I'm a girl, I promise.

When I was younger, my mom forced me into sports like soccer and softball, which I naturally came to embrace and love, but at first seemed alien to me. As a softball player, I was the kid who was put in the outfield, because honestly no other kid would ever hit it that far. Instead of being vigilant and watching carefully for the almost improbable hit to sail towards me, I used to sit on the ground and make flower necklaces. I could hear my parents encouraging me to get up, and even sighing in frustration, but all I could do was stare at the pretty flowers. I’ve always been distracted by the beautiful.

            Perhaps this is why I began playing Magic the Gathering. Pokemon never appealed to me, but Magic, with it’s amazing art and fabulous colors, always piqued my interest. It seems rather girly of me to be attracted to something based solely on its appearance, or maybe just human, but it’s interesting to wonder: does my gender affect my game choice and game play?

            I’m fairly sure that it does in the case of Eve Online, especially. Eve, to me, was distinctly unenjoyable. I didn’t like the dark atmosphere, or even the theme of outer space. I tend to prefer more whimsical, mystical themes, and prefer things to look beautiful rather than “bad ass” or pointy and threatening. Surely, Eve was geared towards the male population, and, statistics show that the majority of Eve players are males. Of course, this would not ordinarily deter me from reveling in the fabulousness of the game, as I am an active participant in another game which is comprised of a predominately male population: knowledge bowl.

            At my junior year knowledge bowl all-European tournament, my team made it to the finals. Overwhelmed with glee, I jittered in my seat, eager to spout knowledge and entertain viewers. As my eyes searched the crowd and my fellow teams, I saw an extremely sparse lady population. I was proud to be the only girl in the finals, but also slightly unnerved. When I finished playing, I walked off of the podium only to be intercepted by a gang of gnarly, caped teenage boys who babbled simultaneously, “You played so well!” “You know really obscure questions.” And, my personal favorite, “You’re my favorite…” I thanked them, out-streched my hand for a platonic gesture, and one especially greasy fellow sputtered, “No. Hug.” And embraced me in what was surely his first female contact.

            Don’t misunderstand: I love these sorts of people. The people I meet at tournaments are some of my favorite ever, but it seems to me that, as a girl, people expect much less out of me, intelligence-wise. My friends have even suggested playing two-headed giant with me at Magic tournaments, insisting that I wear a dress or something to make me look asinine so that adversaries won’t expect brilliance. While I am occasionally offended by such suggestions, it seems to me that as a gamer, I should be used to these “girls can’t play games” stereotypes, and use them to my advantage. 

Crap, I shouldn't have caught that...

I love to bowl. Of course, as everyone knows, the lanes at the HUB here are crooked beyond belief and are about as short as a Bonzai tree, so a few weeks ago, I went bowling elsewhere.  My friend asked me if I was good at bowling and I said, “Yeah, fairly!” and he replied, “I suck. I usually bowl about a hundred.” Rather affronted, I replied that my average was around eighty and that I considered that to be an excellent score. This of course elicited a peal of chuckles, but luckily, when I got to the lanes, I was pleased to find that I had inexplicably become some sort of sporadic bowling savant. The first time I got a strike, something curious came over my body… a sort of incontrollable movement.  It seemed that my response to getting a strike in bowling was to punch the air. I had never done anything like that in my entire life. Yes, I certainly squeal giddily or do some sort of hideous dance, but never had my body felt so triumphant that it actually controlled my movement decision. I began to think: do I become someone completely different when I play games?

            I was an avid soccer player until college (where I realized that since I hadn’t been playing since I was a fetus, I had no chance of getting on a team), and had may experiences on my high school team similar to my bowling experience. Sadly, one of my soccer experiences was not at all insignificant. In an important soccer game, I was playing sweeper. An adversary shot at the top left corner of the goal, and, wanting to be the hero, I dove towards it in order to head it out of the way. Naturally, my body decided that instead of jumping, I would outstretch my hands. I caught the ball. In the penalty box. With a tied score.  Certainly normal me would have realized that this wasn’t at all a logical course of action. So could it be, then, that in physical sports, my body goes haywire?

