(Or: My Life Is One Long Gender-Flipped Episode of The Big Bang Theory.)
Condensed version: I have not learned anything academic today. Blasphemous, I know. I HAVE learned, however, that mosh pits are not for me, and that one should never make assumptions regarding. . . well, anything.
Widescreen extended edition-- for people who give a crap:
Even though there was a scheduled half day of school (to fill a meaningless requirement of hours physically in the building), there were no classes. There were 3 "surprise" "presentations", one being basically a pep rally with groups vying to be voted for, to win some ridiculous football-related tradition (it involves a badly reupholstered couch, who knows). Then, a motivational speaker, which was a refreshing change but really. Just really, high school. Then-- mandatory dance partying.
So I did. A mosh pit of sorts (can I even call it that? According to Wikipedia, moshing was generally done violently to rock music, but is now considered a standard form of audience participation--so yes.) formed in the center, with me on the outskirts yet surrounded by friends/people I know and like. Fun timez could now be had, if I wasn't shit at moshing. How can someone be shit at jumping up and down and waving their arms? The only two requirements are a.) a basic grasp on the concept of musical rhythm and b.) enthusiasm.
I rarely possess a.), and in that particular moment I didn't have much of b.). Hence shitiness. So I retreated to the bleachers, and spotted the only person who could have possibly hated this experience more than me, and with whom I could share snarky comments if we were in an area quiet enough for normal human conversation--my best friend, to put it shortly. I've shared little anecdotes involving her on this blog before--and her male counterpart walking towards the exit. Here I foolishly assumed that she was going to the nurse-- for a migraine or something--and he was playing a gentleman and escorting her.
This was not a sufficient occasion to risk personal injury by scrambling down the bleachers again. So I waited. At dismissal, I found the *counterpart* near the door and asked if she was okay. Response (oozing a certain infuriatingly smarmy satisfaction): That she hadn't been to the nurse and they'd been just outside the door talking.
End of story (and oh, so many questions). Editorial time! (Note if you're reading this and may be offended: What's taken you? ;) I read you on DevianTart.)
I'm all conflicted. I'm happy for her being happy even if it's with a guy I can't stand, andbutso I also take it as a personal failure that she has Asperger's and is more relationshippily advanced than I am.
Crap, my life just turned into Big Bang Theory. Big Bang Theory minus the doctorates. And replace references to Marvel Comics with various manga and Star Trek with Doctor Who. THEN my life is EXACTLY pretty much parallel to it. This makes me Leonard (sorry if my pop culture reference is alienating, but I'm kind of currently in love with it.). Sigh. Enjoy whatever I can find to put here:
