Last year, I kind of freaked out about turning 27. And by freaked out, I spent the whole day feeling old and...unaccomplished. Or I guess disillusioned would be a better word.
Well, I'm 28. And...I'm pretty much in the same spot I was last year. Only, I have more hair. And five pounds around my middle. (It comes with getting old, or so I am told every time I complain about it.) We also have more snow on the ground than we did a year ago. And I didn't shovel it. Unlike last year, when I went outside in a thin sweater and shoved the driveway without gloves. I whined this morning I can't find my gloves, so I can't do it.
Like last year, I am thinking about ten years ago. Why? Because I remember being 18, just as I remember being 17. When I turned 17, I honestly didn't remember being 7, as I don't remember much about being 8. Other than I had long hair. Useful, I know.
Anyways, when I turned 18, the following happened:
1. Monsters Inc came out. It was the ONLY thing I wanted to do for my birthday. Really, I want to go see a movie? On opening night? That's a cartoon, fine. It was all I wanted. I didn't get it. Due to teenage drama, the showing I wanted was sold out. So, I didn't see the movie till the following weekend and I was cranky. Because...of teenage drama. Today is Wednesday. No movies come out today I want to see. I have no desire to see movies. Because...I am old. And I am a hermit, so I'd rather stay in my house and use Netflix.
2. My best friend gave me a SUPER SIZED Hersey's bar. Seriously, it was like two pounds of Hersey's bar. And I kept it under my bed. Why? Because that is where I kept junk food when I was 18: under my bed. Gross, I know. Now days, at 28, I keep plastic bins, suitcases and boxes of junk that never got unpacked because it should have been left in Del Rio. (The Hersey's bar remained under the bed till the spring when my mother was like, WILL YOU DO SOMETHING WITH THAT?! So I made cookies. Or something. I don't remember. I just remember it was under my bed for the longest time and I was honesty tired of chocolate by the time I finally smashed it up to make cookies.)
3. I got my blue book back. Which I am currently staring at. Because a few months ago I had my mother send it to me along with all my other journals. I was a writing fiend as a teenager, especially at 18. I don't keep one now. I tried, but, I'm so boring and...not filled with teenage angst. I find keeping this blog hard enough.
4. I remember what I wore that day. And the fact I spent three hours curling my hair into tiny, tiny cork screw curls. The very ones one of the teachers asked me, with a look of awe on her face, "How long did that take you?" It took three hours and by the end of the day, my head hurt from the tug of the ponytail I wore my hair in with the complicated rolls I wore on top of my head. It was a very complicated style and I only wore it twice in my life. It was a total pain. And actually, kind of looked stupid.
5. I had never been in love. I thought I was in love at 18, but I really wasn't. I read a book last night that described falling in love perfectly. (Well a few, but this book really resonated with me, I'm not sure why, but I'm going with it.) You fall. You do not think about it. I just happens and requires no thought or doubt. At 18, I was filled with thoughts and doubts (I have five volumes of journals telling me so much). At 28, I just know. The first time I fell in love, I just knew. It wasn't dramatic. It was the simplest thing in the world. (The falling part, after that, not so simple.) At 18, I felt no relief, only angst and drama. I worried. I was paranoid. I listened to songs and the more angsty the lyrics, the more dark, more drama...the better. I...don't do that any more. I don't see relationship with Pilot Boy in angst-ridden, dark, dramatic songs. Now, I just see CHARACTERS that are in my head in songs I like. Seriously. I no longer have songs, my characters have songs. Stories get songs. My life, not so much.
6. Point six is mixed in with point five.
7. 18 was the first birthday I viewed as a total disaster that I remember. I honestly don't remember turning 15, 16, 17 or anything before that. Those just happened. 18 is the first birthday that burned itself into my mind and refused to let go. And until I turned 21, I had horrible birthdays. They were just...horrific. I always had a horrible day, there was always some sort of drama that unfolded that left me feeling like total shit by the end of the day. When I turned 21...nothing happened. I am serious. I was also deliriously happy, but on the actual day of my birthday, honestly nothing happened. Well, things happened, but nothing that happened due to the fact I was turning 21. I got up late, missed my first lecture, walked to my room in the early morning cold, changed for lunch and then just went about my day till I returned to my room on a hill and fell face first into my bed and fell asleep for an hour. I then woke up, made a Chinese instant meal, ate it in my freezing cold room, was dragged to a party downstairs for like five minutes and then fell asleep. It was...the best day ever. It was the day I fell in love with Glasgow. From that day forward, Glasgow was the best place on earth as far as I was concerned. So much so, I still write love stories about it. And...it's Glasgow.