            So, in board games, do I also change?  Usually I have a problem with putting myself into the character’s shoes. When I play Candyland, I simply can’t picture myself as a small, gingerbread-esque child, traipsing around lollipops and avoiding the definite child molester Lord Licorice. When I play Magic, I don’t see myself as a planeswalker roaming my lands and somehow acquiring vicious creatures. For some reasons though, as a soccer player, a volleyball player, or apparently a bowler, my mind goes blank and concentrates on only the game; I become completely engrossed. It seems then, that in most games in which the point is to role play, I fail miserably. I’m sure that this is for the best, seeing as I’m positive that I wouldn’t want my body to spasm during a game of Jenga or Mouse Trap. Disaster galore. 

A Somewhat Awkward Introduction

After a series of embarrassing incidents, I became quite the spectacle in middle school. Naturally, no one wanted to befriend the girl, who, after failing miserably at a math problem, yelled "Mom!" at Mr. Poole for some numerical assistance, ran out of the room embarrassed, tripped down the stairs and ripped her trousers open in the process. Luckily, I was always in my own head so much (tripping mystery solved), that I barely had time to be offended by the immature jeers of my peers. Still, it was rather lonely to walk about the halls and not be able to glance at anyone and smile, or give passersby the finger guns without being scoffed at. But pitying this hilariously socially inept child would be a waste, because like most stories she invented in her mind, this one ended happily when she found her vice: games.
At home, I was forbidden to spend more than a half an hour on the computer, so any chance of game playing there was effectively quashed. I barely had time to send an email with my sixth grade typing proficiency, let alone play tetris long enough to lose. I instead, then, spent a great deal of time inventing games for myself. To this day, whenever I look at a word, I anagram it. "Huh," I think when I look at a police car, "'Police' anagrams to 'lie cop'...coincidence? I think not." An unconventional game, yes, but anagramming made me feel satisfied, achieved, and special. I later moved on to making my own palindromes, watching jeopardy (while recording my score, of course), and participating in a series of nerdy activities that, naturally, further ostracized me from my fellow pre-teens.
Not until seventh grade did I find a group of friends. We locked eyes as we all wandered around the hall, mumbling word puzzles and pushing up our glasses. Somehow, we all managed to be socially apt enough to agree on eating lunch together. We all met in the library, which was the safest room in school. We were certain that none of our bullies were even aware that the library existed. After playing some quick games of chess, my new friends, Megan and Liz, brought me over to the computers and introduced to me my first game addiction: neopets.
I was immediately struck by the sheer cuteness of the website. I was able to own a pet that could only be described as a ball of fluff with feet. Additionally, I got to play games to earn money to feed it, and shop and do everything that mimicked real life. I'm sure that I enjoyed it because as my mom said, I was born a thirty-year-old. I loved being responsible for something that was so important to me. Also, the flash games kicked ass. Suddenly, Liz and Megan and I became closer. We talked constantly about Meerca Chase and how our JubJubs were faring in battle, and suddenly weren't lonely anymore. Somehow, games, which had become a way to distract myself from the world around me, were now something that connected me to people.
Today, they remain as such. In high school, I became friends with predominately man-folk, who taught me to snipe, brawl, and planeswalk with expertise. In my current group of friends, being unable to play Magic, D&D, or video games makes you essentially unable to participate in conversation. It took me only two weeks to realize this in college, and immediately joined their D&D campaign. I did so begrudgingly at first, painfully aware of the D&D stereotypes that various geek-hating propoganda had poisoned my mind with. I was surprised to find, then, that I loved everything about D&D. I created my character (a death-touched sorceress with a raven familiar named Sebastian) and found myself eagerly anticipating the next time I would be able to orb of cold a wrong-doer or alchemist fire a bullywog. I love playing games because they're something to look forward to, something to make my day just a tad more exciting, and because they've transformed Sally, a sheepish overalls-wearing pre-teen to a confident, Magic enthusiast. Whether some may consider this to be a step backward is irrelevant, because ironically, through role-playing, I've found who I truly am. Probably.