Game Over, Man

Ask anyone that has ever known me, and they’ll tell you. I’ve been a gaming junkie ever since I could hold a controller. I can still recall walking into my Aunt Barbara’s house after she got an Atari – seeing a video game in action for the first time – it was amazing.
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Growing up, I had pretty much every relevant system imaginable at some point or another. I’d spend too much money at the arcade in the mall. I’d rent a game from Blockbuster Video and then beg my grandparents not to return it until I had beaten it. I would borrow games from my friends constantly.

It was around the time of the Playstation 2, that I made my first foray into something called online gaming. Now, as strictly a console gamer up to that point, I really did not have a clue as to what exactly online gaming was – how it worked. But I loved the idea of connecting with other people with similar interests and passions, coming together in a fantasy world where anything can happen.

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      So, I bought Everquest for the PS2. Set it up, logged in, oh my gosh the excitement was nearly overwhelming. I still remember the first thing I said in that game, and the response I got –

Me “Hey I just started playing and don’t know where I’m supposed to go”
Random person response “Go fuck yourself”

Did they just say that to me?

In a video game?

This. Is. AWESOME.

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Everquest ended up not being to my liking, so I moved on to Final Fantasy 11 online. The game had amazing graphics for its time, great people to play with, and an ambience I still think about every now and then. Not to mention the theme for Selbina will always be dear to me. I joined a couple Linkshells (groups of players that can chat with each other in a guild type environment). Then everyone started to disappear.

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They went to this other game called “World of Warcraft”. When I found out the players I had forged friendships with, had dropped everything and jumped ship to another MMO,  I remember making the statement to my linkshell that I would never play WoW.

And then I started playing WoW.

For anyone that started playing World of Warcraft during its “Vanilla” period, they know the impact this game had on not just the MMO community, but pop culture as well. It wasn’t a game, it was an experience. An experience that is still going strong to this day.

Overall, I played World of Warcraft for roughly 10-11 years. I was addicted. I missed family members in the hospital because I was raiding. I avoided my relationship because I had to farm for crafting. I created this in-game persona of someone I wasn’t. Any spare time I had, I spent it playing WoW. I played it at home. I even played it at work. WoW gave me, an introvert with little to no friends at the time, an outlet to help understand and define herself. Wow has seen me through a marriage, a child, a divorce, and on to my current relationship. It’s been there through laughter, it’s been there through sadness and tears. It really has been the singular constant in my life for more than a decade.

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So, the decision to stop playing recently was not an easy one. It was a necessary one.

As you can tell, I’ve never been one to take things in moderation. Although I’m much better at it today, it’s taken me a long time to get to this point. I’ve taken a step back, reassessed where my life is and where I want it to be, and began taking the necessary steps to get myself there.

I want to focus more on life, itself. I want to get outside more. Enjoy sunshine more. Write more.

Take a page out of my daughter’s book, and go jumping in mud puddles because it’s innocent fun.

So I think this afternoon, that’s exactly what we’ll do. Throw on some old sneakers, go find the biggest water puddle we can find, and splash around to our hearts content.

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Later, gators.

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Hair Today, gone tomorrow?

To say I’ve had a myriad of hairstyles / colors in my life so far, would be an understatement. There was a phase I went through, where every month or so, I was rocking a different color. On occasion, more than one. clay-aiken_joseph_dreamcoat-650.jpg

There was blonde, black, blue-that-eventually-turned-turquoise-then-green, pink, red, brown, copper, etc. There have been short hair styles, shorter hair styles, pixies, weird lopsided cuts that I did myself (my stylist was not happy with me)…even bowl cuts. BOWL CUTS. What the hell? I went through elementary and middle school with basically a straight line of hair hovering over my eyes. Terrible.

A couple of years ago, I decided to grow my hair out, for the first time.

In my naiveté, I just assumed that the longer hair was, the easier it would be to manage, to style, etc. I imagined having a silky, long, flowing mane of glorious hair akin to what you find in Style magazines.

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Looks easy enough, right?

Granted, I’ve never had hair THAT long. At it’s longest, mine was probably close to mid-shoulder blade length. But I really didn’t think that should matter. So, off to my Stylist I went.

The day I got it cut & shaped, it looked amazing. I was pumped up, thinking to myself “Fuck yeah self, you’ve got this! You can style this every morning because you want to look fucking HOT, right? Right, self?”

Jfc, I’ve never been more wrong about something.

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Literally me the next morning. And the morning after that, etc.

I’ve straightened it. I blow dry it. I let it air-dry. I’ve made sacrifices to the hair Gods to get gorgeous long hair. Instead I get referred to as mushroom head.

