Terrified of NFL Season

So, at this point, GTO guy and I have been together almost 6 months (in fact, next Tuesday is our 6 month anniversary!). I have known that he is a Raiders fan since about date 2 or 3. I realized he was a dedicated fan after going to his apartment and seeing all the Raiders paraphenalia all over the place; eg. mini Raider helmets (which were signed and kept in little plastic boxes on top of his desk), Raiders clocks, a full sized plastic Raiders locker in his room, etc. I have found out recently, though, that he expects to watch every single game on TV. Which is every Sunday. Which, if you’ll remember this post, is the only day we really have to spend together. He is also one of those NFL fans who yell at the TV, cannot be disturbed during the game, and whose whole day will be ruined if his team loses.

Now, I enjoy football. I also know the rules and can easily follow the game. Mainly because my dad is exactly like GTO Guy (except with the Steelers), and we had season tickets to the 49ers games pretty much my whole life. However, knowing that I am going to be FORCED to watch it every Sunday and Monday for the next 4-5 months or so, scares me. A lot. It officially starts on Sept 8. I know this because GTO guy took the night off from work to watch it. No, I’m not kidding. Pre-season has been going on for the past 3 weeks, and I’ve already had a taste of what is to come. He hasn’t forced us to stay in and watch it (Thank God!) but he is constantly checking his phone for the scores (because he has NFL mobile on his cell phone), to the point where I want to kill him. Or just not go out and just stay home and watch the damn thing on TV. He gets tudey* when the Raiders lose. He has also told me that when watching the game with him, I am not allowed, under any circumstances, to root for the other team. Not even jokingly to make the games more exciting. Because it will upset him and ruin his day even more if the other team wins.

As I mentioned before, my dad was exactly like this. On Sundays and Mondays during football season, my mom and I just learned to entertain ourselves because my dad just wasn’t going to be budged from the couch. And that was fine, because he was my dad and not my fiance. I had friends to go hang out with, playing to do outside, and basically other things to occupy me. But now, GTO Guy is who I want to hang out with. And if we had normal schedules and had more than one day to hang out, this would be fine. But Sundays are our only real day to spend together. And I KNOW that there are going to be fights about it. Mainly because I’m not willing to sacrifice my whole day with him sitting in front of the TV watching a sport that I don’t care that much about. And of course I’m going to say so. In probably not the nicest, sweetest way.

Now, I think I’m a fairly “cool” girlfriend. I get along with his friends, and they like me. I have no problem watching him play video games, whether it be at our house on xBox live or at his friend’s house, and they are all playing together. I have no problem hearing him and his friends talk about cars, and can generally hold my own in the conversation (or at least follow the conversation enough to understand what they’re talking about). Not only am I OK with him going to the track (much unlike any of his friends’ GF’s), but I will go with him. Willingly. And will even race my truck (which he told me he thought was awesome, especially cuz his friends were all jealous at how cool I was. SEE?). I am also fine with him spending money to make his car faster or better looking (provided we have the money, of course).  There are a lot of things that I think separate me from the “average” girlfriend. However. The thought of football? Every Sunday and Monday? For the next 5 months? Already irritated.

So…I’ll keep ya posted on the next 5 months…and let you know if he’s still living to see the Super Bowl…should be interesting…

*our little word for getting an attitude with the other person…short for attitude-y

What The City Taught Me

Living about 45 minutes away from San Francisco means that I’ve spent some time there. When family is town from all over the country, we would take them to SF to be tourists and show them around. After high school (the summer between high school and college, actually) we would go out to the city to go to clubs and parties. When I came back to CA to visit in between terms at school, my friends and I would regularly go there to go shopping, catch a show at the theater or eat at one of the restaurants. Because of these excursions, I always considered myself fairly knowledgeable about the city and was comfortable telling people from other states that I was from San Francisco. However, I have never been to SF during a weekday, and apparently, that’s where you tell the natives from the tourists. The following are lessons I learned courtesy of the lovely San Franciscan natives: 

• If you do not begin moving the instant the light turns green, people will honk at you, and then speed past you at the first available opportunity and give you a dirty look and/or mean hand gestures.
• Some meters only allow you to put money in for up to an hour. An hour! How ridiculous is this?? What can you possibly do in an hour??
• If you are 7 minutes late, you will receive a $45 ticket for said meter.
• If you are parked on a hill (which, let’s face it, you will always be in SF) and you do not point your wheels toward the curb, you will have a cute little diagram placed on your window advising you of how to properly park on a hill.
•  You will see Lamborghinis and Bentleys next to Pintos and people with shopping carts.
• Pigeons will fly directly at you for no reason whatsoever, scaring the crap out of you.
• You will learn that your complete inability to parallel park, while not a big deal in any other place, will quickly be your downfall in SF.
• You will sit in the worst traffic of your life trying to get on the Bay Bridge around 5 pm, and it will make you want to put your car in park, get out, and fling yourself over the side.

So, while I may tell people when I travel to different states that I am from San Francisco (a practice I began because telling them the name of the city that I actually come from only got me blank stares and confusion), I found out yesterday that this is not true. I am not from San Francisco. I am from suburbia. And prefer it that way. I was so overwhelmed and stressed by driving in the city, that when I got home, I was exhausted.

 **So maybe this means I should think about changing my name on this blog to Suburbia Girl….**

Why Can’t I Care…?

**First let me thank everyone who commented on my last post and made me feel better. I do, in fact, feel better! So thanks!! =)**

I found out a couple of weeks ago that my aunt on my mom’s side has cancer and most likely will be passing away within the next month or so. She had kidney cancer about 12 years ago, but after removing a large portion of her kidney and continuing to do radiation therapy on it and having multiple checkups in the year after the surgery, she was told that the cancer was completely gone, and I guess they stopped looking for it. Because they just found out that it had metastasized in every organ in her body. And that because of how advanced it is, there is nothing they can do about it.

