I'm that weird type of gal.

By TaliciaDragonsong September 22, 2012 164 Comments

I'm that weird type of gal.

Yeah, the type that plays a game for 5 hours and calls it a classic. Just reaching level 5 in Borderlands or playing through The Witcher 2's intro makes me wanna label em as games of the year. No need for complex mechanics, intricate stories or immersive worlds, I have this gut feeling about some games.
 
I'm that weird type of gal that ignores an entire soundtrack in favor of one of the first songs for the rest of the game. I'm not easily sold but I'm just that impressed with the feeling it gives me. Example here being this song from Borderlands 1, still stuck in my head after all this time, fighting off Rakks and Skags:   

  
 
What makes me even more of a weird type is the time I spend in game's universes. Played one mission of Starcraft 2, spend the rest of the night reading the wiki/watching Starcraft videos. I know stuff about universes and games I never even touched but I have been wondered by their respective worlds. Their own little beings. I can appreciate franchises for just existing, without having even seen or played them.
I'm the crazy type of gal that spends her morning in nothing more than socks, panties and a blouse as she browses through the newspaper cutting out words and headlines to make custom quotes on my wall. Page after page gets mangled and the emergencies, accidents or interviews have been turned into my own little devices. My wall is now a whirlpool of fonts, words and ravings. Just another page of my life pasted upon the walls. 

I'm the mental type, having watched obscure films, series or played the industries under dogs before they got cool. And even after I'll admit. I just make my own way through life, through gaming and through my preferences. There's tons of stuff I haven't watched, played and perhaps never will, but I don't mind. I'm doing it my way. One game at a time. 

People wonder, people question, they just can't comprehend passion. Barely acknowledge it. Its all about the stigma. The image and the trail you leave behind are more important than the feeling is what they argue. They tell you, they tell me, its all about the respect of those around you. Its not about you, its about everyone but you.
They tell me, they yell me, they sell me.
 

Earth ain't no place to go it all alone, to be outside the flock and make it on your own.
But they misunderstand me, as they do so many, and never realize that I'm that crazy, weird and mental type of gal. 

Who just doesn't give a fuck.
 
(Edit: Half the pictures don't show up unless I Ctrl + F5 in firefox, but they work in chrome straight away, anyone else?)
Edit 2: This is just some poem like bloggy thingie guys. Not some super critique about cultures or how bloody cool I should be in your eyes. Thought that was clear enough, guess not.

164 Comments