|Don Juan de Doodlebug|
Lengthy Backstory That's Just a (Possibly Boring) Summation of Stuff I've Already Posted Before
About 2002, 2003, somewhere around then, in Boston, The Black Goblin's Wicked Hawt Parsi girlfriend was going on and on about these great books she was reading, A Song of Ice and Fire, but how the author was taking way too much time in between each book. She was quite frustrated and the subject came up, time and time again, about this writer, George R.R. Martin, and how he was "being a wicked dick" to his readers. I was intrigued, because she was so emotionally attached, but wary, because, you know, I don't need that kind of hassle in my life. I decided that I wouldn't read them until the series was done or Mr. Martin shuffled off this mortal coil, which, of course, I hope never happens.
Fast forward a bunch of years and me and The Black Goblin find our way back from Boston to New Hampshire. The HBO show comes out and I maintain my vow. The Black Goblin buys the first season on DVD. He watches the whole thing; I refuse to watch even a minute. He finishes and promptly starts watching it again with a roommate (my Tattoo Artist Former Player-Turned-Dungeon Master). I refuse to watch even one minute. He finishes and promptly starts watching it again with a different roommate (Buddhist Monk Former Player Whom I Haven't Seen in a While). I break down and watch the first episode. Am blown away.
(Parenthetically, watching the first season of Game of Thrones three times in a row had a deleterious effect on The Black Goblin. He bought a Westeros cookbook and started drinking a lot of mulled wine. Speaking of winters, that one around the D&D table was terrible.)
Anyway, I run home, dig my copy of A Game of Thrones that I had bought for a quarter at the East Boston Public Library donations bin out of a box and read the first half in 24 or so hours before I finally get a hold of myself, throw the book across the room, and maintained my vow. I did, however, watch the first half of the season up to where I stopped reading.
Fast forward a bit more and I start going out with La Principessa. She keeps going on and on about how I have to read A Song of Ice and Fire. I tell her about my vow. She doesn't care. She keeps telling me about this article* my Independent Maoist-Inclined Red Historian Rival for Her Affections (Since Vanquished) has written, and if I won't read them and talk to her about them, I guess she'll have to talk to somebody about them... (She really, really relishes this game of trying to drive me insane with jealousy, but doesn't respond at all well when I tell her about how I bought a copy of The Land of Oz for a female comrade in Boston a couple of months before I met her, and how happy that female comrade was, how she brightened up when I handed it to her and...Baby, put that down! Why are you so angry? She doesn't mean anything to me, I love you, baby!)
*I've never read it and take no responsibility for anything it might say.
Spoilered for Disgusting Goblin Sexiness
Anyway, I was trying to figure out what to read after The Whispering Swarm and realized that I was going down to Brooklyn this coming weekend, so I call up La Principessa:
"Hey, baby, I was thinking, you want me to read A Song of Ice and Fire so we can watch the tv show together, right?"
"Okay, well, I'm thinking that I'll start reading them now and we can start watching the first season this weekend."
"You will? Yay!!!!"
"Yeah, and I was thinking...you know, I was thinking we could play a, kind of like, a drinking game while we watched the show..."
"A drinking game? Hmm, well, I'm sure there must be all kinds of Game of Thrones drinking games on the internet..."
"Well, not really a drinking game, just kind of like a drinking game..."
"What do you mean?"
"I was thinking that we could watch the show and, you know, stop everytime they have sex and, uh, have sex."
After a 20-second pause, "I like this idea."
"Yeah? I was thinking that, you know, we could stop when they were having sex and do whatever they're doing on the screen."
She involuntarily makes a sound that is half-moan/half-gasp and says "Baby, I really like this idea."
"Yeah?" "Yeah." "Where are we going to get a little person?"
She laughs. "Well, his sex scenes are mostly just him in bed with giggling prostitutes..."
"Baby, I can't wait!"
Worth breaking my vow for, I think.
Anyway, I made a joke about posting about it on the FB page of My Independent Maoist-Inclined Red Historian Rival for La Principessa's Affections (Since Vanquished) and she said "What have I told you? Facebook is public. You can't talk about our private lives in public." She must have heard my frown through the phone because she then added, "But I don't care if you want to tell all your little friends on Paizo."