I wouldn't exactly call myself a bore, but let's just say that if you
ever find yourself at a function where I'm the most exciting person in
the room, I can't even begin to imagine what kind of function you'd be
attending. You may have heard or read this story before, but for
demonstrative purposes, I've got to tell it again. When I was about
fifteen and told my cousin, Paulette, that my goal was to be like Auntie
Mame (if you don't know who or what I'm talking about, do yourself a
favor and watch the movie.
Seriously), the wildly exciting woman who said, Life is a banquet and most poor suckers are starving to death and insisted that people live, live, live!, she instantly replied that I was more like Auntie
Babe, my seventy-something-year-old great aunt who wore sequined short
outfits and told my mother she drove like a cowboy. I wish Paulette were
just being mean, as is her M.O. when it comes to me, but she wasn't. I
really was--still am--more like Auntie Babe.
Actually, maybe boring isn't the right word. I am, after all, often in the midst of something crazy and zany, and I could tell you stories--holy moly, could I tell you stories...
Maybe what I should have called myself is...stodgy? No. Dull? Uh-uh. All right, wait. I'm going to need to access a dictionary for this one.
Okay, here we go. I've got two:
Now, what I'm going to do is, I'm going to put these two words together to just kind of describe my very own personal kind of, for lack of a better word, boring. When I call myself boring, what I mean is that I totally crave fun and excitement (hence the desire to be like Auntie Mame), but when given the option of having it, I hem and I haw, and I think of a million reasons why I shouldn't. I hear about potentially fun and exciting things and get anxious as they get closer, but then the closer they get, the more I dread taking part. Take concerts, for example. I love music, and I've been to probably between 75 and 100 shows (we'll make a list soon. It'll be funnnn), and for the most part, I've had a really good time at every one of them, but for every show, invariably two things happen. One, the day of the show, I find myself in absolutely no mood to go but then once the show starts I have, like, the best time ever, and two, by the third quarter of the show, I start to get really, really bored and want nothing more than just to go home (unless it's a Blink-182 or Angels and Airwaves show. Then I want oh so much more than just to go home).
(Hmm. I think what I am is actually a noodge.)
Okay, so now you have the background. It's time for the current.
One of the closest friends I've ever had, one of the four people in my life I've considered a "best friend" got married on July 1 in Rhode Island. The day she got engaged, about a year and a half ago, she called me to tell me and asked if I'd come to her wedding if it were in Rhode Island. I still remember the exact words that came out of my mouth. Of course I'll come to your wedding, I said. And I meant it, of course. Then.
Like with coming concerts, I was super excited. Before much time had passed, I was googling Rhode Island to see what things I could do while I was there for her wedding. By the time the summer before her wedding rolled around, I'd talked to my sister and the two of us made plans for her to come with me and turn the wedding into a vacation. Neither of us had ever been to Boston and thought it would be a perfect opportunity to go. Somehow, that plan fell by the wayside.
Come January, though, I had another one. On our way home from Universal, Glenn mentioned to me that the 150th anniversary of Gettysburg was in 2013 and the city would be hosting all sorts of events. You and Griffin should go, he told me. Because I'm such a huge American history person with a love for the miniseries North and South that most people wouldn't believe, I decided right then that, yes, Griffin and I would go and find a way to incorporate Erin's wedding into our trip. I then spent the next week, until the initial excitement of being part of a commemoration of a major Civil War event wore off, researching Gettysburg and its proximity to Rhode Island. In the end, my research left me overwhelmed, I decided there'd be way too many people in Gettysburg for the anniversary events, and the idea for that trip was abandoned, too.
In its place was the idea for--I can't even believe I considered this--a camping trip. I, who went camping once in my life and slept in a van because the ground was too hard, decided Griffin, Keifer, and I would camp our way up the Eastern seaboard. I started researching all the sites where we could camp on our way from South Florida to Rhode Island, calculating prices and mapping out a route and everything. I realized I was insane in about three days' time.
If you're following the time frame of my story, you know, I'm sure, that Glenn and I were separated during this time. You probably know, but not definitely, that in the beginning of our separation everything was amicable; at that point, there was never any question of Glenn watching the dogs while I was gone. After a few months, however, things took a major downturn, and Glenn watching the dogs was not going to happen; because they're complete psychopaths who can't be trusted with anybody but us, it didn't seem there was any way for me to go to Erin's wedding. I resigned myself to not going.
But then, as you all also know, Glenn and I reconciled. Erin's wedding was once again a possibility except for one thing--me. At this point, typical Kelly got in the way: I had become so used to the idea of not going that when able to once again, I was totally unprepared and found a ton of reasons why I shouldn't. Our money situation had changed over the past six or so months, and flying to a wedding in another state and having to pay for a hotel and a rental car seemed totally irresponsible; even if we could afford for me to go, there was no way we could afford plane fare for more than me, so I'd have to go alone and, therefore, be alone in a strange place; I'm terrified of flying; I didn't want to leave my family; I could get lost driving from the airport to the hotel; the hotel could have bedbugs; my dress would get wrinkled en route to the wedding; I might stub my toe.
So I looked up airfares around the clock, and I looked up hotels and motels and bed and breakfasts, and I told Glenn and my mom and Griffin and Keifer exactly why I couldn't go while sitting at my computer looking up airfares and hotels and motels and bed and breakfasts, and I told Erin I was sorry, I just couldn't go to her wedding, and then I bought a ticket and rented a car and booked a hotel and flew to Rhode Island, and you know what? I had probably one of the best times of my life watching, and being part of, one of the best friends I've ever known having one of the best times of her life.
