There are things that I like that I have no idea why.
Our neighbor was in Ohio on business and brought a box of Anthony-Thomas Buckeyes for us. For those not in the know, Ohio State University is a religion in Central Ohio and the Buckeye is their mascot. The candy is peanut butter wrapped in chocolate and normally I don't think the two go together. But Buckeyes are different.
Seeing the name Anthony-Thomas reminded me of the store between my house and Jackie's that we'd beg her mom to stop in. We had sleepovers almost every weekend she wasn't at her dad's. The Buckeyes reminded me of tailgating somewhere and savoring the little balls someone had made. I suddenly remembered being ittle bittle making up cheers with Corrine Christine in her basement with her mom behind us watching the game so intently--she said she thought we helped OSU beat Michigan, the arch nemesis, and we were young enough to believe it. When Brother 1 and Co. were living with his father-in-law they had to watch the games in separate rooms because they'd fight, and separate rooms made them just yell at each other, which they did anyways during a game. My dance teacher knew a girl who actually went to Michigan for college so she'd stop hearing "Go Bucks." There was one time when I was absoultely mystified as to how my Girl Scout troop leader could not care who won the OSU/Michigan game. It was unthinkable to me.
There was this policy I had to sign to go to the U of M that said I would not riot and I would be kicked out if I did so because there was one after a game at Madison, Wisconsin (the Gophers' rivals) and property was damaged or something. It made me laugh. Really hard. See, the joke is that if you don't like your car you park it around a bar near campus during an OSU/Michigan game playing at home and it will be destroyed and torched by the rioters by morning.
I never wanted to go to OSU. I was going to go to Otterbein, this private college, and become a teacher like all the student teachers in every class I ever had. But then I discovered that I'm not Teaching Material. Like, at all. It takes a special person to teach and I am so. not. that. person. I'm not into sports and that is what people go to OSU for. My dad says the Bucks are Ohio's only professional team--yes, we both know that there are actual pro teams in Ohio, but when's the last time the Browns got close to the Superbowl? When's the last time the Indians didn't suck? No, I couldn't answer those questions and yes I am repeating what he said, but I can tell you that Bucks football goes to The Rose Bowl kind of often and that it was A Very Big Deal when they won it and A Very Shameful Thing when they didn't, but there was always next year.
When we lived in Ohio I was surrounded by Dad and Brothers 1 & 2 talking about the team and getting excited about watching a game. They're probably the only reason I felt anything about the games. No way I would've developed that pride and love on my own. I never would've spent Saturday afternoons watching whichever network picked up the season or listen to AM Talk about the players and the coaching if one of them hadn't called TV or radio before I did.
I'm not a sports fan. I don't know why I like Buckeyes, the candy or the team, but I've been thinking about all the things I don't know why I like.
I don't know why I like the smell from my dog sleeping in one place for a while--on my bed, on the couch--then raising her head and stretching because some comotion woke her up and she can't decide whether or not it's worth getting up for. Kind of like dog sweat, not like dog stench. But dogs don't sweat through their skin, right? They sweat through their tongues. Right?
I don't know why the scent on my dad's pillow (most likely sweat and shampoo) feels safe when he's gone to work and I crawl into their bed and fall asleep next to Mom like I'm a little kid again and he's flown off on a business trip.
Maybe that's part of it. Feeling like that little girl again who zonked out during my brothers' baseball games or a parade one of them was in and falling asleep in his lap or being hoisted up on his shoulders so I could see what was going on. I don't remember ever being afraid when he was in the same room. Not like how I remember him sucking at giving baths because he made the water way too hot. Which he totally did, but I don't think he'd appreciate it if I mentioned that sometime.
I remember one time when I was little we were in a park somewhere, I think somewhere in Pennsylvania, and at some point I had my face painted. I fell asleep in Mom's arms and when I woke up, the paint had gotten all over Mom's white sweat shirt. I think it made her laugh. She used to be so happy, all the time.
I don't know why I like Buckeyes. I don't know why I'm more willing to give slash stories more liberties than het--one line that makes me snear and I'm off to find the next 9th/Rose fic that sounds like it won't suck, but I'm less inclined to do the same for Gil/Nick.
Oi. I think Father's Day came early in my mind o.0 And that I maybe need more sleep than the three naps I took today.