8. I have something in common with my 18 year old self, though. At 18, I still thought, deep down, I'd be a writer some day. I was beginning to give up this goal, as I had realized sophomore year there was no money in it and I wanted lots of money, but I didn't really give up the writing dream till much later on in my life. And I didn't pick it up till roughly a year or so ago. And since then, I've been working. While Pilot Boy might not think I am "working" I think I am working. I might not be getting paid at the moment, but I write, edit and revise daily. I read for research. Hell, I do research. I never did that before. I just wrote. I thought writing was just about writing the story. I always wrote what I knew, but even doing that...research is needed. I have spent the past year researching colleges, cities, staring at maps of Glasgow, London, Dublin and Chicago. I research names, last names, first names, middle names, back stories, houses, floor plans, and meanings of words in dead languages that no one knows how to speak. I draw maps, I look at maps, and I create entire universes in my head. I spent a whole day figuring out the Scottish schooling system and then another four hours making a freaking class schedule for a character. I spend time scouring the internet for snip its of Scottish/English/Irish/French/Southern American/Etc in order to be able to write out what I hear. I read books I would never read in the name of research. My 18 old self...read Harry Potter.
9. I didn't feel any different when I turned 18. I was an "adult" and yet I did not feel very adult like. I honestly felt like I was not old enough to do the things that 18 year old kids are allowed to do. I didn't think I was old enough to be voting in elections and I had no desire for cigarettes or any of the other things 18 year old kids can buy. I still don't honestly feel like I am old enough to do some things. Something happens after you turn 25, though. You forget how old you are. I walked around this past year, when I was 27, thinking I was 28. Pilot Boy tried to convince me the other day he was only 25 and I was 26. I had to actually do the math to figure out how old I was. And was really confused to find out I was 27. I did the math like five times. At least, this year, while thinking I am 28, I'll actually be 28.
10. 18 year old me burned herself with the curling iron. Often. 28 year old me burns myself, but not usually with the curling iron, as I don't use one as much as I used to. I do, though, usually burn my fingers because I refuse to wear that stupid heat proof gloves that came with the rod thing I bought and use because it makes the most natural looking curls. No, 28 year old me (who was 27 when most of these things happened) just burns herself on the oven, the stove, and the iron. And sometimes the hair dryer. But not as bad as when I was 15 and I dropped it on the back of my neck. I used to balance it in a tissue box over the side of my dresser and then sit under it and blow dry my hair straight and flat. (This was before I knew what a straightening iron was.) One day, the blow dryer fill, right on my neck when I had my head bowed to dry the back of my head. (This was the year of the mushroom hair cut, so I had short hair.) Least to say, I had an ugly red mark on the back of my neck that looked alarmingly like a hickey. And I had no boyfriend to give it to me. I had to go to church and everyone saw it, as I didn't know it was there till I got to church. No one believed I had burned myself either, as it was on the back of my neck. How do you drop a hair dryer there? I had no clue why no one believed me, either, as I thought it was rather well known I had no boyfriend.
Well, there. My birthday entry. Today has nothing speical in store. Other than some eating. I ought to eat lunch today before three pm. Which was when I ate yesterday. Because I forgot. 18 year old me always ate lunch at 10.30 am. As I had fourth hour lunch. 28 year old Ireland, has no lunch time. Sometimes she forgets to eat lunch.
Showing posts with label social engagements. Show all posts
Showing posts with label social engagements. Show all posts
02 November 2011
23 December 2010
Last night, I tried to think of amusing Christmas stories I could share in the days leading up to the holiday.
I came up with nothing. I am so average and boring it was not even funny. ::hear crickets::
As a child, my Christmas's were drama free. I acted like a normal child. I got up super early, woke everyone else up and we opened gifts, one year while it was still dark out. As I got older, I got up later. And it'd be a while before we opened gifts. Then as I became a teenager, I became self aware, so I began doing my hair the night before so I'd look wonderful in the morning opening shots. Which is kind of strange, as I did not own real pjs till I was 22. Nothing remotely exciting happened at the holidays except for warm fuzzy feelings. At some point, my dad would get mad and yell, but as we got older (by we I mean, me mostly) we figured out how to deal with dad better to make him warm and fuzzy.
For awhile, after Christmas Eve service, we'd look at Christmas lights and then watch "A Christmas Carol" from the 1930s and then I'd go to bed. Then they stopped showing "A Christmas Carol" and I was sad. And we stopped driving around at lights. And I forgot.
