I went to a LARP convention with my boyfriend recently so that he could sell the beautiful jewelry he makes. He did really well, and I even sold a few of my cards. On the first day of the convention, I noticed someone walking around, and I knew I'd seen him before, but I couldn't remember where. I also felt like we hadn't been friends.
The second day, I saw him again, and had the same feeling.
On the third day, while I was sitting at our booth alone, he came into the vendor's hall, and it hit me.
"Hey," I said, smiling. "You were my TA for physics!"
He raised an eyebrow and said, "That might be possible." He walked over to the booth.
"Yeah, at my specific school," I specified. "For my specific physics class."
"Oh, I thought you looked familiar," he said.
I smiled and nodded, and then glanced at the yellow pumps he was carrying. "Are those your shoes?"
He frowned a little and then laughed. "No, I found these. I'm trying to figure out who they belong to. None of my characters are female."
"That's too bad."
"Well, I don't really have the physique for it; maybe the stature."
We both laughed, and it was at this moment that my boyfriend walked back into the room, through the door which was maybe fifteen feet away from the booth (so, close enough to hear me). I said, "Well, you could be a dwarf female if you grew--" --a beard, I meant to say, but I didn't get the chance.
"Are you calling me short?!"
I blustered and tried to explain, but it was too late. He stomped out of the vendor's room, and my boyfriend walked over to the table, and looked down at me, looking both puzzled and shocked.
"What?" I was embarrassed and grumpy.
"Why did you call him short?"
"He did it first," I protested.
We laughed it off, and packed up our things a couple hours later when the convention ended. It wasn't until we were about halfway home, when it hit me.
"Boyfriend! I just remembered!"
"What?" He looked alarmed, probably because I was driving and shouting at him at the same time.
"That guy, the one who I called short on accident! He was sensitive about it."
"Yeah...?" Obviously he didn't understand me.
"Nonono," I turned down the radio, and he flinched a little as I took my hand from the 2 o'clock position on the steering wheel. "No, in class-- I think he wore lifts in his shoes. I can't believe I forgot that."
My boyfriend laughed appropriately, and we stopped for pizza. I had peperoni and cashews, even though I decided not to eat meat made of many individual animals anymore.
Showing posts with label jewelry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label jewelry. Show all posts
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Cereal Thumb
A couple of weeks ago, my sister was in a play at her high school, and it was very funny. She was spectacular in it, as she always is. She has real stage presence, and she throws herself into her characters.
After the play, I rode in the car while my dad took my aunt home. Then, we came back to the school to pick up my sister, and one the way we ate single-serve cereal boxes, dry, which someone had thrown onto our driveway in some sort of marketing scheme. That isn’t shady at all. Anyway, since my aunt lives less than five minutes from the school, this took about ten minutes, so my sister was still puttering around and getting ready to go. That part doesn’t matter, though, because of what happened next.
I climbed out of the passenger’s seat, and shut the door casually behind myself with one hand, closing my thumb in the door as I did so.
I yelled non-words and dropped into a crouch, ready to fend off the lion or whatever, and began to spin around my thumb, as though it were glued to an immobile stake in the ground, hopping as I went.
I could hear my dad pause on his side of the car, and knew that he was waiting to see if this was a real injury or just one of those I-bumped-my-wrist-a-tiny-bit-too-hard things. As I began to rise in pitch as I yelled (mostly an assortment of nonsense with “Oooh no, ohh no,” thrown in) he came around the truck.
When he saw me spinning, he crouched down too, and did that I’m-not-touching-you thing people do over an injury with their hands (to fend off the carrion birds, I guess) and asked to see my thumb.
I opened my hand, which was clenched around the injury, and squealed, because it hurt, and there was blood. My dad hissed at me, and unlocked the car door to get some (clean?) napkins from the center consol thing. I wrapped them around my thumb, and managed to get up to follow him into the auditorium, in search of ice.
He strode up the aisle with purpose, and I followed behind him, hunched over my injury, making that high-pitched sound through the nose, like a dog, unaware that there were other people in the room. We made it to the lobby, where one of my sister’s friends was talking loudly on his cell-phone.
My dad had to ask him twice for ice, which is understandable, because that’s a weird request, but then he saw me, and scurried off to grab an adult (the drama director). She went behind a door and came back with a huge plastic shopping bag (the kind for like, microwaves or computer monitors) with about a cup of ice in it.
I wrapped this around my thumb and sat in a metal folding chair behind the card table where they sold concessions during the play, and made that sound. Another friend of my sister’s, who I assume saw me come in earlier, while I was in my pain haze, came up into the lobby and said,
“Apricot, are you oka-- you need to stop smiling like that. It’s creepy.” And then he shuttered. Of course, he didn’t call me Apricot, he used my name.
“I can’t,” I said, grinning. “It hurts too much.”
“Well it’s terrifying,” he told me, and went back into the theater.
My dad came over to the chair and said, “Let me see your thumb.”
I opened up the plastic and wet paper napkins to reveal a very ugly thumb, still making those irritating stuck-pig sounds.
“Whelp. You’re going to lose that nail,” my dad said.
And that’s when I burst into tears. My head fell back, and I started sobbing.
My dad sighed to himself, shook his head, and started down the aisle to get my sister.
Who thought I was carrying a dead bird in a bag, crying over the corpse.
It’s been a couple weeks since this happened, and the cuticle died completely, all the way down to the base of the nail. It does indeed look like I’ll be losing the nail, but it no longer looks quite as bad as it did, y’know, when it happened.
