Weird is Wonderful

If there’s one thing that living alone has done for me, it’s made my slightly question my sanity more than I did before. That being said, I’m kind of loving it. I’m learning a lot about myself.

Mostly, I’ve learned that I’m delightfully weird.

I mean, I kind of knew that already but I’ve gotten to a point where I’m actually ok with it and find myself kind of amusing.

For example: There is an office under my living room and because of the way the building was made, I can hear the guy downstairs if he’s talking loudly on the phone (which he usually is because he has an air conditioner down there). The other day, this happened:

Guy Downstairs: Yeah, no one will ever know how f#@ing dumb we are! *laughs*

Me: *looks down at the floor with crazy eyes* I will know. *whispers* I will know.

I then burst into amused laughter at my own crazy and turned the exchange into my Facebook status.

People liked it.

More importantly, I liked it.

For a long time I think I used to either hide from being weird or kind of adopt a weirder personality than I had as a defense mechanism. These days, I’m finding out that my particular brand of weird is sometimes macabre, sometimes wildly inappropriate, and often kind of delightful.

Humour is a way I usually connect with other people, so it’s been odd finding myself connecting to who I am by the things I do that end up making me laugh.

A lot of the times they’re pun based. Like when I can’t find the remote, only to realize it’s in the other room and then start laughing because my first thought was “It’s in a REMOTE location.”

Other times I end up laughing because I see something like an advertisement for the Body exhibit and I start singing that song from that one Simpson’s Halloween episode: “Just one sniff of that fog and you’re insiiiiiiiiiiiiide out! It’s worse than that flesh eating virus you’ve read about!”

I’ve even been surprised by the things I watch or read that make me actually laugh out loud. Maybe I just notice it more now that I’m the only one here.

It’s kind of been a weird side-effect of living alone. It’s like I’m getting to know myself and we get along way better than I ever expected we would, given past history.

I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’d love to find someone who laughs as hard as I do when I’m putting body lotion on and creepily whisper to myself “It puts the lotion on its skin”, but I’m learning that I really don’t want to dim the laughter I’ve apparently already got inside me for anyone else.

I once had a roommate that got really pissy when I’d sing to myself as I made a sandwhich. Which, you know, is kind of understandable, but when I stopped doing it out loud, she’d get mad at me for singing it in my head and kind of dancing to it a bit. Most of these times, she wasn’t even in the same room and I wasn’t really in a position where I’d have been distracting if she wasn’t looking at me in the first place.

She probably envies my sammiches. 

Incidentally, I still sing my sandwhich song sometimes and it kind of goes to the tune of Business Time by Flight of the Concords but the lyrics go “Iiiiiiiiiiiiiiit’s sandwhich tiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiime. It’s sandwhich time, the time everybody makes a sandwhich” the rest is generally improvised.

It is a glorious piece of art.

As is my sandwhich dancing, which does not happen often but generally just involves me moving a bit like I’m on an elliptical and falling down.

Anyway, my point is: The more comfortable I am with own weirdness, the more comfortable I’m becoming in my own skin.

After all, like Dr. Seuss said, we’re all weird and when we find someone equally weird we fall into mutual weirdness and that’s called love.

I like to think that I bring and share my weirdness to those around me and I hope they feel that it enriches their lives the way I feel it’s enriching mine.

I don’t know if the weird is catching.

But I think it might be.

This past Saturday, I was back in my hometown helping my Mum with a garage sale we were hosting at my grandparents. For some reason, the town was even quieter than quiet small towns usually are, but there was a little bit of traffic going on at the farmer’s market across the way.

Partly because I was bored, partly because I thought it might attract customers, and partly because I thought it was funny, I donned a cow mask and started dancing ridiculously to the music on the radio.

I danced for a really long time.

I even switched out costumes from time to time but the cow head got the most laughs, so I stuck with that.

At first, Mum didn’t really understand what I was doing.

Me: *dancing in a cow mask to the radio in a mascot-type manner*

Granny Reta: *surprised laugh* Look at that?

Mum: *turns and looks at me, laughs* What are you doing?

Me: *still dancing* Attracting customers with my sick dance moves! *wiggles chest and dances MORE obnoxiously*

Mum: *doubting me for some strange reason* Uh-huh….

Me: IT’LL WORK, MUM! *still dancing* Because of reasons!

Mum: *amused* Ooook.

Me: *still dancing* IT’S SCIENCE!

I’m not sure how many customers came in because of my sweet dance moves, but we did get at least one couple who said they’d had no intention to stop until they saw my dancing and thought it was funny. So, clearly, I was right.

By the end of the day, I even spread my weirdness around.

And you know what?

Dr. Seuss was right.

Mutual weirdness IS love.


Left to Right: My Mum as Buisness Time Alien, Me as Dancing Cow, and my Granny Reta as our Straw-Lady.


Posted on June 12, 2015, in Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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