The strangest Christmas I had was in Edinburgh, Scotland. My friend John (he has no nickname, I am sorry and I all ready have too many Js in my life) invited me to his uncle's house for the holidays. I was actually planning on wasting away in my dorm room since E had abandoned me for the holidays and our plans to spend Christmas in the South of France (which just sounded cool to us). On Christmas Eve we road the train to Edinburgh and met his uncle. (Whose name I cannot remember. Sorry.) We went to his house, met the rest of the rag tag group and ate soup. In the morning there was a socking (seriously it was a stocking sock) at the foot of the bed. I was like, WHERE THE HELL DID THAT COME FROM? It was filled with very random objects. And it was clear the most random ones were mine. Presents time was awkward because no one had gotten me anything. So they wrapped up random things for me. I got a CD and a jar of apple jam. They made us go for a walk through the hills. I learned my mint coat wasn't wind proof. We ate dinner and then I spent two hours standing in the hallway talking to my family and J (see, how confusing if I had two Js in this story?) Afterwards, I spent two hours playing with the little girl of the house till John threw up. I spent the rest of the trip worrying I was going to throw up. Boxing Day was dreary and we took the bus back to Glasgow because all I wanted to do was go home. We got home, got to the store before it closed and ate ham sandwiches.
It was the oddest holiday ever. I felt like I was on the outside looking in the whole time. Like I was invading. I had never till that point spent the holiday with anyone except my own family. I knew I'd be okay with Pilot Boy when I spent Thanksgiving with his family and I didn't feel like I was invading. I was picked on the whole time for not eating enough and I thought I was going to explode because of the lack of planning and never knowing left from right, but I have learned to deal with that aspect. I feel at ease with Pilot Boy's family...they also never gave me a CD of someone I had never heard of or an open jam jar because they felt sorry for me. I would have preferred to just stand there and stare at my feet than open presents when they clearly had not been expecting me. I didn't bring them anything.I honestly did not mind not having anything to open. I was more than happy to free the Bratz dolls for the little girl. It was like opening twenty presents just to free them from their packaging.
The first year we had Basil Bea Dog, I was paranoid she'd attack the tree. We got her at the start of December, before we put the tree up I think. I was worried she'd get into the tree and gifts. She was more interested in socks, ear plugs, pin cushions and bras. She never showed interest in the tree or the presents under it. She never has. She ignores the tree for the most part, as I assured my parents last Christmas. Basil had no interest in their tree and did not knock it over because it was no in front of a window. I'm pretty sure that is why it fell over this year....it blocked her view of the window.
As for the gifts, Basil has no interest in them unless they are for her. Her presents always smell good to her. Last year, she got REALLY EXCITED when we opened presents. She tired to help destroy boxes. She also thought the rolls were for her to play with, so she'd take them to Allin. Oddly, they were presents for him, so she brought them to him. This year, the only box she has shown much interest in were the two boxes containing her gifts. Grandpa got her some rawhide bones and my aunt and uncle got her cookie (I opened them early for her. Well I tried to have her open it, but she was too excited.)
This Christmas I'm going to friend's houses for holiday parties. One told me to bring a swim suit because they have a hot tub. After I hung up the phone I was like, "AHHHH!!!!!! I don't think I can get my butt into my suit!" Plus, hello, it is winter. I don't even have a razor blade. TMI? More than likely. Anyways, I knew I should have ordered that one piece suit with the control panels in it...
I came up with nothing. I am so average and boring it was not even funny. ::hear crickets::
As a child, my Christmas's were drama free. I acted like a normal child. I got up super early, woke everyone else up and we opened gifts, one year while it was still dark out. As I got older, I got up later. And it'd be a while before we opened gifts. Then as I became a teenager, I became self aware, so I began doing my hair the night before so I'd look wonderful in the morning opening shots. Which is kind of strange, as I did not own real pjs till I was 22. Nothing remotely exciting happened at the holidays except for warm fuzzy feelings. At some point, my dad would get mad and yell, but as we got older (by we I mean, me mostly) we figured out how to deal with dad better to make him warm and fuzzy.
For awhile, after Christmas Eve service, we'd look at Christmas lights and then watch "A Christmas Carol" from the 1930s and then I'd go to bed. Then they stopped showing "A Christmas Carol" and I was sad. And we stopped driving around at lights. And I forgot.
