Over the years, I've learned a lot about women.

When I was younger, I was the guy all the girls came to for relationship advice. Don't ask me why. I'd never actually had a relationship. But I was thoughtful, and a good listener, and I didn't openly gawk at their breasts. (I did gawk, of course, I just wasn't rude about it.)

These three things may not seem like much, but from what I understand they rarely come together in a 16 year old boy. The result was that most girls found me to be trustworthy, fun to be around, and neuter as a Ken doll.

But I learned a lot by listening to their relationship problems. I learned what irritated them, what they really wanted in a relationship (or said they wanted, anyway), and the sort of jerky things guys were capable of.

Eventually I started to develop a list of things you should never do in a relationship. Rules of conduct that should never be broken. I continued building that list all through college.

Now I'm not talking about the obvious stuff here. Rules like, "Don't sleep with your girlfriend's sister." or "Don't jab her in the eye with a pointy stick." Shit like that is obvious.

My rules were more specific, but other people had paid for them in blood.

A few real examples:

* Never tell a woman she looks like her pet.

* Never compare a woman to a cow.

* Never compare a woman to any sort of cheese.

Maybe those last two don't happen so much outside of Wisconsin. But trust me, you really can't pull them off. Dairy products are fine. If you're careful, you can use creamy or milky. You can even, depending on the situation, get away with buttery. But cheese is right out. It can't be done in a good way.

Later on in life, as I started to date more, I began to add new rules based on my own experiences. Things like:

* Don't break up with a girl then send her roommate a love letter.

* Don't invite four different women to the same poetry reading. Especially if one of them is your ex-girlfriend, one is your current girlfriend, and one is the girl who kinda wants to be your girlfriend.

That last one might seem a little specific, and it is, I suppose. But if I can keep even one other person from making that mistake, I will be doing the world a very big favor.

Now some of you may scoff at my list of rules. Thinking them bizarre and overly specific. I don't really feel the need to defend myself or prove the efficacy of my system. Simply look at me, then look at my past girlfriends, all of whom have been lovely, intelligent, and sexy as hell. My results speak for themselves.

I'm not claiming to have it all figured out. Far from it. I'm still adding things to my list all the time.

For example, the other day I'm laying in bed with Sarah and little Oot. Because Oot is a happy little bundle of cute, Sarah experienced a moment of what I call Mom Bliss. I'm pretty sure this is an evolutionary thing. Specifically, it's a rush of endorphins designed to make moms adore their children, rather than devour them.

So we're all on the bed and Oot kinda squirms around, looks up at us, and gives us one of his trademarked triple-distilled cuteness grins. Then he makes a happy little shriek that sounds like he's trying to speak dolphin.

This presses Sarah's mom button, and the endorphins hit her brain like a pixie stick dissolved in a jam-jar full of heroin.

"Oh!" Sarah says, her eyes all dewy with Agape-style love. "This is so great! I'm in bed with my two favorite people!"

"Yeah," I say, pretty much agreeing with her. "It's kinda like a lame three-way."


New rule: Do not refer to quality time with mom and baby as "kinda like a lame three-way."

Here endeth the lesson.

pat

Labels: day in the life, my dumbness, Oot, Sarah, small adventures

So when I was attending GenCon out in Indianapolis last month, I had several adventures.

For one, I got to eat at a Stake and Shake, which was pretty cool. This may not seem like a big deal for most of you, but... well... I don't get out much.

I also did a reading at the local library.

I love doing readings. But this one was especially fun, as I got to hang out with the folks from "...and Sewing is Half the Battle." They're the ones that won the photo contest from a couple months ago.

They all came dressed in their costumes and did an intro to my reading, talking about what cosplay is, why folks do it, and how to dabble if you're interested.

I have to say that it was pretty cool showing up for my own reading and having a bunch of the characters from the book in attendance.

As a whole, I was too bemused to take a lot of pictures. But I got a huge kick out of this:




I don't remember writing a hippie into the book. But then again, I don't remember NOT writing a hippie into the book. Trapis, nice guy that he is, seems to be reserving judgement.




Haliax, as you might have guessed, is a big hit with the ladies. Why do they always go for the dark types?




Here's one I snapped of Haliax when he didn't think anyone was paying attention. Apparently when there aren't any chicks around he summons some sort of glowing orb, practicing to destroy his enemies. I can't say I'm surprised.

Ladies, let this be a lesson to you. Sure, cowls are sexy. Everyone loves a bad boy. But when you're dating evil, it's only a matter of time before you get the glowing orb.




Here's everyone. From top left to bottom right you have: Elodin, young girl (see below) Haliax, Bast and Urchin, Ambrose, glowing death orb, Hippie, Trapis, Denna, Kvothe and Fela.


I won't bore you with the whole story of the reading, but here are the high points.

• A 10 year old girl made fun of my handwriting.

She looked down at the book I was writing in. "Authors are supposed to use cursive," she informed me.

"Not me," I said cheerfully, scribbing away.

"Is that your name?" she asked.

"Yup."

She kept watching in disapproval, then said. "Authors are also supposed to have better handwriting than a third grader."

"You're fat," I said.

I didn't really. She was adorable. Plus, I was on an adulation buzz by that point and nothing could bring me down. I long ago came to grips with the fact that my handwriting looks like a psychotic grade schooler's ransom note. She wasn't telling me anything I didn't already know.

• At some point during the Q & A period, I used a terrible phrase.

I used to do improv comedy. This is a good thing. I know how to work a crowd and think on my feet. Public speaking doesn't freak me out. I'm relaxed. I make jokes. It's a good time.

The down side is that I'm not exactly working off a script. And that means sometimes I'll say awful things.

I'm not talking about cussing. I cuss all the time. It's not a big deal.

All humor is rooted in transgression. That means that most things that are genuinely funny also have the potential for being really offensive, or weird, or creepy.

I can't remember the exact context for this phrase, but I was answering a question. I think I was making fun of the fact that since I hit the NYT bestseller list, everyone seems to think I'm all rockstar famous.

As I said, I can't remember the exact context. But I do remember the phrase I used.

It was: "Come Ride the Rothfuss Train!"

Yeah. I even pronounced it with the exclamation point, which is something I very rarely do. It was one of those things that seems brilliant before you say it, but goes horrible as soon as it leaves your mouth.

There was a half-second of quiet, then I said. "I'm never going to say that ever again."

THAT got a laugh. A big laugh.

So later, when I was signing books, everyone wanted me to write something about the Rothfuss train. So the story has a happy ending.

• I got to hang out with the "Sewing is Half the Battle" crew.

After the reading, we all hung out, and I treated them to dinner as part of their prize for their epic win the in the photo contest.




Eventually the restaurant closed, so we went to... you guessed it. Steak and Shake. My second trip in as many days. It was there that a talented artist who will remain nameless drew this on a placemat for me.




Yeah. It's the Rothfuss Train. Hop on. Ride it. You know you want to....


Later all,

pat

Labels: costumes, photo contest, small adventures, The Rothfuss Train