So now, my hairstyle is Ponytail. High ponytail, low ponytail….sometimes I get a little crazy and decide to put it in a bun! Fuck this. People have told me “If all you do with long hair is put it up, then don’t have long hair”. And that’s where I’m at now.

I’m going back to a pixie cut. The one hairstyle I KNOW I can handle. I feel awesome when I have a pixie cut. Why did I ever grow mine out?!

But then again, while finishing this post, I stopped to go take a shower and wash my hair. Decided to give it one last try.

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So yeah, I’m loving long hair.

 

 

The absurdity of it all!

Let’s talk about influences. No, not the “my grandfather was a great man” type, even though mine was, and I’m sure yours was as well. I mean more along the lines of “I’m this way because of this experience” or “this book”, etc. Things that molded us as little people, into the weird-but-society-conforming (mostly) fucks most of us are today.

I believe my first Far Side comic was read somewhere around the age of 10. 2c875e7362de351f711a729c2d4f3792

At that age, I did not understand exactly WHY I found this so funny. Eventually, I realized it was the absurdity of it all. I fell in love with this type of humor, and honestly, I question people that aren’t eventually reduced to tears from laughing at Gary Larson’s creation. The man is a genius, and even after all these years, I can pull out an old Far Side book I have nestled away, and still laugh.

I also had an obsession with Louie Anderson’s stand up. One that stands out is the bit about Grandma’s doilies being possible landmines. Again, absurdity and I loved it. Other comedians have made my list as well. Brian Regan, who is an expert at telling the funniest g-rated comedy I’ve heard in my life. The amazing Mitch Hedberg. Overly animated Martin Short. Etc.

I discovered Cracked magazine when it was a competitor to Mad magazine. I’m still amazed that not one adult in my life ever looked at an issue and decided it wasn’t appropriate for a middle school kid. Cracked Magazine 255 001

My lifetime friend, not-Frank. I call him Not-Frank, because I’ve known him for 30~ years, and all that time I thought his name was Frank. It’s not. Not even close actually. This guy went 3 decades with his best friend calling him the wrong name every day and never corrected me. Still, up until I met my boyfriend, “Frank” was easily the funniest person I had ever known. He really taught me the humor found in self-depreciation.

Aaaand then, I stumbled across Allie Brosh and Hyperbole & a Half. Blown away. I’ve bought two copies of that book. Her humorous approach at talking about sensitive subjects was mind-blowing to me. tim-and-eric-mind-blown

Sure, there are other things, stories in themselves, such as my older sister’s constant tormenting. Or growing up with crawfish as pets and assuming it was completely normal, that have helped make me who I am.

I laugh when children fall down. ice-cream-van-2

Honestly, this shit will never NOT be funny to me.

Leave a comment below and share a little of what makes you, you.

 

 

It’s not THAT big

Veggies. I love veggies(as we all should). I mean, I’ll eat a can of green beans as a snack sometime, or cut a tomato in half, some salt, some pepper, mmmmmm yes thank you. So, when my coworker offered to bring me in some fresh veggies from her garden a few days ago, I was super excited. 

I did not expect this:

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Notice the 16.9fl oz water bottle for size comparison. 

Now, obviously, we were both pretty amazed at how large this zucchini is. Which led me to google “how big can a zucchini get”. 

 

This big, evidently:

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Seriously. And that’s not even the biggest one I found while perusing images. I’ve learned that people love their giant veggies. LOVE them. Which led me over to This blog post 

Now, after seeing the meals made from that giant zucchini, I feel like I would be doing the giant zucchini community a disservice by just steaming mine, or adding it to stir-fry. I’ll have you know, both of those options count as a gourmet meal in my book. 

So now I’m all like haah

What do I do with this thing? Now I have to actually cook?! And buy ingredients to cook with?!

 

I hate you, zucchini. You were once the shining light of my day, but you’ve since turned into the bane of my afternoon. I will cook you. And I will eat you. I won’t even eat all of you, just out of spite. 

But I’ll enjoy every bite, you asshole. 

 

 

 

 

Oh look, another blog….

Yes, yes. Like the world needed another blog to add to the already existing 500-million blogs currently online (I’m basing this, of course, on absolutely 0 factual data). But this one will be different! (no, it won’t). It’ll make people laugh! (most likely not). It’ll inspire! (ok, slow down there, Gandhi).

With a “harumph” and less-than-room-temperature coffee in my hand, I’m doing it anyway. I have stories to tell, you know? Good ones, too. Like the time I fell in a hippo pool at the zoo. Or my old haunted house. Or sleeping in the closet as a little kid.

BUT! Just a warning to anyone that might come across this blog. I will probably offend you at some point, and for that I really, really do apologize, and offer this cake in peace.

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But really, aren’t we all cunts at some point?