Tag Archives: XBOX

Alone Time With ADD


So yesterday was Thanksgiving, and as you all may already know, I got to sit home alone. Since I become completely awkward and shy at family gatherings, this did not bother me as much as it probably should have. Anyhoo, I had an ENTIRE day with which to do whatever I pleased, however I pleased. Let me assure you, after yesterday, there is no doubt in my mind whatsoever that I suffer from Attention Defecit Disorder.

The morning began when my Rockstar and his Daughter left for South Dakota. They both smothered me in hugs and kisses at 6:00 AM and departed for the western plains. I decided that since it was a holiday, I did not have to feel badly about sleeping in. Several hours later, I awoke from my comatose state and rolled my lazy ass outta bed. I say lazy because I realized when I went to bed last night that I abstained from brushing my hair at all throughout the day. (But I DID brush my teeth three times.)

Since there were no duties that needed my immediate attention, I switched on the boobtube and was delighted to see that the Macy’s parade was happening. (This is one of the things that I have vowed I must see in person someday.) I quickly changed the channel, however, when Avril Lavigne started… howling. I decided to see what fun and exciting movie I could find on Netflix live, and proceeded to doctor up a delicious cup of coffee-flavored sugar. I decided to watch Good Will Hunting, and was surprised that it very closely resembled the situation that I am finding myself in. No, I am not a math genius, but I have had several people tell me that I’m wasting the talents I possess by working menial jobs for almost no pay. I believe I managed to make it through this entire movie without moving simply because I am a slug for the first 3 hours I’m awake in the morning. Anyhoo, this is about the time that my ADD kicked in.

After the movie, I decided to blog for a bit, and then thought about finishing the last 20 pages of the book I was reading. I made it through 2 of the pages, before I decided that I should do the dishes that were piled up in the sink. After filling the sink with steaming hot water, I decided that I should wait a bit for the water to cool down before I washed the dishes; so I decided to find another movie to watch. While Netflix was loading, (Netflix is EXTREMELY slow when hooked up to an XBOX) I decided to check the stats on my blog, and then to write another post. When I finished writing my 2nd post of the day, I went back to Netflix and picked out another movie to watch. While the movie was loading, I thought, “I should finish the dishes.” When I was half-way through the dishes, my movie decided to start playing, so I sat down to watch it.

About a half hour into my movie, I paused it, thinking that I would check to see what wonderful E-mails I may have received. After finding an apology from a blogger that will remain nameless, and a bunch of emails asking if I would like to buy a Russian bride, I went back to my movie. Another ten minutes later, I decided to finish washing the dishes before the water got too cold. I will not bore you with the rest, but I will tell you that is took me 7, I said SEVEN, hours to finish watching an hour and 45 minute movie.

I have noticed that I am slightly restless like this when my Beloveds are home, but when I am alone, I cannot control it. Does this come from sitting for extensive periods of time in church while growing up? I’m not sure. But it greatly disturbed me that it actually took 7 hours for me to watch a frickin’ movie. No, I do not think I could concentrate long enough to perform brain surgery. Or to learn another language. Or to give a speech.

P.S. How ironic is it that the movie I watched was about a writer that couldn’t concentrate?

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Observation


While pretending to be engrossed in my book this morning, my eyes peek over the copy of My Lesbian Husband I hold in my hands, and observe my Rockstar.

The layers of his hair lay unkempt across his forehead, not the fiery color that it once was, but the paler shade of auburn that comes with age. There is no evidence of the atrocious haircut I gave him several months ago; the uneven cuts I made have grown out. Beneath his bangs, I catch a hint of the concentration wrinkle between his eyebrows that I tease him about, saying, “You’re doing it again!” This always makes him grin, and raise his eyebrows, attempting to dissolve the wrinkle.

“His nose really is so pretty,” I think. I know it’s one of his insecurities, but I’ve always admired larger noses on men, and it’s straight, so I don’t see the problem.

He hasn’t shaved today. The reddish bristle on his face surrounds the frown he unconsciously wears; I asked him once why he is always frowning, and his response was, “It’s what 40 hours of working with dumbasses does to me. I have a sad face every day at work.” I wonder now if I frown when I’m concentrating as he does.