The strangest Christmas I had was in Edinburgh, Scotland. My friend John (he has no nickname, I am sorry and I all ready have too many Js in my life) invited me to his uncle's house for the holidays. I was actually planning on wasting away in my dorm room since E had abandoned me for the holidays and our plans to spend Christmas in the South of France (which just sounded cool to us). On Christmas Eve we road the train to Edinburgh and met his uncle. (Whose name I cannot remember. Sorry.) We went to his house, met the rest of the rag tag group and ate soup. In the morning there was a socking (seriously it was a stocking sock) at the foot of the bed. I was like, WHERE THE HELL DID THAT COME FROM? It was filled with very random objects. And it was clear the most random ones were mine. Presents time was awkward because no one had gotten me anything. So they wrapped up random things for me. I got a CD and a jar of apple jam. They made us go for a walk through the hills. I learned my mint coat wasn't wind proof. We ate dinner and then I spent two hours standing in the hallway talking to my family and J (see, how confusing if I had two Js in this story?) Afterwards, I spent two hours playing with the little girl of the house till John threw up. I spent the rest of the trip worrying I was going to throw up. Boxing Day was dreary and we took the bus back to Glasgow because all I wanted to do was go home. We got home, got to the store before it closed and ate ham sandwiches.
It was the oddest holiday ever. I felt like I was on the outside looking in the whole time. Like I was invading. I had never till that point spent the holiday with anyone except my own family. I knew I'd be okay with Pilot Boy when I spent Thanksgiving with his family and I didn't feel like I was invading. I was picked on the whole time for not eating enough and I thought I was going to explode because of the lack of planning and never knowing left from right, but I have learned to deal with that aspect. I feel at ease with Pilot Boy's family...they also never gave me a CD of someone I had never heard of or an open jam jar because they felt sorry for me. I would have preferred to just stand there and stare at my feet than open presents when they clearly had not been expecting me. I didn't bring them anything.I honestly did not mind not having anything to open. I was more than happy to free the Bratz dolls for the little girl. It was like opening twenty presents just to free them from their packaging.
The first year we had Basil Bea Dog, I was paranoid she'd attack the tree. We got her at the start of December, before we put the tree up I think. I was worried she'd get into the tree and gifts. She was more interested in socks, ear plugs, pin cushions and bras. She never showed interest in the tree or the presents under it. She never has. She ignores the tree for the most part, as I assured my parents last Christmas. Basil had no interest in their tree and did not knock it over because it was no in front of a window. I'm pretty sure that is why it fell over this year....it blocked her view of the window.
As for the gifts, Basil has no interest in them unless they are for her. Her presents always smell good to her. Last year, she got REALLY EXCITED when we opened presents. She tired to help destroy boxes. She also thought the rolls were for her to play with, so she'd take them to Allin. Oddly, they were presents for him, so she brought them to him. This year, the only box she has shown much interest in were the two boxes containing her gifts. Grandpa got her some rawhide bones and my aunt and uncle got her cookie (I opened them early for her. Well I tried to have her open it, but she was too excited.)
This Christmas I'm going to friend's houses for holiday parties. One told me to bring a swim suit because they have a hot tub. After I hung up the phone I was like, "AHHHH!!!!!! I don't think I can get my butt into my suit!" Plus, hello, it is winter. I don't even have a razor blade. TMI? More than likely. Anyways, I knew I should have ordered that one piece suit with the control panels in it...
03 April 2010
Coffee House Meeting
I met with other wives this past week. As part of military life, one must randomly meet with strangers to obtain information on everyday life in a new place. Usually, these sort of meetings I dread and avoid at all costs.
Before we moved, I got a call from one of the wives. We chatted. Then we emailed. Then we met for coffee. And oddly, I did not dread it. I actually looked forward to it. It was almost like I was broken or something. Recently, I have just been doing things without much thought. Moving to Alaska, check. Not getting nervous or sick on the trip, check. Randomly driving across town on my own to meet with two people I have never met before, check. It was not very awkward either, which was surprising. I felt like a fool half the time, but I have come to accept this is perfectly normal.
Anyways, we met at a Kaladi Brothers Coffee. They wanted to introduce me to this great Alaskan thing, only I had been introduced to it in the Dirt Hole of all places. Seriously, some custard shop in Del Rio brews this stuff. Anyways, we had coffee and chatted then left. Next step will be to see if I will actually go to the wife club meeting or not.
I finally called Illinois and closed my business account there. Now I have to open one in Alaska and then Ireland Scott Designs will reopen! Whoo hoo!
Before we moved, I got a call from one of the wives. We chatted. Then we emailed. Then we met for coffee. And oddly, I did not dread it. I actually looked forward to it. It was almost like I was broken or something. Recently, I have just been doing things without much thought. Moving to Alaska, check. Not getting nervous or sick on the trip, check. Randomly driving across town on my own to meet with two people I have never met before, check. It was not very awkward either, which was surprising. I felt like a fool half the time, but I have come to accept this is perfectly normal.
