Crowds, tattoos, and taking it easy

This week I just sat back and didn't push myself too hard. I used the excuse that I AT LEAST doubled up on challenges last week.

To start with, I headed to Comic Con. I've gone and admitted that I'm a total nerd/geek, which prompted last week's post on comics and my relatively newfound interest. I figure admitting I'm a nerd counts as a fear. Just like everyone, I always try to be the cool girl. But when I got over that, it's an enthusiastic group of people who like to play dress-up. I can get behind that! I didn't dress up this time, but I think next time it's a go!

On top of entering nerd world, I faced HUGE crowds. Ack! It makes my brain feel all muddled when I try to work my way through a crowd. And when it's a convention like Comic Con, no one knows where they're going or what they're doing. NO ONE. It's impossible to maintain personal space, or a sense of chill for that matter.

Yeah, it was worth it.

But wait! There's more!

One of the nights after the Con, we headed off into no man's land... ok, it was just east of downtown. Not the point. I decided I had waited long enough for the tattoo that I kinda wanted. No, it wasn't my first so it wasn't the tattoo itself that qualifies as the fear. Instead, it was the person who did it. I found the the artist using Google maps combined with its convenient location next to Panda Express.

Don't worry, I wasn't a total flake with something that is now permanently part of me. After the random location, I spent time reading reviews, browsing the portfolio, and talking out what I wanted.

So basically, facing my fears led to a weekend filled with greatness. The tattoo ended up being something I LOVE. And that was on top of spending 3 days hanging out, people watching, learning great info, and all kinds of fun stuff.

I would do it again, for sure.

Comics are for Nerds

I want to be really honest right from the start. I’m pretty judgmental. Sure I could lie, cover up and say all the right things. I can hide it pretty well. But it’s just not true. And if you claim you aren’t secretly judging people then I think you’re a liar too. Woah, name calling in paragraph one… Is that really something I should do? Whatever, it’s out there and I don’t really feel bad about it.

Anyway, I only mention this because it explains the rest of my story. Which is what exactly? Why it’s taken me so darn long to appreciate comic books.

Let’s start by going back – way back to high school. Like most teens, that’s where my nose was stuck high in the air. I’m not sure about your high school years, but mine were filled with my strict parental policy of getting straight A’s, tennis, daydreaming about the cute by in my Spanish class, and watching movies with my friends. I was a reader, sure, but not quite like I am now. I would gobble up whatever novel my dad passed around or what my friends were talking about. Hannibal Lecter, Apollo 13, some Holocaust memoir… Comics were devoured in the Sunday funnies over a bowl of Cap’n Crunch, but never as actual reading material. Weren’t those for nerds and little boys?

Fast forward to college. There was some mild interest. OK, I read 2. I remember laying in my dorm room reading over a copy of Hellboy that a boy had given me. I really liked the story, but I wasn’t able to continue. Wait, wait, wait. Let me explain. Technically I could have continued, but it was a tricky social situation. The boy who lent them to me lurked. He didn’t know when to leave and while I appreciated the interest that it showed, he had an unusually large head and I wasn’t into it. I DIDN’T WANT TO SEND THE WRONG SIGNALS! Dating at that age is a delicate situation. A girl has to be careful. Plus I was still holding that feeling that I shouldn’t be looking at paperback picture books, lest I be lumped in with the nerds and little boys.

OK, skip forward a few more years. It’s the now, people! I’m out of college, life has settled into a comfortable routine, and I’m constantly on the lookout for new reading material. The library is my happy place. Oh, and the comics? They are slowly making an appearance into my regular reading material. Sure, I still have to get over my prejudices, or at least accept the fact that I’m a nerd. (Or is it geek? I always get those confused.) Yeah, that's me. In addition to those nasty judgments from before, I have teacher syndrome. All that teacherly literature talking about how you can get struggling readers more interested in the material with graphic novels. I have to disengage myself from the idea that struggling doesn’t always mean the dolt in the back of the room picking her nose.

So I recently finished reading my first graphic novel, Artimis Fowl: The Arctic Incident, a sequel to a young adult novel I read last year. It was complex and interesting. Don’t tell anyone but, even though I consider myself a pretty stellar reader, it was kind of hard to read. I’m use to focusing on the text and I let the little things slide by. I had to slow my roll and figure out that the graphics and colors added as much as the words. It was hard for me to give over that control, but once I did I was able to appreciate the artwork as well as the story. Yeah, I still struggle with the control thing, but I figured I would channel it into the character voices instead of the visuals.

