I've heard it said scars are like tattoos but with better stories. This always intrigued me but I never really thought about it. That is until today when I stepped out of the shower, looked at myself in the mirror and noticed a long scar stretching from the center of my rib cage just under my left pectoral all the way to my back. Suddenly, I found myself reliving the night I got it the zipper like strip on my chest..
It was the evening of our senior dinner back in April of 2000. I remember I was wore black slacks, a black jacket, a black silk shirt emblazoned with a white dragon down the left side, a black tie tied directly around my neck and worn under the shirt which was unbuttoned at the neck, my trademark black sunglasses (seriously I don't think I went anywhere in high school without a pair of black sunglasses on... even at night), and a black ball cap that sported the Zero Bird logo. I either looked hella-sexy-sheik or like a complete and total fashion victim. Either way I felt pretty good about myself. The dinner was pretty good (which is high marks coming from me... Mollie hates that I say that) and the company was great. We spent a couple of hours looking at pictures of our four years together and thinking about what the future would hold for us.
The night was so fun we did not want it to end. After the dinner was over a group of friends slightly larger and more diverse than I usually hung out with headed for JK, one of my bestest friends, place. Where we sat around in our fancy clothes (well everyone else was in fancy clothes, I was still possibly dressed like a douche) and reminisced about the good ole days growing up in Columbus and we may have had a few drinks (probably wine coolers or MGD, nothing serious). Then for no reason, or possibly because JK's mom wanted us out of her family room, we decided to take our little party on the road as a skate party. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Sk8 or die! through the dark suburban streets as moonlit clouds rushed across ominous charcoal sky. A cool spring breezed rustled over fresh blossoms on near skeletal trees. Truly it was a magical night. And then I hit some wet leaves halfway down the path from Oakmont Elementary, crashed into a chain-link fence and tore open my flesh on the jagged metal. It hurt. A lot. But not enough to make me want to go to the hospital and get a tetanus shot and stitches. Instead I went home and slept it off. Or I tried to anyway. As I remember for the next week and a half everyone at school was a lot more touchy, feely with me than they had ever been before... knowing some of my sadistic friends the random hugs were probably an excuse to inflict pain on me.
After a few moments staring into the mirror I suddenly became aware of all the other scars on my body and face. Not all of them are as pronounced or as large as my chest scar but most of them seem to be able to transport me back to a moment in time (usually a rather painful moment) where I am suddenly surrounded by friends, family, sights, sounds, and smells of my past. It is almost like a mini-vacation in torture, but not really because besides the pain the memories are usually kind of comforting. Comforting in the way that reminds me that I am alive, that I exist. And I know if I ever get amnesia (in a weird sit-com sort of way… I watch way too much television… but it is my job so shut up!) all I'll have to do is look at the wound marks that cover my flesh and instantly everything will come racing back to me. It is pretty sick and twisted but it is also pretty friggin' cool. As bizarre as it sounds, I would not trade any of my scars or the stories that come with them for the world.
Oh yeah, I almost forgot. I wanted to mention something that kind of fit in but not really. It is sort of a weird cosmic coincidence (ha! no such thing!) but for Christmas my team at work did a Santa's workshop theme and one of the things they did was to punch all of our names into a random "elf name generator." My elf name: Lucky Candylips.
I've been debating what I should write about on here. I have many crazy and outlandish thoughts that could fuel a rant or four but I really don't think I want this to be a forum where I let off steam about the stupid things that annoy me. I would much rather this be a happy place where people can come away saying to themselves "gee, I never thought about it like that" or "hey that is an idea I can use to improve my own life."
That being said I could not think about anything positive or uplifting to write, so I figured I would write the official-for-now story of how I became a Real Life Super Hero, since that was what everyone has been asking me about for the past week. Now the official-for-now story differs from the unofficial-for-now story in the fact that after I tell it to you I do not have to kill you to protect the double-plus-ultra-super secret truth behind the matter. Besides I have to save something for "My Extraordinary Life." That's the working title of my autobiography. As soon as I make the roster of a professional sports team and learn the joys of parenthood I'll wrap it up and send it off the the publisher. I imagine it will be so awesome Oprah will come out of retirement to have me on her show so she can tell all of her hundreds of millions of minions and fans to buy my book! Buy my book! BUY MY BOOK!! (Ha Ha! Killinger gets it.)
But I digress. Here it is, the official-for-now story. A couple of years ago I was writing for a website called storyofmylife.com. As part of my job I interviewed several interesting people then wrote "the story of their lives" or at least one story from their life in a neat, tidy readable web post. In early of 2008 I came across a group of people who called themselves Real Life Super Heroes, or RLSH. I was intrigued by this movement. I've always been interested in saving the world and here were guys and girls actually doing something, albeit in a rather odd way. So I contacted a few of these guys and after a few conversations I was granted a series of interviews. First up was Anax, think Jason Vorhees and Snake Eyes having an illegitimate baby but with a really good sense of humor. He provided me with a lot of insight into the why RLSH do what they do. Next up was Superhero, think a boy scout in really tight pants with a cape and a Corvette. Supes was great and had the best story. Out of all of them I totally enjoyed speaking with him the most. The final interview of my triluxe special was with Master Legend. Now this was a good 7 months before he reached rock star status with his massive spread in Rolling Stone but the article was well written and the general consensus was that the three stories together combined for the best press the RLSH community had received at the time. As a token of appreciation I was made an honorary super hero with my very own mask. Which is awesome because as a super hero I am allowed to wear tights without fear of ridicule, I am allowed wear a mask in public on days other than Halloween, and I am allowed to dispense justice at the end of my fist without worry of collateral damage.