Anyways, we met at a Kaladi Brothers Coffee. They wanted to introduce me to this great Alaskan thing, only I had been introduced to it in the Dirt Hole of all places. Seriously, some custard shop in Del Rio brews this stuff. Anyways, we had coffee and chatted then left. Next step will be to see if I will actually go to the wife club meeting or not.
I finally called Illinois and closed my business account there. Now I have to open one in Alaska and then Ireland Scott Designs will reopen! Whoo hoo!
01 February 2009
Ireland and Video Games
Last night, my husband and I walked down the street to a different person's house than we usually walk down the street to go to. This couple is part of my husband's current work unit, or whatever you want to call it. We have never been to their house in a social setting. I have been multiple times to let their dog out to go to the bathroom. And my husband has been several times for various reasons. But, last night we went in a social way carrying a box of beer. Seriously, it was a box of beer.
We arrived and I stood like my usual awkward self for awhile before I went to subject myself to the cold evening of the dirt hole night. They had a fire going, but it did not do much to keep me warm. We sat out there for an unknown amount of time, eating and listening to pilot stories. A couple times, one of the other wives (known as P at times here) asked why they talk about pilot stuff when they are not there as they live it. Her husband (known as D here at times) said, "Because we can't talk about it like this there!"
After I lost feeling in my legs and my hands were blue (from my dark wash jeans, not from being cold but trying to keep them warm by rubbing them on my pants) we finally went inside with the offer to play Rockband.
I knew loosely what Rockband was. I knew it was a sort of video game that you played music or pretended you were in a Rockband. It was like Guitar Hero, only with drums and a singer. I knew this. I did not know how intense it was, or how much it took to be in this Rockband.
The first round of songs, we learned that D wasn't the best guitar player in the world and that J couldn't sing. (I am not sure if he was really trying to sing or he was doing it on purpose.) After another song of D failing out, Steele took the guitar and showed us all D really wasn't very good and he made it look easy. My husband took tips from Steele on how to play the contraption, which doesn't really work like a real guitar from what I could tell. D was amazed at the skill my husband managed to play the thing, and did not seem to understand that my husband just took tips from Steele for the first time he was to play the guitar.
I was avid I was not going to play anything in this game. I am an avid video game hater. I have been this way since I was 16 and my "boyfriend" and his best friend would spent precisous hours playing wrestling video games. I hated sitting there watching them play the stupid game when he could have been paying attention to me, who he did not see or speak to very often. (Bad relationship in the long run.) Thus, I hated video games. I felt they were stupid and pointless and I refused to play them. In college, I did not come across video games too often, and when I would I would refuse to play. I would state I was morally apposed to video games for myself, and people just accepted this. I had another "boyfriend" who was into video games (I even helped pay for an "air conditoned" video game controller...") He wanted to 1) finish the game he was playing before hanging out with me and would 2) say he would call me back after his game was done. He never called me back. He was the boyfriend who would say he had to go to the bathroom and would call me back and would never call me back. He spent two weeks in the bathroom once.
After I graduated from college, I knew my husband, who would play video games with his brothers. It seemed to be something he would do with the two brothers. If I called while he was playing, he would talk to me for a few minutes and then say, "Can I call you back?" He always called me back in maybe a half hour at most. I would sometimes go over to the house that contained the video games, but while I was there, they would almost never play. I would only hear stories of my husband to be playing video games.
Then A (our friend who lives down the street from us and has two dogs)returned from Indiana with his famed PS2 (he has claimed since he met us a year ago, he had this PS2, and even his wife did not believe it existed). They bought some games, and suddenly playing video games was something we did on a weekend night. The first time I was over there when this video gamming was going on, I thought I wouldn't play. I was never any good at video games to begin with, but they said, "You just push buttons."
So I did. I did okay. It was't anything like NBA Live96 I used to play with my brother at our uncle's house (my brother and I never had video games as kids. My brother did not get a video game unit until he was in high school and bought it himself). I was never any good at NBA Live mostly because I just like to run and shoot and make the guys look like they were dancing and flying.
Anyways, since the PS2 entered my life, I have played Mortal Combate and Dance, Dance Revolution a few times. Also, since the PS2 appeared, D seemed to have gotten a game unit and has Grand Theft Auto, which he and my husband play at times. I do not play because I think its more fun to watch than play (I used to do this to my brother when he'd play that game or one of his war games.)
Last night, when they all moved into play Rockband, I figured I'd just watch. Then, after P sang a song, she was like, "Ireland, you have to do it if I did. All you have to do is mumble along."