My mom was born on Father's Day. Grampa said, "This is the best Father's Day present ever." Knowing what I know about him now, that might be a lie but I like it. I like to pretend that he wasn't as mean and nasty as everyone else remembers, because I only remember this nice old man who told me that I was smarter than the average bear.
But I ramble.
Seeing the name Anthony-Thomas reminded me of the store between my house and Jackie's that we'd beg her mom to stop in. We had sleepovers almost every weekend she wasn't at her dad's. The Buckeyes reminded me of tailgating somewhere and savoring the little balls someone had made. I suddenly remembered being ittle bittle making up cheers with Corrine Christine in her basement with her mom behind us watching the game so intently--she said she thought we helped OSU beat Michigan, the arch nemesis, and we were young enough to believe it. When Brother 1 and Co. were living with his father-in-law they had to watch the games in separate rooms because they'd fight, and separate rooms made them just yell at each other, which they did anyways during a game. My dance teacher knew a girl who actually went to Michigan for college so she'd stop hearing "Go Bucks." There was one time when I was absoultely mystified as to how my Girl Scout troop leader could not care who won the OSU/Michigan game. It was unthinkable to me.
There was this policy I had to sign to go to the U of M that said I would not riot and I would be kicked out if I did so because there was one after a game at Madison, Wisconsin (the Gophers' rivals) and property was damaged or something. It made me laugh. Really hard. See, the joke is that if you don't like your car you park it around a bar near campus during an OSU/Michigan game playing at home and it will be destroyed and torched by the rioters by morning.
I never wanted to go to OSU. I was going to go to Otterbein, this private college, and become a teacher like all the student teachers in every class I ever had. But then I discovered that I'm not Teaching Material. Like, at all. It takes a special person to teach and I am so. not. that. person. I'm not into sports and that is what people go to OSU for. My dad says the Bucks are Ohio's only professional team--yes, we both know that there are actual pro teams in Ohio, but when's the last time the Browns got close to the Superbowl? When's the last time the Indians didn't suck? No, I couldn't answer those questions and yes I am repeating what he said, but I can tell you that Bucks football goes to The Rose Bowl kind of often and that it was A Very Big Deal when they won it and A Very Shameful Thing when they didn't, but there was always next year.
When we lived in Ohio I was surrounded by Dad and Brothers 1 & 2 talking about the team and getting excited about watching a game. They're probably the only reason I felt anything about the games. No way I would've developed that pride and love on my own. I never would've spent Saturday afternoons watching whichever network picked up the season or listen to AM Talk about the players and the coaching if one of them hadn't called TV or radio before I did.
I'm not a sports fan. I don't know why I like Buckeyes, the candy or the team, but I've been thinking about all the things I don't know why I like.
I don't know why I like the smell from my dog sleeping in one place for a while--on my bed, on the couch--then raising her head and stretching because some comotion woke her up and she can't decide whether or not it's worth getting up for. Kind of like dog sweat, not like dog stench. But dogs don't sweat through their skin, right? They sweat through their tongues. Right?
I don't know why the scent on my dad's pillow (most likely sweat and shampoo) feels safe when he's gone to work and I crawl into their bed and fall asleep next to Mom like I'm a little kid again and he's flown off on a business trip.
Maybe that's part of it. Feeling like that little girl again who zonked out during my brothers' baseball games or a parade one of them was in and falling asleep in his lap or being hoisted up on his shoulders so I could see what was going on. I don't remember ever being afraid when he was in the same room. Not like how I remember him sucking at giving baths because he made the water way too hot. Which he totally did, but I don't think he'd appreciate it if I mentioned that sometime.
I remember one time when I was little we were in a park somewhere, I think somewhere in Pennsylvania, and at some point I had my face painted. I fell asleep in Mom's arms and when I woke up, the paint had gotten all over Mom's white sweat shirt. I think it made her laugh. She used to be so happy, all the time.
I don't know why I like Buckeyes. I don't know why I'm more willing to give slash stories more liberties than het--one line that makes me snear and I'm off to find the next 9th/Rose fic that sounds like it won't suck, but I'm less inclined to do the same for Gil/Nick.
Oi. I think Father's Day came early in my mind o.0 And that I maybe need more sleep than the three naps I took today.
My mom was born on Father's Day. Grampa said, "This is the best Father's Day present ever." Knowing what I know about him now, that might be a lie but I like it. I like to pretend that he wasn't as mean and nasty as everyone else remembers, because I only remember this nice old man who told me that I was smarter than the average bear.
But I ramble.