And that is the official-for-now story. Sure it is not as exciting as the unofficial-for-now story but you get the idea. Good times.
Hear that noise? It is my gears and they are being ground by the local gas and oil company (Mollie says I'm not allowed to call them out by name). Mollie and I moved back in mid-December. Since the Monday after we moved in the gas company has been outside jackhammering our street and sidewalk because the guy who made the decision on where to locate originally locate the gas lines was apparently a drunk chimpanzee who put them in such awkward places that the company has decided it needs to move them. Or the lines were just really old... or something, I'm too tired to really know what's going on at the moment.
Currently, workers from the gas company are here to relocate the meter from our basement to outside of the house. At this point they have been here for an hour and a half. Which is 90 minutes I have had to be out of bed. Now in principle I think putting the meter outside is a good thing. I cannot think of any reason why it should have ever been installed in the basement in the first place as that would mean that every month they want to take a reading I would have to be home to let one of their meter readers into the house. Not cool. However, the actual process of moving the meter is turning into a right pain in the ears. And I'm not just saying that because I'm grumpy because they are not letting me sleep. Right now they are sawing, drilling, and jackhammering the pipes and the foundation wall to be able to move the pipe. I'm no science-tician but it sounds like the noise level in here is at least 150 decibels and I that is probably unhealthy for human and toad hearing ability. In any case, it is driving both of us, Jeremiah and myself, insane. Yeah, I know tools are loud but 8 a.m. is too early to say "Hey, I know we didn't give you any real notice but we want to come inside, tear up your basement, and create a headache that may literally may cause your head to explode."
Actually, I would have probably been okay with the noise if it were not working in conjunction with the cold. Obviously, the workers had to turn off the gas while they do their thing to prevent the house from exploding but did they have to leave the basement door open? I'm sure their evil gas company overlords train them to do this as it will make the furnace work overtime to reheat the home after they are done but in the middle of January it was kind of an arsehole thing to do. And after I politely explained this to them they looked at me like I was the crazy one.
The noise just suddenly stopped and now I smell gas. I think I'm going to go investigate. Hope I don't get blown up. If this morning is any indication of how the rest of the day is going to go, today is going to be great!
I suppose before I start talking about the goings-on in my day-to-day life I should first give you a little background info about myself.
My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die.
Er.. not quite. Let's try that again.
My name is Aaron Sipe. Some people call me Sipe (mostly friends back in my hometown of Columbus, Oh). Most people just call me Aaron. I was born as the clock struck 6 a.m. on a rainy Tuesday June morning. There were so many 6's at my birth, my Pop wanted to name me Damian. But after a quick discussion about The Omen mom decided on something a bit more Biblical. Today I am a 28 year old, multiple-college dropout (go Buckeyes!) with an Associates Degree in Computer Networking and Applications. I am also a retired Real Life Superhero (sorry I can't give you any real details on this to avoid the inevitable revenge plots and wedgies it would encourage towards my family and I). Despite what the name may connote it was not as exciting as you might think. I like to think I did manage to make the world a slightly better place... even if it was mainly done through violence and ham sandwiches.
I married a wonderful woman named Mollie Alice, whom I met while trying to recruit minions to help me sure up my power base after co-founding a country, the mystical land known as the International Republic of Awesome. The country turned out to be a flop, though we did win a very short-war with France. So far the marriage has been more awesome than the country ever was (sorry, Mr. Casey but it is the truth).
A few months before the wedding I packed up and moved to Mollie's hometown, a sleepy hamlet known as Butler, located about 30 miles north of Pittsburgh, Pa. There I found a job with a cable company (I'll be omitting the name to prevent getting sued) and quickly rose to a comfortable position that allows me to do a little bit of a lot of different things. Still at times it can be a bit tedious, but it is always entertaining. I like my co-workers, I like my job, and the customers are always great. I also write a bit, though I haven't sold any of my works in nearly two years.
Let's see, Mollie and I have 5 sisters, 2 brothers, 3 nieces, 3 nephews and a pet toad, named Jeremiah, between us. Family is pretty important to both of us... and I should call my mother more often.
Really, I am a pretty average guy. I'm kind of smart, but by no means a genius. I like TV and video games; dinners with family and playing with Jeremiah (although he doesn't do much); Ohio State athletics and Penguins hockey; theoretical physics and loud, fast music.
And I guess that will have to serve as a brief glimpse into what makes me who I am. I am not really sure what direction I am going to take with this blog. Mollie suggested I start writing again to prevent my skills from completely abandoning me. If you want to know ask, but until my next post remember "money can't buy you happiness, but it can pay for a lot of therapy to figure out why you're so depressed."
