I may have a chip on my shoulder but at least it matches my baggage.

A few words about me, on the eve of the Last Great Vacation (of 2010) This Family Has Ever Seen.


Irrationality towards being 'the different one' is something I have never understood about myself. It reeks of a victim complex, but I refuse to admit it. Not yet. You can call me unathletic or take away my indie music, but for the love of god just give me my ignorance -- it's about all I have that relates me to you! (Aaaaand, scene.) I've always managed to be content to do my own thing and not care that anybody join me. I've adjusted to the fact that artistry, a singing voice and a witty pen are not marketable skills in the Stillar family. I've accepted that one of these things is not like the other. I have just never understood why it should bother anyone else but me. 


Huh.


A couple of months ago my family decided our resume could use an epic trip. We'd given ourselves time to recover from the overwhelm of family vacation, and were tossing around some possibilities when Auntie Pretty suggested her timeshare at Las Vegas' Polo Towers. December, we thought. Kyle's 21st birthday, we thought. Fast forward to today - I'm printing my boarding pass for a weekend in Sin City.


Sigh.


We have 3 suites, 14 people, probably not enough beds. Guess who gets the floor. Woe is me for being single. Happens every time... we talk about it, I say PLEASE DON'T PUT ME ON THE FLOOR, everybody says UH, IT'S NOT THAT BAD so I say WELL GOOD, THEN YOU CAN HAVE IT. And then they blink, look to one another for help, and play the married card.

I told you so.

Everyone's been talking about how unforgettable it will be. I have no doubts. But here's the thing: it's no secret to anyone that I share no common interests with my siblings. And I've learned to do my own thing out of necessity, which truly doesn't bother me. I never think it will be a problem, then we get there and suddenly it becomes  a massive deal that I'm not joining "the fun". My interest in french impressionist galleries and exhibits with human cadavers will become the exception to the weekend's agenda and they'll feel bad that I'm on my own so somebody will bite the bullet and volunteer to go with, but eventually we'll end up in the same place and they're trying to teach me Texas Hold 'Em...come on, it'll be fun, just give it a chance... and I'll be all YOU KNOW WHAT GUYS, I'M KINDA ALL FUNNED OUT. I'M REALLY JUST INTERESTED IN VISITING THAT EXHIBIT TO SEE IF I CAN STEAL A KIDNEY OR SOMETHING.


My plan is to wear a sign around my neck that says I KNOW I'M DIFFERENT, DO YOU? CARRY ON so that when they gripe about my not participating, I can kick them in the shins and say YOU WERE WARNED, BITCHES!

I have this hidden anxiety that I'll get there, hate it, and have to drag my butt out and about all weekend just to keep from being the bummer. Let the record show, I know myself well enough to know I can't party all the time and not kill someone, so when we booked this trip, I opted out. Mom and the girls are staying here, I was happy to keep them company. I don't gamble, though get me in a cocktail dress and I could pass for a fox. At any rate -- I figured it was best to admit my homebodiness before it was too late. Then Kyle called and said he wanted me there, it's his birthday, he'd even pay for my airfare. I had to smile, call him cute, tell him I loved him and ookkkaaay, if you want me there I'll go and you don't even have to pay my way, I work for the Presbyterians, remember?


And just like that I was back to planning my strategy towards the naysayers. What have I gotten myself into...


Let's talk about the last time I attempted a family outing and found myself vastly outnumbered. Everyone started a mass game of volleyball and I opted to sit out. I'd played in all the others, figured this wasn't a big deal. But let me tell you something about my family: they are absent the sensitivity gene. I, on the other hand, got it all. This means two things: 1) I make a mistake, they roll their eyes or yell or tell me to leave or whathaveyou. 2) I make a mistake, they roll their eyes or yell or tell me to leave and I get my feelings butt-hurt. I hate this about myself, but there's no changing or denying it. I choose not to let on that my feelings are butt-hurt so I keep going. I survive. Nobody dies. Then the next game rolls around and I decide ya know, I think I'll pass. Props to me for trying, though, I gotta hand it to myself. Well. Mom tried to get me to play anyway, in fact got upset that I couldn't just get over myself, and before you know it I'm bawling about how nobody understands me and isn't it just like them to expect me to join in just because I'm the only one who doesn't actually LIKE it and I'm not pushing my preferences on yooooouuu, what on God's green earth gives you the right to care if I don't play and OMG LIFE IS SO UNFAIR!!

It was a much-needed meltdown, albeit poorly-timed.


So. This weekend will be interesting. I'm the self-proclaimed loose cannon. They're my family and I adore them and love them and think Southwest Airlines will never be the same (in a good way) and we all know their lack of understanding will never cause me to love them any less. So when sleeping arrangements come up, I will say PLEASE DON'T PUT ME ON THE FLOOR and they'll roll their eyes and say NOT AGAIN, so I will simply point to the sign and say CAN YOU EVEN HEAR ME OVER THE SOUND OF YOUR EYES ROLLING BACK IN YOUR HEAD? CARRY ON.