ten minutes of class she fell asleep during the meditation. Poor thing really was tired. Since it was Chris's weekend with the kids, he came to pick them up at the end of class. It's always painful to watch the kids get in the car with him and go, just a reminder that our family's split. Even though it's a good thing, Chris and I both agree on that, there's something about it that's just hard. When I was telling them goodbye Emma called me over to her window. She said, in her flat tone, "Hey Mom. I've got peanuts in my pants too." That's true mother-daughter bonding.

We're working on it, this taking care of ourselves physically and emotionally thing. Just a little awkward right now what with all of the peanuts in all of the pants. Atleast we can laugh.