It was true during her song, I hardly heard her. She did not fail out at any point, so I was like fine. I'll give it a shot. I took the mic and after about five minutes of trying to find a song I knew well enough I wouldn't embarass myself, I began. I picked out No Doubt's "Sunday Morning." I went through the song, singing along thankful that Gwen's voice was louder than mine and it almsot felt like I was singing along with iTunes, only holding a mic and being watched by everyone. It seemed to be a big deal I was doing the singing, so there are pictures somewhere out there of it.
I finished and I was shaking. Just like after the time I sang my solo (forced mind you) for voice lessons. At that moment I vowed I'd never sing alone in front of people agian. I have now failed at this, as I did it last night. I am not sure anyone really heard me. I never heard me through the speakers. After I was done and everyone was like, "You did it Ireland, it wasn't that bad." D noticed, as the final scores popped up, I managed to get 100%.
Huh?
"I don't think I've ever seen that," K, the hostess, said, looking at me and praising me like she might praise one of her high school students. There was a chorus of contrags on getting 100% and my husband announced I had been in chior. I am not sure what this had to do with anything.
I did another song later, Linkin Park's "One Step Closer" which D could not believe I knew all the words to, but I did not see the score.
Once I got home, I realized I had managed to kick D's butt again at a game, as a few months ago, I kicked his butt at bowling, which seemed to wound him as I did not see him for weeks. I guess he did not see my 100% score as such, as he called wanting us to go to another guy's house for the Superbowl. However, we're going to A's house. We watched the Superbowl with A and his wife, R, last year and he launched himself off the couch when the Patriots lost. It was great.
We arrived and I stood like my usual awkward self for awhile before I went to subject myself to the cold evening of the dirt hole night. They had a fire going, but it did not do much to keep me warm. We sat out there for an unknown amount of time, eating and listening to pilot stories. A couple times, one of the other wives (known as P at times here) asked why they talk about pilot stuff when they are not there as they live it. Her husband (known as D here at times) said, "Because we can't talk about it like this there!"
After I lost feeling in my legs and my hands were blue (from my dark wash jeans, not from being cold but trying to keep them warm by rubbing them on my pants) we finally went inside with the offer to play Rockband.
I knew loosely what Rockband was. I knew it was a sort of video game that you played music or pretended you were in a Rockband. It was like Guitar Hero, only with drums and a singer. I knew this. I did not know how intense it was, or how much it took to be in this Rockband.
The first round of songs, we learned that D wasn't the best guitar player in the world and that J couldn't sing. (I am not sure if he was really trying to sing or he was doing it on purpose.) After another song of D failing out, Steele took the guitar and showed us all D really wasn't very good and he made it look easy. My husband took tips from Steele on how to play the contraption, which doesn't really work like a real guitar from what I could tell. D was amazed at the skill my husband managed to play the thing, and did not seem to understand that my husband just took tips from Steele for the first time he was to play the guitar.
I was avid I was not going to play anything in this game. I am an avid video game hater. I have been this way since I was 16 and my "boyfriend" and his best friend would spent precisous hours playing wrestling video games. I hated sitting there watching them play the stupid game when he could have been paying attention to me, who he did not see or speak to very often. (Bad relationship in the long run.) Thus, I hated video games. I felt they were stupid and pointless and I refused to play them. In college, I did not come across video games too often, and when I would I would refuse to play. I would state I was morally apposed to video games for myself, and people just accepted this. I had another "boyfriend" who was into video games (I even helped pay for an "air conditoned" video game controller...") He wanted to 1) finish the game he was playing before hanging out with me and would 2) say he would call me back after his game was done. He never called me back. He was the boyfriend who would say he had to go to the bathroom and would call me back and would never call me back. He spent two weeks in the bathroom once.
After I graduated from college, I knew my husband, who would play video games with his brothers. It seemed to be something he would do with the two brothers. If I called while he was playing, he would talk to me for a few minutes and then say, "Can I call you back?" He always called me back in maybe a half hour at most. I would sometimes go over to the house that contained the video games, but while I was there, they would almost never play. I would only hear stories of my husband to be playing video games.
Then A (our friend who lives down the street from us and has two dogs)returned from Indiana with his famed PS2 (he has claimed since he met us a year ago, he had this PS2, and even his wife did not believe it existed). They bought some games, and suddenly playing video games was something we did on a weekend night. The first time I was over there when this video gamming was going on, I thought I wouldn't play. I was never any good at video games to begin with, but they said, "You just push buttons."
So I did. I did okay. It was't anything like NBA Live96 I used to play with my brother at our uncle's house (my brother and I never had video games as kids. My brother did not get a video game unit until he was in high school and bought it himself). I was never any good at NBA Live mostly because I just like to run and shoot and make the guys look like they were dancing and flying.
