Sunday, April 30, 2006
Even the freaks don't want me
There is a coffee shop that I often visit. It is open 23 hours a day, 365 days a year. I go there often to drink the thick black sludge that I enjoy, to study, to watch people and to get away from those in my life who are pissing me off.
The place is full of the oddballs who are not welcome in many other places. They allow the homeless to come in and sleep at the tables when the nights are cold. Writing or drawing on the walls is welcomed. There is practically a sign on the door that refuses service to anyone with fewer than 2 tattoos and twice as many piercings. I meet the requirement and have the unusually colored hair, black leather, and skulls that are present at all the tables. Doesnt matter. They still barely tolerate me after 15 years.
Why?
Because I have found the freaks to be no less judgmental of me than the normal folks. I do not use public transportation, ride my bike or drive a tiny, environmentally friendly car. I drive a big SUV with a stereo than can be heard for 2 blocks before I arrive. And it is just as likely to be blaring Eminem, Johnny Cash, Bob Marley or Gwen Stafani as it is Marilyn Manson, Flogging Molly, The Cramps or Bauhaus. I am uncool.
I wear black leather boots with buckles, Chuck Taylors with flames and have 5 pairs of Docs. But I also wear high heeled leather pumps, cute little strappy sandals and, when the weather is cold, big fuzzy Uggs.
One day studded black leather dog collar and chains, the next diamonds and rubies.
Like many of them, I am the perpetual student. Unlike them, I also hold down a decent job with an office and fancy business cards to be chuckled over. I do not go to school to avoid growing up and escape the responsibilities of adulthood. I go because I love to learn.
They are the artists, the poets and the musicians. I possess none of those skills and even lack the ability to appreciate much of it. I am a nerd.
And yet I do not fit it with the other nerds I know either for they judge me for all my darkness. Sexuality is foreign to them and the have no interest in visiting.
I lift with the bodybuilders and the weight trainers but then offend them because I am likely to pick up a piece of cheesecake on the way home from the gym. Protein drink and dessert. They cancel each other out, right?
I travel my own path. And it is a lonely road. I travel just close enough to the other paths to be able to see the people together celebrating, rejoicing, mourning, relaxing and loving together but not close enough to participate in any of it. I had seven deaths this past winter, starting with the suicide of my best friend and only protector and ending with the passing of my beloved feline companion. Seven times I mourned alone. And it sucks!
Yes, I am a freak. And in my own, strange way, I am proud of it. I refuse to put up a front and pretend to be something I am not so that I may gather some superficial friends and companions along the way.
So do not worry. I do not deny my status nor wish to change it. I shall embrace the title freak even though others wish to strip me of the name.
The place is full of the oddballs who are not welcome in many other places. They allow the homeless to come in and sleep at the tables when the nights are cold. Writing or drawing on the walls is welcomed. There is practically a sign on the door that refuses service to anyone with fewer than 2 tattoos and twice as many piercings. I meet the requirement and have the unusually colored hair, black leather, and skulls that are present at all the tables. Doesnt matter. They still barely tolerate me after 15 years.
Why?
Because I have found the freaks to be no less judgmental of me than the normal folks. I do not use public transportation, ride my bike or drive a tiny, environmentally friendly car. I drive a big SUV with a stereo than can be heard for 2 blocks before I arrive. And it is just as likely to be blaring Eminem, Johnny Cash, Bob Marley or Gwen Stafani as it is Marilyn Manson, Flogging Molly, The Cramps or Bauhaus. I am uncool.
I wear black leather boots with buckles, Chuck Taylors with flames and have 5 pairs of Docs. But I also wear high heeled leather pumps, cute little strappy sandals and, when the weather is cold, big fuzzy Uggs.
One day studded black leather dog collar and chains, the next diamonds and rubies.
Like many of them, I am the perpetual student. Unlike them, I also hold down a decent job with an office and fancy business cards to be chuckled over. I do not go to school to avoid growing up and escape the responsibilities of adulthood. I go because I love to learn.
They are the artists, the poets and the musicians. I possess none of those skills and even lack the ability to appreciate much of it. I am a nerd.
And yet I do not fit it with the other nerds I know either for they judge me for all my darkness. Sexuality is foreign to them and the have no interest in visiting.
I lift with the bodybuilders and the weight trainers but then offend them because I am likely to pick up a piece of cheesecake on the way home from the gym. Protein drink and dessert. They cancel each other out, right?
I travel my own path. And it is a lonely road. I travel just close enough to the other paths to be able to see the people together celebrating, rejoicing, mourning, relaxing and loving together but not close enough to participate in any of it. I had seven deaths this past winter, starting with the suicide of my best friend and only protector and ending with the passing of my beloved feline companion. Seven times I mourned alone. And it sucks!
Yes, I am a freak. And in my own, strange way, I am proud of it. I refuse to put up a front and pretend to be something I am not so that I may gather some superficial friends and companions along the way.
So do not worry. I do not deny my status nor wish to change it. I shall embrace the title freak even though others wish to strip me of the name.
Thursday, April 06, 2006
Bad day
I
hate
you
all.
I hate you motherfuckers who tell me not to be a cold, hard bitch. Tell me to lighten up and then make fun of me behind my back.
Fuck you!
I don't care that you call me fat, geeky, ugly, a biker bitch, or even stupid.
It is all true. You are only stating facts. Why would I get mad at you for saying the sky is blue?
What I hate are the lies. The people who claim to understand - to be my friend and then secretly (or not so secretly!) walk around insulting my looks, my behaviors, my beliefs.
- if you are going to be a backstabbing prick/cunt, at least put a little effort into it!
hate
you
all.
I hate you motherfuckers who tell me not to be a cold, hard bitch. Tell me to lighten up and then make fun of me behind my back.
Fuck you!
I don't care that you call me fat, geeky, ugly, a biker bitch, or even stupid.
It is all true. You are only stating facts. Why would I get mad at you for saying the sky is blue?
What I hate are the lies. The people who claim to understand - to be my friend and then secretly (or not so secretly!) walk around insulting my looks, my behaviors, my beliefs.
- if you are going to be a backstabbing prick/cunt, at least put a little effort into it!
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
Happy Boxelder Bug Day!
I am such a goof!
Every fall the boxelder bugs manage to find their way into my office at work. They hang out on my plants and enjoy the sunny window sill. I do not mind them and they don't hurt anything so I let them winter in the warmth before I carefully haul them back outside when the weather gets nice again. Today was a perfect spring day and so far I have made twelve trips outdoors carrying little bugs in my hands. I am sure that a couple stragglers will come to light in the next few days but for now I sit here all alone. My co-workers and the students here at school all think that I am nuts. They are right, of course.