And because of my homebody/anxious ways, I almost missed it. That, though, is not going to happen anymore. Last year, 2012, was my year of yes. Although I didn't say yes to everything, I said yes to a lot more than I normally do, and this year, and for ever year of the rest of my life, I'm going to do it again. No more skipping events because I'd rather sit around in my movie-watching pants, because my hair is gray and green, because ginger lemonade has too many calories. When I have the option to live, live, live!, I'm going to take it.
I am not starving to death.
Actually, maybe boring isn't the right word. I am, after all, often in the midst of something crazy and zany, and I could tell you stories--holy moly, could I tell you stories...
Maybe what I should have called myself is...stodgy? No. Dull? Uh-uh. All right, wait. I'm going to need to access a dictionary for this one.
Okay, here we go. I've got two:
home·bod·y
/ˈhōmˌbädē/
Noun
A person who likes to stay at home, esp. one who is perceived as unadventurous.ap·pre·hen·sive
/ˌapriˈhensiv/
Adjective
- Anxious or fearful that something bad or unpleasant will happen.
Now, what I'm going to do is, I'm going to put these two words together to just kind of describe my very own personal kind of, for lack of a better word, boring. When I call myself boring, what I mean is that I totally crave fun and excitement (hence the desire to be like Auntie Mame), but when given the option of having it, I hem and I haw, and I think of a million reasons why I shouldn't. I hear about potentially fun and exciting things and get anxious as they get closer, but then the closer they get, the more I dread taking part. Take concerts, for example. I love music, and I've been to probably between 75 and 100 shows (we'll make a list soon. It'll be funnnn), and for the most part, I've had a really good time at every one of them, but for every show, invariably two things happen. One, the day of the show, I find myself in absolutely no mood to go but then once the show starts I have, like, the best time ever, and two, by the third quarter of the show, I start to get really, really bored and want nothing more than just to go home (unless it's a Blink-182 or Angels and Airwaves show. Then I want oh so much more than just to go home).
(Hmm. I think what I am is actually a noodge.)
Okay, so now you have the background. It's time for the current.
One of the closest friends I've ever had, one of the four people in my life I've considered a "best friend" got married on July 1 in Rhode Island. The day she got engaged, about a year and a half ago, she called me to tell me and asked if I'd come to her wedding if it were in Rhode Island. I still remember the exact words that came out of my mouth. Of course I'll come to your wedding, I said. And I meant it, of course. Then.
Like with coming concerts, I was super excited. Before much time had passed, I was googling Rhode Island to see what things I could do while I was there for her wedding. By the time the summer before her wedding rolled around, I'd talked to my sister and the two of us made plans for her to come with me and turn the wedding into a vacation. Neither of us had ever been to Boston and thought it would be a perfect opportunity to go. Somehow, that plan fell by the wayside.
Come January, though, I had another one. On our way home from Universal, Glenn mentioned to me that the 150th anniversary of Gettysburg was in 2013 and the city would be hosting all sorts of events. You and Griffin should go, he told me. Because I'm such a huge American history person with a love for the miniseries North and South that most people wouldn't believe, I decided right then that, yes, Griffin and I would go and find a way to incorporate Erin's wedding into our trip. I then spent the next week, until the initial excitement of being part of a commemoration of a major Civil War event wore off, researching Gettysburg and its proximity to Rhode Island. In the end, my research left me overwhelmed, I decided there'd be way too many people in Gettysburg for the anniversary events, and the idea for that trip was abandoned, too.
In its place was the idea for--I can't even believe I considered this--a camping trip. I, who went camping once in my life and slept in a van because the ground was too hard, decided Griffin, Keifer, and I would camp our way up the Eastern seaboard. I started researching all the sites where we could camp on our way from South Florida to Rhode Island, calculating prices and mapping out a route and everything. I realized I was insane in about three days' time.
If you're following the time frame of my story, you know, I'm sure, that Glenn and I were separated during this time. You probably know, but not definitely, that in the beginning of our separation everything was amicable; at that point, there was never any question of Glenn watching the dogs while I was gone. After a few months, however, things took a major downturn, and Glenn watching the dogs was not going to happen; because they're complete psychopaths who can't be trusted with anybody but us, it didn't seem there was any way for me to go to Erin's wedding. I resigned myself to not going.
But then, as you all also know, Glenn and I reconciled. Erin's wedding was once again a possibility except for one thing--me. At this point, typical Kelly got in the way: I had become so used to the idea of not going that when able to once again, I was totally unprepared and found a ton of reasons why I shouldn't. Our money situation had changed over the past six or so months, and flying to a wedding in another state and having to pay for a hotel and a rental car seemed totally irresponsible; even if we could afford for me to go, there was no way we could afford plane fare for more than me, so I'd have to go alone and, therefore, be alone in a strange place; I'm terrified of flying; I didn't want to leave my family; I could get lost driving from the airport to the hotel; the hotel could have bedbugs; my dress would get wrinkled en route to the wedding; I might stub my toe.
So I looked up airfares around the clock, and I looked up hotels and motels and bed and breakfasts, and I told Glenn and my mom and Griffin and Keifer exactly why I couldn't go while sitting at my computer looking up airfares and hotels and motels and bed and breakfasts, and I told Erin I was sorry, I just couldn't go to her wedding, and then I bought a ticket and rented a car and booked a hotel and flew to Rhode Island, and you know what? I had probably one of the best times of my life watching, and being part of, one of the best friends I've ever known having one of the best times of her life.
And because of my homebody/anxious ways, I almost missed it. That, though, is not going to happen anymore. Last year, 2012, was my year of yes. Although I didn't say yes to everything, I said yes to a lot more than I normally do, and this year, and for ever year of the rest of my life, I'm going to do it again. No more skipping events because I'd rather sit around in my movie-watching pants, because my hair is gray and green, because ginger lemonade has too many calories. When I have the option to live, live, live!, I'm going to take it.
I am not starving to death.
