We weirdos never get enough credit.
It's tough being this weird all the time. We get ostracized and picked on. Well, I don't get picked on because I'm creepy and the van is legendary. But most weird people get picked on.
And you never get The Girl. You know The Girl--that one who is by far too normal and sane to be caught dead hanging out with you. The Girl doesn't get all your jokes and the ones she does get she finds too dark to laugh at.
Usually Valentine's Day is the roughest time to be weird. Everybody is off being happy while we're pondering the weaponization of chocolate.
But Christmas is a close second. It's too.....sane. All that preconceived, carbon-copy, canned happiness is just frustrating. People having parties and doing social things. And nobody wants to invite a weirdo unless they have to--like family. So most of us weird people do our own things on Christmas.
One of my favorites is running up and down the streets on Christmas Eve night, at about 2AM, with a large belt of sleigh bells. Sometimes I shout, "Merry Christmas!" Then, I watch the lights turn on in the houses and sometimes I can actually hear the kids screaming.
This reminds me of a weird story. So, back when I was in college, I used to hang around various people in the BDSM community. It wasn't so much my thing as I could relate to them and they accepted me. BDSM people aren't too picky. Anyways, I needed some leather belts, restraints, harnesses, whips, prods and crops. All the things a good Dom needs. And I was looking for a belt so I could attach my sleigh bells.
So, I went to the local Farm & Fleet store because it was a small town, and that's where you go for stuff like that. Keep in mind that back then, I was only person on campus with a shaved head, one of the very few guys with an ear ring and I wore a dog collar. And I'm not a small guy.
But I was at Farm & Fleet checking on various toys and tools. I had a couple of harnesses around my neck, one was tightened around my chest, and I was experimenting with various whips, prods and crops. Since nobody was around for me to hit, and nobody was there to hit me, I was hitting myself on the backside just to make sure they had the right feel. I did that for about 10 minutes before I looked up to see 3 farming couples standing at the end of the isle. Husbands and wives. They were just staring at me with their jaws open.
I smiled and gave them the "thumbs up" sign and they walked off shaking their heads and muttering about the crazy college kids in town.
So yeah, being weird at Christmas is fun, and often times we have to entertain ourselves. I've gotten good at it, too.
Larry Update: Larry, my houseplant, has grown 3 feet in the past 3 weeks. I'm totally impressed with his effort into this. Each morning I cheer him on and let him know how proud I am of his growth. But I have to be careful because if I do it too much, he starts to curse at me.
And Larry has a very foul mouth. Or whatever he's using to talk.
It's tough being this weird all the time. We get ostracized and picked on. Well, I don't get picked on because I'm creepy and the van is legendary. But most weird people get picked on.
And you never get The Girl. You know The Girl--that one who is by far too normal and sane to be caught dead hanging out with you. The Girl doesn't get all your jokes and the ones she does get she finds too dark to laugh at.
Usually Valentine's Day is the roughest time to be weird. Everybody is off being happy while we're pondering the weaponization of chocolate.
But Christmas is a close second. It's too.....sane. All that preconceived, carbon-copy, canned happiness is just frustrating. People having parties and doing social things. And nobody wants to invite a weirdo unless they have to--like family. So most of us weird people do our own things on Christmas.
One of my favorites is running up and down the streets on Christmas Eve night, at about 2AM, with a large belt of sleigh bells. Sometimes I shout, "Merry Christmas!" Then, I watch the lights turn on in the houses and sometimes I can actually hear the kids screaming.
This reminds me of a weird story. So, back when I was in college, I used to hang around various people in the BDSM community. It wasn't so much my thing as I could relate to them and they accepted me. BDSM people aren't too picky. Anyways, I needed some leather belts, restraints, harnesses, whips, prods and crops. All the things a good Dom needs. And I was looking for a belt so I could attach my sleigh bells.
So, I went to the local Farm & Fleet store because it was a small town, and that's where you go for stuff like that. Keep in mind that back then, I was only person on campus with a shaved head, one of the very few guys with an ear ring and I wore a dog collar. And I'm not a small guy.
But I was at Farm & Fleet checking on various toys and tools. I had a couple of harnesses around my neck, one was tightened around my chest, and I was experimenting with various whips, prods and crops. Since nobody was around for me to hit, and nobody was there to hit me, I was hitting myself on the backside just to make sure they had the right feel. I did that for about 10 minutes before I looked up to see 3 farming couples standing at the end of the isle. Husbands and wives. They were just staring at me with their jaws open.
I smiled and gave them the "thumbs up" sign and they walked off shaking their heads and muttering about the crazy college kids in town.
So yeah, being weird at Christmas is fun, and often times we have to entertain ourselves. I've gotten good at it, too.
Larry Update: Larry, my houseplant, has grown 3 feet in the past 3 weeks. I'm totally impressed with his effort into this. Each morning I cheer him on and let him know how proud I am of his growth. But I have to be careful because if I do it too much, he starts to curse at me.
And Larry has a very foul mouth. Or whatever he's using to talk.
I have a comment. And here it is. Happy Christmas, Weirdo! I am an Anglophile and I like to say Happy Christmas instead of Merry Christmas because I am a weirdo.
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