And now I’m headed out into the wide world of stories with pictures. How refreshing. I’m keeping it simple so far. I found a graphic novel of Romeo and Juliet. Yeah, I’m that kind of dork. But the one I’m really excited about is Fight Club. (Can we just take a moment to reflect that Fight Club was an amazing book? Love that ending more than the film; I don’t care was Chuck says.) I’m definitely open to suggestions, but also in fear of my life. There’s so much out there. Where to start! And I can’t spend my grocery budget on old issues of X-Men. Gah, being an adult is so stupid sometimes!

I Can Ride My Bike

Like every little kid, I used to ride my bike constantly. My sister and I would race between manhole covers on our street or zig zag along the sidewalk path.

Every once in a while, not very often, my mom would climb on her bike. It never made sense to me why she didn't do it more because it was always an opportunity for her to show off. She would make our tires kiss, which always convinced me I was only a bump away from crashing to my death. Other times she would casually cruise along without holding on. It must have been some sort of sorcery because that was insane and pretty damn cool.

Of course I tried it. Duh. I casually dropped one hand, no big deal. I peeled off one finger. Then another. And finally I was just poking my handlebars.

Woah! I got this far and felt on top of the world. With only a hiccup of hesitation, I let go completely. I pulled my arms farther away from the handlebars.

I swear, I flew. You know, right up to the point where I plummeted to my doom.

Instead of a victory lap around the block, I sniffles and hobbled back to the house. And to make it worse, my cool new bike had a scratch. Well for that matter I was covered in scratches too.

It was that moment that I stopped trying to let go and always gripped at least one handle of my bike. 

Wow, that sounds like some cool metaphor or something but I really just mean my bike.

While I always wanted to know how to go without holding on, I kind of gave up. I don't like being hurt. Actually I think that's where many of my fears lie. More than death, I fear living in pain. And, yep, that includes skinned knees as much as anything.

So I faced this fear of falling this week. It's a childish fear, but it's steong and has been living in me for a looong time. I think it's life span actually makes it more difficult to face.

Anyway, I got on my bike daily.

I let go daily.

I made it approximately five seconds at a time. It felt like at least an hour as I passed those two houses, though. Seriously.

Gah, I'm lame.

I guess I need to keep working on it. Maybe I can get to the point of looking like one of those guys who rides their bikes all arrogant and lazy. Blocks at a time.

What I've also figured out, though, is that I care a lot less than I thought I did. It's a game more than something I'm worried about perfecting.

My kids have started playing along too. They will let go of one handlebar and hold it in the air like a bullrider. They do not laugh when they ask me to count how long they go and I start with an over-enthusiastic "LET'S GO, BOYS! LET'S GO, BOYS!" Nor do they think it's funny when I stop counting at 8 and do my best air horn impression.

*Sigh* I need to take them to a rodeo. Or at least watch Eight Seconds.

Change in Plans

I've decided to change up my plans just a little bit.

The majority of what I'm doing will stay the same, but I'm assigning weekly challenges instead of daily.

I just feel like daily challenges weren't realistic and I was unnecessarily stressing myself out. I think it's ok to have more down days or to take more than a single day to tackle an idea.

Anyway, I'm currently working with my bike. I always love biking but have always been jealous of my mom and sister able to go with no hands or of the people hanging out at the skate park/BMX place. Anyway... I'll keep posted on how it goes.

9. This is tough

Well, not actually writing. That's would be easy. But honestly my daily style challenges are just kinda... meh.

It's because the tedium of daily life that I keep saying away from keeping journals like this. Because I over think and question what I'm doing and why I put it out there.

I'm scared of a lot of little things. So yesterday I continued what I was doing without slinking away from a bee.

Don't judge. Bees are creepy with their fuzzy bodies and noisy wings and pointy butts.

Whatever. However gardening next to a bee hardly sounds like some crazy adventure, you know?

Sigh. My garden looks great at least.

4-8. Neglect for homework

Wow. Turns out I suck at posting daily.

Actually this week sucked in general.

For weeks I've been stressed about these classes I'm taking. They're tedious and difficult.

So after 2 weeks of constant freak outs, stress and general bitchiness, I decided to just do it. Plow through the work and get it out of the way. I'm 95% done with the work now.

How did that push my out of my comfort zone? I wasn't there for my family. I kept pushing them away so I could get things done. For 4 days I did that. It hurt my heart.

The worst is done now though. Hopefully.