Anyways, since the PS2 entered my life, I have played Mortal Combate and Dance, Dance Revolution a few times. Also, since the PS2 appeared, D seemed to have gotten a game unit and has Grand Theft Auto, which he and my husband play at times. I do not play because I think its more fun to watch than play (I used to do this to my brother when he'd play that game or one of his war games.)
Last night, when they all moved into play Rockband, I figured I'd just watch. Then, after P sang a song, she was like, "Ireland, you have to do it if I did. All you have to do is mumble along."
It was true during her song, I hardly heard her. She did not fail out at any point, so I was like fine. I'll give it a shot. I took the mic and after about five minutes of trying to find a song I knew well enough I wouldn't embarass myself, I began. I picked out No Doubt's "Sunday Morning." I went through the song, singing along thankful that Gwen's voice was louder than mine and it almsot felt like I was singing along with iTunes, only holding a mic and being watched by everyone. It seemed to be a big deal I was doing the singing, so there are pictures somewhere out there of it.
I finished and I was shaking. Just like after the time I sang my solo (forced mind you) for voice lessons. At that moment I vowed I'd never sing alone in front of people agian. I have now failed at this, as I did it last night. I am not sure anyone really heard me. I never heard me through the speakers. After I was done and everyone was like, "You did it Ireland, it wasn't that bad." D noticed, as the final scores popped up, I managed to get 100%.
Huh?
"I don't think I've ever seen that," K, the hostess, said, looking at me and praising me like she might praise one of her high school students. There was a chorus of contrags on getting 100% and my husband announced I had been in chior. I am not sure what this had to do with anything.
I did another song later, Linkin Park's "One Step Closer" which D could not believe I knew all the words to, but I did not see the score.
Once I got home, I realized I had managed to kick D's butt again at a game, as a few months ago, I kicked his butt at bowling, which seemed to wound him as I did not see him for weeks. I guess he did not see my 100% score as such, as he called wanting us to go to another guy's house for the Superbowl. However, we're going to A's house. We watched the Superbowl with A and his wife, R, last year and he launched himself off the couch when the Patriots lost. It was great.
22 August 2008
This sounded better in my head
I have never had the joy of having a social calender before in my life, not that I actually have one right now at this very moment. I do have a calender that has nothing written on it, but I do not write my social engagements on it due to the fact I usually discover I have social engagements about five seconds before I need to report to them. This is how the world operates, on the spur of the moment.
That is not what this is about, this is about social things in general. I have never been a super social being. I hate parties, I hate large gatherings in general. There is a pressure there to dress up, look pretty and make small talk. I can't do small talk, as this head I use does not process information quick enough to be good at small talk. I like small social gatherings when you are trying to get to know the people around you. Small talk is pointless in reality for me. I have no interest in it. I like small groups, they have a purpose for me.
This past few weekends I have been a little social butterfly, almost never home long enough to touch down and take time to breathe. I flit between houses, lakes, boats and restaurants. Game nights, beer nights, wine nights, you name it I've been to one within a very short time span. The months before we moved to the dirt hole, my husband and I hardly EVER did anything remotely social. I would pester him sometimes, thus why he decided to introduce me to A&R and they became our social partners in crime for a few short months. I never thought in a million years I would be removed from an urban environment and suddenly have social situations everywhere. I cannot claim I have a "best friend" here. I have noticed there is always a pair of girls/women that seem to know one another better than the others in the group. Their husbands are best buds, knew one another from casual duty, a silly class they went to, field training, officer training, flying little planes for no reason other than to get rid of a few people. Their wives seem to latch on to one another and suddenly have a "close" sort of relationship with one another. These pairs seem to hang out together, sit around houses together and do things together other than go to social events. This fascinates me, as I wonder how this happens. For a while I hoped this would happen to me, but then I realized I operate too well on my own. A friend of mine seems to be the same way, only craving social interactions with other girls occasionally. I do more with her than any one else I've met here. I guess it also helps that she is the R of A&R thus I have gone through that awkward first meeting and me bumbling over words and phrases. Her pace of life is more akin to mine in a sense. I almost desperately for awhile wanted to like the other people I've met here, but the pressure I felt to be "one of them" was a little too much for me. I realized I am happy simply being who I am, as awkward as I am.