My aunt was a part of my life from the time I was a baby. She was at all of my birthday parties and we would go over to her house every holiday season and have dinner. Her grandkids (my cousins) would come down from Washington every summer and I would spend just about every day of the summer with them. She continues to send me birthday cards, even though my mom insists that she should stop because I am over 18. She was one of the 5 people my parents brought to my highschool graduation (we were only allowed 5 tickets because of the limited seating in the hall). When I was 12 and developed an unhealthy love of animal print decorations, she bought me more pillows and pajama sets than I can count of leopard and cheetah print.

Based upon the previous paragraph, it seems like I am a terrible person for not being able to care so much about her passing away. There are parts that I haven’t told you yet. Like, she would make fun of my weight constantly. In many different ways. Like, one Thanksgiving, I got up to get a slice of pumpkin pie, and she said in front of everyone “are you sure you need that? your pants are looking kind of tight as it is.” Or, when my cousins were in town every summer, and I would put on my swimsuit, she would pinch my hips and say things like “you’re way more confident than I am! I would never wear a bathing suit if I looked like that!” I, to this day, will not wear a bathing suit. When she would get me shirts or PJ sets for Christmas, after I opened them, she would say “I got an Extra Large so they should fit, but if they’re still too tight, I saved the receipt.” She also would make fun of my acne. I didn’t have a lot, but around 14-17, it was definitely there. She would ask if I’ve seen the commercials for the OxiClean wipes or things like that, and if I said yes, she would ask why I didn’t use them. I used to fight back and tell her that I did use them, they just weren’t working! She would then laugh and say that I must be doing it wrong. As if there is a wrong way to use those. She made me cry more times than I can count, and always at big family events so everyone else would hear. And my mom never defended me. She just let her say those things and would try to make me feel better later.

The worst part is that my mom is devastated. She has spent the last couple weeks at her side doing everything she can to make her more comfortable. And my aunt is now turning her venom on my mom. Calling my mom fat and stupid and a ton of other names. And my mom just takes it. She says that she’s in a lot of pain and is really depressed and that we need to be there for her no matter what because she is family. My mom has cried silently, without her sister noticing, so as to not upset her. I understand about being there for family, but she was a mean woman. All her life, not just now when she’s “hurt and depressed.” My mom tries to make me feel guilty because I don’t want to have anything to with her. The only reason I’ve seen her at all is to be there for my mom. Does this make me a bad person? Should I be caring more than I do? She hasn’t asked for forgiveness, in fact, she’s just gotten worse, but should I overlook that and be there for her no matter what? I feel bad because I think I SHOULD care about this…but I just can’t. Any insight or comments would be appreciated…

The Difference Between Them and Me

So…after my last post, I began dissecting why other people’s blogs are better than mine and the main differences between us (other than the fact that they all write WAY better than me and are more witty) are:

 

They have all finished college and have awesome jobs that they love in fabulous places. I, on the other hand, completed 4 years (of a 5 year program) of engineering school, only to realize that’s not what I want to do. And life kinda stepped in and I’ve come to terms with the fact that I won’t go back. Not to my original school, anyway. Maybe I’ll finish at another random school, but who knows…

 

They are all into fashion. Cute shoes and dresses and skirts and hats and purses and other things that I never wear. I am not into fashion in the least. I would wear Tshirts and jeans every day for the rest of my life if I could. I hate dressing up for work. I hate shoes that aren’t flip flops or tennis shoes with a passion. Especially high heeled ones that hurt my feet. Comfort will always win out over looks. Every. Single. Time.

 

They all work out and/or run and are probably all gorgeous and thin. I am not. I do not work out. Unless you count the adult time I have with GTO guy, I don’t really do anything physical at all. I’m not huge by any means, but I’m definitely not thin either.

 

They go out and party and have tons of stories about their friends and guys they meet and have hilarious escapades during the weekends that I have never experienced. Somewhat in college, but nothing even close to what these girls are describing. It seems awesome and glamorous, much like Sex and the City girls with their bars and clubs and craziness.

 

They have tons of friends that they can call at all hours of day or night and go out or hang out. And these friends help them into and out of trouble. I have 2 friends. They are just about as boring as I am. Don’t get me wrong, I love my friends to death and they have been there for me through just about everything, but they are not the crazy kinda friends my fellow bloggers have. Which probably makes for a healthier liver, but a much more boring blog.

 

So, if I only write about my current life (meaning, not anything from college or any time previous in my life) these are the things that I can successfully blog about:

Laundry

Cleaning

Feeling fat but not doing anything about it

Cars

Cell phones

Sex

Going out to restaurants

Work

 

And this, my friends, is why they are more interesting. And this will also be my last semi-depressed post about my lack of blog fodder. Promise.

Why Am I Doing This?

So…I haven’t been writing very often. Mainly because I’ve been reading other people’s blogs…And I realize how intensely boring I actually am. I do the same thing every day. The weekends are only slightly different from week to week. I don’t have any escapades to write about. The most exciting thing I did last weekend was go to the track and run a 14.6 second quarter mile time. Which wasn’t all that great. I was really hoping for 13’s. (And considering about 99% of people who read this are females, they probably don’t care about that at all.) That’s about it. When I first got into reading other people’s blogs, I was inspired to start my own. I thought that I had ideas and I should start a blog, because it would be interesting and maybe other people would be able to relate to me like I have related to others out there. I was wrong. I have no ideas. And I’m incredibly lazy, so I don’t really try to think things up either. I generally would probably only blog about things that have happened to me, but that really is nothing. Don’t get me wrong, I have a great life and am extremely happy, but it’s boring. Really boring. That’s all.