--
On an unrelated note, the boyfriend has started a new blog about his jewelry making, and I highly recommend it.
http://rolandgridley.wordpress.com/
After the play, I rode in the car while my dad took my aunt home. Then, we came back to the school to pick up my sister, and one the way we ate single-serve cereal boxes, dry, which someone had thrown onto our driveway in some sort of marketing scheme. That isn’t shady at all. Anyway, since my aunt lives less than five minutes from the school, this took about ten minutes, so my sister was still puttering around and getting ready to go. That part doesn’t matter, though, because of what happened next.
I climbed out of the passenger’s seat, and shut the door casually behind myself with one hand, closing my thumb in the door as I did so.
I yelled non-words and dropped into a crouch, ready to fend off the lion or whatever, and began to spin around my thumb, as though it were glued to an immobile stake in the ground, hopping as I went.
I could hear my dad pause on his side of the car, and knew that he was waiting to see if this was a real injury or just one of those I-bumped-my-wrist-a-tiny-bit-too-hard things. As I began to rise in pitch as I yelled (mostly an assortment of nonsense with “Oooh no, ohh no,” thrown in) he came around the truck.
When he saw me spinning, he crouched down too, and did that I’m-not-touching-you thing people do over an injury with their hands (to fend off the carrion birds, I guess) and asked to see my thumb.
I opened my hand, which was clenched around the injury, and squealed, because it hurt, and there was blood. My dad hissed at me, and unlocked the car door to get some (clean?) napkins from the center consol thing. I wrapped them around my thumb, and managed to get up to follow him into the auditorium, in search of ice.
He strode up the aisle with purpose, and I followed behind him, hunched over my injury, making that high-pitched sound through the nose, like a dog, unaware that there were other people in the room. We made it to the lobby, where one of my sister’s friends was talking loudly on his cell-phone.
My dad had to ask him twice for ice, which is understandable, because that’s a weird request, but then he saw me, and scurried off to grab an adult (the drama director). She went behind a door and came back with a huge plastic shopping bag (the kind for like, microwaves or computer monitors) with about a cup of ice in it.
I wrapped this around my thumb and sat in a metal folding chair behind the card table where they sold concessions during the play, and made that sound. Another friend of my sister’s, who I assume saw me come in earlier, while I was in my pain haze, came up into the lobby and said,
“Apricot, are you oka-- you need to stop smiling like that. It’s creepy.” And then he shuttered. Of course, he didn’t call me Apricot, he used my name.
“I can’t,” I said, grinning. “It hurts too much.”
“Well it’s terrifying,” he told me, and went back into the theater.
My dad came over to the chair and said, “Let me see your thumb.”
I opened up the plastic and wet paper napkins to reveal a very ugly thumb, still making those irritating stuck-pig sounds.
“Whelp. You’re going to lose that nail,” my dad said.
And that’s when I burst into tears. My head fell back, and I started sobbing.
My dad sighed to himself, shook his head, and started down the aisle to get my sister.
Who thought I was carrying a dead bird in a bag, crying over the corpse.
It’s been a couple weeks since this happened, and the cuticle died completely, all the way down to the base of the nail. It does indeed look like I’ll be losing the nail, but it no longer looks quite as bad as it did, y’know, when it happened.
--
On an unrelated note, the boyfriend has started a new blog about his jewelry making, and I highly recommend it.
http://rolandgridley.wordpress.com/
Monday, May 4, 2009
Ring of Sugar
I had a donut for breakfast today, after my midterm. I think that this goes against the recommended order of the universe, but if I had eaten before the test, I might have given the food to the person next to me out of nerves. This would probably not have been appreciated. It was a good donut--soft and delicious and sprinkled with sugar. Mm, sugar.
I’ve started looking through my jewelry box more often, and realized I have several rings that I’d like to wear. The one I’m wearing today, for example has a large (fake?) turquoise that looks sort of like a flower, with a silver band, and it’s pretty. I also found a lovely silver ring with a pink stone that I would love to wear, but it only fits my left ring finger. I pretend I don’t care what anyone thinks of me, but really, I do.
A few months ago I started using a face lotion that has sunscreen in it. This means that my face is even paler than it used to be. I have not been using sunscreen on my forearms, though, and so now they are a little darker than my face, which makes it look like my foundation (which I don’t wear) is the wrong color. I just can’t win.
I have noticed that when I wear my blue and brown striped shirt to work, which is a button down shirt with a nice, pointed collar, people treat me like a capable human being. When I wear my red plaid western shirt, people treat me like a moron. I will continue to wear the western shirt out of spite.
I am going to take a drawing class with a close friend over the summer at a community college near my house, and I’m very excited. I feel really strange, though, about applying to community college with my university email address.
Last night I had a dream where I let a paleontologist pick me up with the line, "Let me show you my research."
I’ve started looking through my jewelry box more often, and realized I have several rings that I’d like to wear. The one I’m wearing today, for example has a large (fake?) turquoise that looks sort of like a flower, with a silver band, and it’s pretty. I also found a lovely silver ring with a pink stone that I would love to wear, but it only fits my left ring finger. I pretend I don’t care what anyone thinks of me, but really, I do.
A few months ago I started using a face lotion that has sunscreen in it. This means that my face is even paler than it used to be. I have not been using sunscreen on my forearms, though, and so now they are a little darker than my face, which makes it look like my foundation (which I don’t wear) is the wrong color. I just can’t win.
I have noticed that when I wear my blue and brown striped shirt to work, which is a button down shirt with a nice, pointed collar, people treat me like a capable human being. When I wear my red plaid western shirt, people treat me like a moron. I will continue to wear the western shirt out of spite.
I am going to take a drawing class with a close friend over the summer at a community college near my house, and I’m very excited. I feel really strange, though, about applying to community college with my university email address.
Last night I had a dream where I let a paleontologist pick me up with the line, "Let me show you my research."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
