Yellow Car

Ah, the memories...


...

Coming across this comic catapulted me back to my days in high school. My friends (my boos) were an incredibly tightly-knit group and had no qualms about getting up close and personal with each other. The game of those days was indeed punch-buggy. If you saw a VW Beetle, you called it out, and you punched--punch-backs were always assumed disallowed whether you called it or not. If you saw an OLD VW Beetle, that was worth 2 punches. But then came Yellow Car.

I suppose we all got a little bored with the consequences of Beetle sightings and the weak punches that followed. So then we categorized another car to throw into the mix. Yellow cars weren't all that popular on the roads back then, so that was the type of car we chose. The reward for sighting one first? Getting to absolutely inappropriately attempt to grope those slower to notice.

Now, I can't actually recall how many people were actually successful at these groping attempts, but I can tell you that it caused quite an uproar of giggles and a flurry of evasive maneuvers. If winning was about who had the most ridiculousness out of it, we all won.

Nerd speak

    "There's no gaydar on this, eh?"
    "No; you can activate a new sort of view through your helmet--just press X."
    "Can I dual-wield?"
    "You're not Master Chief. You're not a Spartan."
    "I see that."
    "Yeah, so your shield doesn't regenerate."
    "I see. Oh, fuck, invisibility!"
    "Yeah, I got him..."
    "Leave some for me!"
    "I took the turret gun, but on the other side is a sniper rifle."
    "Ooh! I want that!"
...

In case you couldn't tell, that's ODST language they were using. Ah, Thursday night.
...

Update - 4:08am

    "Holy fuck I have video game eyes!"
    "Huh?"
    "My eyes are fucking bleeding. And shit, I think I have a bit of Nintendo thumb too."
    "Well, it's only been, like 5 hours."
...

Shit, it's Friday morning.

Blanketed in gifts

A few birthdays ago, I posted a series of pictures that absolutely captured the process of me losing my shit in laughter over the present my brother gave me. What wasn't captured on film was the fact that I'd already been giggling over Brodder reusing the gift-wrap from mom's newly opened present, to wrap mine...practically in front of me.

Alas, my family's gift-wrapping skills have not improved one bit over the years...and neither has my ability to contain my laughter to a low roar.

27 + 3 (days, that is)

Three days later, and here I am. I was showered with love and affection as soon as the clock struck midnight, and it began to be the day I was born on for the 27th time. I was ambushed with surprises (well, that IS what they're supposed to do) for the full day, right up even until a few hours after it ended.

Thanks, Lovely. It was Crazy.

Never too late

I'm really not terrified of growing older. I'm not. It's a little stressful to think of all I have yet to accomplish, but I'm not scared that I won't do it. There's always time if you really WANT to do something. Case in point was my grandmother's--brought to my attention last weekend at Thanksgiving Dinner.

    "Hey, you have the car, right?" she asks me.
    "Hmm? Yes, yes I have the car."
    "Okay good. Take me driving."
    "Take you for a drive? Where?"
    "No, I drive."
    "Yes I do. I want to. I've done it before."

Huh?

My eighty-two year old grandmother apparently had her first driving lesson a few weeks ago when my mother let her drive my car (the only automatic one in the family...not by choice!) down a rarely used street. Apparently the driving lesson was brief but eyeopening to my grandmother who's never put the thought into how driving actually happens.

    "Okay, down at your feet are two pedals--see them?" my mother instructs my grandmother.
    "Yup, I see them, but there are three, not two." my grandmother, intrigued, studies the machinery at her feet
    "That left one doesn't do anything. It's a foot rest."
    "Oh, it is!"
    "Okay, practice stepping on them. The right one gives power, the left one stops."
    "Okay, I see them, and I can step on them." Grandmother stomps on the pedals enthusiastically.
    "Do you know where the pedals are?"
    "Of course I know where they are! They're right here!" Grandmother watches herself work the pedals.
    "Okay good, but you really have to know where they are because you can't look for them, you have to watch the road!"
    "Oh!"

Needless to say, both of them lived to tell the story, and now my grandmother is just itching to do it again.

The day before

The house was empty, the sunlight streaming in through all the open blinds, and Billie Holiday was singing over the stereo system. I slow danced myself through the front hall, and suddenly the prospect of turning another year older wasn't so terrifying afterall.

Bring it on, tomorrow.

Washed away

I took a really long shower tonight. I hadn't meant to--it just sort of happened. Somewhere between lather, rinse, and repeat, I got lost in thought.

My birthday's at the end of this week. Traditionally, I have dinner with my family on the night of my actual birthday, so that wasn't weighing much on my mind. But all the other possible little details suddenly swept me up and away.

Should I have a party? Should I not have a party? If I did have a party, what should I do? Who should I invite? Ugh, if I have a party, I'll have to clean up after--even if I have help, I can't just sit around and not chip in. Will I get taken out somewhere special by someone special this year? Last year my someone special was sick and left to recover. If people ask me what I want this year, what will I say? I know I want a lot of books. I really don't need anything. Maybe a new volleyball too. Oh my god I'm getting old...wasn't my timeline to be married with kids by 30? Am I still going to make that timeline? Does it matter? Have I changed? Didn't this used to matter?

...and so on and so forth. But with more details, names, and dates. By the time I'd snapped out of it, I'd definitely rinsed, I hadn't repeated, and it felt like I'd been standing there under the stream of water for hours. I probably wasn't far off the mark; after I finally emerged, I wasn't the only one to feel as though I'd been in there for a long time.

It's just a birthday. Really it is. But sometimes you need to know that while it's special to you, you're not going to be the only one to notice.

There's a difference

If you work, you should get paid. If you don't want to get paid, then it's called volunteering. If I wanted to volunteer, I'd go to a food bank, not an office.