Monday, April 16, 2012

I Guess I'll Just Pop On Over To Candleford!

I have been missing in action for the better part of two weeks, both from my virtual life, and my real one. That whole catching-strep-from-my-lovely-little-neice schtick, coupled with real life stuff, made me miss a few of my dreaded classes (which I was semi-OK with) while I tried to dig my brain out of the living dead fog that had enshrouded it.
Imagine my surprise, then, after missing one single four hour class, that someone had forgotten to let me know that the entire schedule was completely thrown out the window last week. Instead of a quiz, and simple vocabulary study -- an ordinary Tuesday -- it had been replaced with a relay, and something called the Flyswatter Game.
Really?
I mean.
Really?
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If you haven't figured it out by reading over three hundred blog posts here, I'm an extreme introvert. I mean, my sister thinks I have a gray sheen, and zero life whatsoever (come on, sis, I know you do, since you let me know it every time I talk to you in depth); this is a major part of my personality. (Side note: If you have never read the "Caring For Your Introvert" article, you really, really need to. Go. Do it now. This can wait. I won't go anywhere, I promise. Wasn't it a good article? What, you didn't read it yet? GO!)
Four hours of fake laughter, and my impenetrable signature "People Facade" later -- on top of the fact that I am still sick as a dog -- I thought I was going to die.
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I now have a reputation with these people. By the time Thursday came around, people wanted to know about me. I doubt most of them had even heard me speak before Tuesday. I'm that weird girl that sits by herself, reading the coursework; people only speak to me if they need something pertaining to the class itself.
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BUT WAIT.
Now they want to know my age? If I have siblings? If I'm close to those siblings? Where I live?


Part of being an introvert -- at least, in my personal experience -- is having no idea how the extrovert world works. For example, during the human interaction portion of the evening, (mainly fake hugs and half-hearted high fives from my fellow "team mates") someone decided to call us the "Spankees"; perhaps it was the guy that called his team the "Spankers". 'Cause that isn't at all weird.
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Maybe it's because I was too busy having an internal meltdown, but I don't understand how in hell those names are acceptable. It sounds slightly perverted to me. In my world, the only people that are perverted are band members, or people that need to be put in prison; he was neither, so I'm clueless.
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You see, Introvert World and Extrovert World don't mesh; we're too awkward for it to be anything but strange. For example, people don't know why you're grinning widely when you tell them "good game", because they don't know that your brain is thinking of this...

They just look at you like you've got lobsters coming out of your ears, and reciprocate the salutation with an uncertain display of teeth and overly vigorous head nod.
Another example is in how we might go about projects. Tuesday night, we were told to bring information to Thursday's class about a sports team we like. I like rugby, but have no idea how to read the statistics fixture thingies. So there my mother and I sat, trying to figure out our arses from our elbows, when the idea came to us: make it up.
My fake favorite baseball team needed several players.

On first base...
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Second base...
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Star pitcher...
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Short stop...
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Left and right fielders...
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Catcher...
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And players that needed something called an ERA, whatever that is.
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Just in case any of you were wondering, it took me about seven hours to pick out the pictures you just whizzed by. Back up and appreciate what a pretty fictional team I came up with! (I think I had a dream a lot like this once, except it was rugby, and Jimmy Fallon returned as my fairy godmother.)

And you know what? No one was any the wiser.
So, what's the major point that draws all of this drivel together?
This is not Fresh Meat, or Community; everybody bugger off, and let me fangirl in peace.
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Except you, dear reader.

Of course, the message on the card would also say "Hope this lavish gift and fancy card make up for the fact that I'm not showing up".

Is It A Subscription Box, Or Something More Sinister? (It's A Subscription Box. Maybe.)