The freckles on his arms are still apparent, even in this dim light. I look at his hands, and his fingers, and I think back to  the first time I really noticed them. He was playing Metallica for me, on his old ESP guitar, and I remember thnking that his fingers were SO different from my husband’s. I think, too, about the time he told me he must sleep with his hands covered; luckily, I broke him of this habit somewhat, because now he will grab my hand when we drift off to sleep.

The slight rocking of his chair looks awkward, especially since his leg is slung over the arm, sticking straight out like a cat’s when you hold one under the armpits. “His perfect perfect feet are just to nice to belong to a man,” I think to myself. They haven’t even looked strange when he’s let me paint his toenails in the past. He is very proud of his feet- one time, he even mentioned the fact that he “has perfect toes”, and how my are “short and funky”. I agreed with him. He doesn’t even have hairy toes as so many men do, which only makes them that much more lovely.

“Son of a bitch!” tumbles out of his mouth, breaking my reverie. He grins at me, and I grin back. Watching my Rockstar play XBOX is very entertaining.

P.S. Oddly enough, when we first started dating, I didn’t find him all that attractive. How things change…

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The Romance of Call of Duty 4


I have long been a lover of video games. My fondest memories of my cousins are the ones that include hours upon hours of playing Nintendo in their basement shouting “Push the button really fast so it doesn’t go back to the beginning!” (A well-known trick that any Mario Bros addict knows.) My parents firmly believed that Nintendo was the devil, so despite begging for a Nintendo EVERY YEAR for Christmas, I had to resign myself to playing at my friend’s houses.

In my pre-teen years, my attention was drawn more toward Sega, since my best friend and her brother had one. I am sure she got annoyed with me when I was SUPPOSED to come to her house to play with her, and ended up playing Sonic with her brother instead. Oops.

The first gift I bought my ex-husband when we started dating was a Playstation 2, which had just come out at the time. In retrospect, probably NOT the best gift to bestow upon the boyfriend of someone who basks in attention. We ended up accruing what I believe was almost every single game they made for that console. Twisted Metal Black was AWESOME, man!

Several years ago when I was still with my ex, I told him I wanted an XBOX for Christmas. I was thrilled when he gave me one, complete with the 2009 edition of WWE Smackdown, (YES!) I didn’t get to play it much because I was working alot at the time.

When I moved in with my Rockstar, my XBOX promptly died. (sad day!) We went and bought a new one, because he had just bought a new game. I will admit, perhaps the allure of video games has lessened for me slightly, but then my Rockstar bought Call of Duty 4 last week.

I have never been one of those game console freaks that waits camped out for the newest Halo or Gears of War game. (I’m a dork but not that much of one!) So that explains why we are behind the times with the whole Call of Duty thing.

Monday nights have become our designated Drinking Night. (mainly because we don’t have the Daughter that night) so when I got home Monday, I poured us both a yum-yum Bicardi Diet with the Bicardi to the line (we make our drinks in these classic Coke glasses and I use the ridges as a measuring tool for alcohol- the line makes our drinks to be 2/3’s alcohol and 1/3 mixer- it doesn’t always taste great, but it’s very effective) My Rockstar then told me we should play against each other on Call of Duty.

I must be clear- I am a very non-violent person- but if I’m playing a game that requires me to shoot someone, you’d better be sure they will be dead.  I can see where many couples could fall deeply in love while playing Call of Duty. Just check out the romantic things we spouted to each other:

Me: (in a sing-song drunken voice) Where are you? I’m gonna find you and shoot you in the head!

Me: You fucker! You stole my flag!

Him: You shot me in the ass!

Him: Bitch! Come back here!

Me: HAHAHA! I shot you in the head!

Me: EEEEIIIII! You shot me in the head!

Him: Fuck, you killed me when I shot you!

Me: Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Why won’t you die?! I shot you like, 40 times!

Him: HAHA! I sliced your head off or something. I don’t know how I did that.

I will admit, it got a little morbid, which was partly due to the alcohol, but how can you not love someone who is so thrilled to shoot you in the ass?

P.S. I was also greatly amused that one of the options you have is to be a Snetzsnatch. That’s not the way you spell it, but it’s humorous to say. 🙂

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