• author
    • Marie Forster

    • December 17, 2014 in Bloggers


    A few weeks ago, my boyfriend and I were cleaning up the house. Now, when I say “cleaning up the house,” I mean cleaning all of the pieces of garbage that his stupid dog gets everywhere. I came to the area in the bedroom where his dog bed was and stopped abruptly. “Um, babe? Could you do me a favor and just grab that stuff on the floor real quick?” I asked sweetly. Thinking there must be something heavy or gross on the floor, he came around the bed and looked down. “What? What is it?” he asked, looking very confused.

    If you have read this previous post of mine, you can probably see where this is going. He, however, clearly did not read that entry. Great. I gave him the quick and dirty version of why I don’t touch foam. Normally, he is a loving and compassionate man. He’s very sweet and kind to me. So, you can just imagine my horror as he proceeded to laugh hysterically, pick up the foam, and chase me with it. I’d love to tell you all that we had a really good laugh about it, but, I’m not a liar. As I was running for dear life throughout the house, hysterical, almost on the verge of tears, he shouted “NERD!!!”

    WHAT??? Where did this come from? I’ve never identified as a nerd. In fact, I always thought I was kind of cool! I can only remember one other time someone called me a nerd, and it happened to be in college. I was taking a literature in film class (shut up), and it was primarily made up of English majors, except for this one guy. He was a football player and loved to tell everyone within ear shot about it. The course was incredibly interesting and engaging, and I looked forward to it every week. One day, after a lively discussion, I was heading over to the student union, rehashing the class in my head. Suddenly, I heard someone yell, “Hey! Nerd!” from behind me. Of course, I wasn’t turning around; that couldn’t have been for me. “HEY! NERD!” louder now. My eyes start scanning around, looking for this poor soul who’s getting called out. How embarrassing! Then, I felt a tap on my shoulder. No. nonononononono. Not me. Sure enough, I turned to see this big idiot’s face, goofily laughing at me. “Hey, I was calling you!” Asshole.



    I wasn’t really bullied growing up (except by my brother, but that was more like attempted murder). I played every sport under the sun, had plenty of friends. To me, a nerd was someone who’s super into math, wears fitted sweat pants, and eats Bagel Bites for dinner. I’m not a nerd! Sure, I love reading and learning things. Who doesn’t? Yes, I have little idiosyncrasies that may or may not border on OCD. I like to think they’re part of my charm. But…….a nerd?? I wasn’t so sure.

    The more I thought about it, the more intrigued and defiant I became. This needed to be researched! My first step was to look up the very definition of the word nerd.


    noun \ˈnərd\

    : a person who behaves awkwardly around other people and usually has unstylish clothes, hair, etc.

    : a person who is very interested in technical subjects, computers, etc.

    courtesy of Merriam-Webster

    Hmm. Ok. Well, that’s not looking too promising for me. I can certainly be awkward around people and we all know I’m not the most stylish of creatures. The second part of the definition just cemented my nerdiness; I am looking up the definition to prove a point.

    However, I’m not one to back down from things. Oh no. Instead, I went back to him and challenged him to give me ANOTHER example of why I’m a nerd. As I threw down this gauntlet, I immediately regretted saying anything. The look in his eyes was almost maniacal. It was like he was just given every Christmas present ever in the world and could open them all immediately. Obviously, I couldn’t show my fear, so I instead stood there, ready for the assault. I CAN DO THIS!

    “Well, to start, you get nervous about any fast acceleration when we’re driving” he said, smirking. Clearly, he had this one ready to go. A softball. Yes, it is true that I get very jumpy if he accelerates suddenly when we’re driving. I know he’s a good driver, but it’s still scary to me. What can I say; I’ve never been an adrenaline junky. “That’s not being nerdy, that’s being safe!” I proudly state, my voice cracking a tiny bit. “Just what a nerd would say,” he retorted. Ugh. This isn’t good.

    “Ok, what else? We have established I don’t like foam, or fast accelerations. SO WHAT! I still do not meet the definition of “nerd.” I’m a person who has an aversion to a particular type of man-made material, and doesn’t enjoy Dukes of Hazard-style driving.” I said, feeling complete confidence. I felt like I was making some progress in this ridiculous argument.

    “You’re constantly correcting grammar, spelling and pronunciations,” he said. Okay, that one is pretty dead on.

    “AND! You are a closet gamer.”

    This last one I really couldn’t deny either. It’s true, I love me some video games. But, I’m not a gamer in the sense that I play every video game out there. I’m a gamer in the sense that I love video games, particularly RPG games. My absolute most favorite game in the world is Skyrim. It’s a gorgeous game. Super detailed, humungous, amazing graphics and storyline….it’s just my jam. Again, I don’t identify myself as a gamer because to me, those people are in deep. I’m just more of a fan girl. But, in the context of our conversation, it was kind of a critical strike.

    I am a nerd.

    It’s all true. I love to learn. I love books. I don’t like dangerous activities and I enjoy a good video game. Does that make me nerdy? Pretty much. I’ve decided to take a new approach and embrace this label. I can use it for good, like taking this experience and writing a blog post for you all to enjoy. Now, you must excuse me because How It’s Made is on and I really need to know how seamless rolled rings are made.

      • Kat

      • December 17, 2014 at 9:36 am
      • Reply

      Welcome to the field of your kindred dancing bee’s!

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