Oh, the night I decided I was going to be just my awkward, Stargate loving, Harry Potter obsessed, Star Trek nerd that I am something happened: I became at ease. I was sitting at the table, a lovely table that I had been horridly jealous of, and I stared at D (one of my husbands classmates) and just said, "I am horridly awkward. So I think I'll just be my old awkward self." He looked at me like I had lost my mind for a moment, not sure how this had happened, but he nodded and asked me what TV shows I watched. My husband gets a great joy out of telling people he married a sci-fi geek for some reason. I don't know how he could have missed this, as he only seemed to realize I liked the Sci-Fi channel a lot these last few months, but he seems to have great joy that I am a nerd in that sense.
Since I decided I was just going to be awkward and myself, the social gatherings have become less stressful to me. These people I meet in the dirt hole will go away at some point. I am not stuck with them for four years, nor am I 16 and worried about if they will like me if I have clothes from Abercrombie.
As I stated before, I have never been one to have a lot of social events in one weekend. All through high school I always had something to do, someone to talk to, people to juggle. In college I made it simple and kept to a core group of friends. There were weekends I would lay on the floor of my dorm and stare at the ceiling because I had nothing to do. I spent my summers doing just that wondering what I had done the past four years to prevent the staring at the wall syndrome. After college I had a lot of time to myself, as most of my friends were from far away places that were not near my urban center, however, my weekends were filled with my car and myself driving to see my husband. So, basically, for the past six years I became used to not being social with masses of people. It took awhile, but I got the hang of it it seems.
That is not what this is about, this is about social things in general. I have never been a super social being. I hate parties, I hate large gatherings in general. There is a pressure there to dress up, look pretty and make small talk. I can't do small talk, as this head I use does not process information quick enough to be good at small talk. I like small social gatherings when you are trying to get to know the people around you. Small talk is pointless in reality for me. I have no interest in it. I like small groups, they have a purpose for me.
This past few weekends I have been a little social butterfly, almost never home long enough to touch down and take time to breathe. I flit between houses, lakes, boats and restaurants. Game nights, beer nights, wine nights, you name it I've been to one within a very short time span. The months before we moved to the dirt hole, my husband and I hardly EVER did anything remotely social. I would pester him sometimes, thus why he decided to introduce me to A&R and they became our social partners in crime for a few short months. I never thought in a million years I would be removed from an urban environment and suddenly have social situations everywhere. I cannot claim I have a "best friend" here. I have noticed there is always a pair of girls/women that seem to know one another better than the others in the group. Their husbands are best buds, knew one another from casual duty, a silly class they went to, field training, officer training, flying little planes for no reason other than to get rid of a few people. Their wives seem to latch on to one another and suddenly have a "close" sort of relationship with one another. These pairs seem to hang out together, sit around houses together and do things together other than go to social events. This fascinates me, as I wonder how this happens. For a while I hoped this would happen to me, but then I realized I operate too well on my own. A friend of mine seems to be the same way, only craving social interactions with other girls occasionally. I do more with her than any one else I've met here. I guess it also helps that she is the R of A&R thus I have gone through that awkward first meeting and me bumbling over words and phrases. Her pace of life is more akin to mine in a sense. I almost desperately for awhile wanted to like the other people I've met here, but the pressure I felt to be "one of them" was a little too much for me. I realized I am happy simply being who I am, as awkward as I am.
Oh, the night I decided I was going to be just my awkward, Stargate loving, Harry Potter obsessed, Star Trek nerd that I am something happened: I became at ease. I was sitting at the table, a lovely table that I had been horridly jealous of, and I stared at D (one of my husbands classmates) and just said, "I am horridly awkward. So I think I'll just be my old awkward self." He looked at me like I had lost my mind for a moment, not sure how this had happened, but he nodded and asked me what TV shows I watched. My husband gets a great joy out of telling people he married a sci-fi geek for some reason. I don't know how he could have missed this, as he only seemed to realize I liked the Sci-Fi channel a lot these last few months, but he seems to have great joy that I am a nerd in that sense.
Since I decided I was just going to be awkward and myself, the social gatherings have become less stressful to me. These people I meet in the dirt hole will go away at some point. I am not stuck with them for four years, nor am I 16 and worried about if they will like me if I have clothes from Abercrombie.
As I stated before, I have never been one to have a lot of social events in one weekend. All through high school I always had something to do, someone to talk to, people to juggle. In college I made it simple and kept to a core group of friends. There were weekends I would lay on the floor of my dorm and stare at the ceiling because I had nothing to do. I spent my summers doing just that wondering what I had done the past four years to prevent the staring at the wall syndrome. After college I had a lot of time to myself, as most of my friends were from far away places that were not near my urban center, however, my weekends were filled with my car and myself driving to see my husband. So, basically, for the past six years I became used to not being social with masses of people. It took awhile, but I got the hang of it it seems.
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