Fall seems to finally be arriving in Texas.  That’s my version of “how ’bout them Cowboys?!”  Southerners get it.

Anyhoozles, did you know that I’m a weirdo?  I can picture the looks of shock on all of your faces as I type this out.  Allen’s a…weirdo?!? This is the first we’re hearing of this!

No, really, it’s true.  I have this vibe to me.

Wanna know why I’m a weirdo?  My barely contained enthusiasm for…everything.  My body (and there’s a lot of it) vibrates daily with excitement and enthusiasm for so many things that it can barely be contained.  You think a body this size could hold quite a bit, but I hit critical mass years ago–and I’m not just talking about the size of my ass for once.


If I run across a person who intrigues me, something pretty, something unique, something that smells delicious, a song I love, a raccoon (obvs), I go into full-on freaking weirdo mode.  I don’t hold back.  I have to express my adoration and excitement.  I’m the type of freak to say to a perfect stranger: “You’re my new best friend”.  And, if you’re the aforementioned raccoon–I will try to pet you.  I don’t care if you’re foaming at the mouth.  That goes for the stranger who’s my new best friend and the raccoon.

Ask JoJo how many times this scenario has played out:

Me: *staring creepily at her*

JoJo: What’s your fucking problem?!?

Me: I just adore you.

JoJo: …

Me: I really love you.

JoJo: You’re a fucking weirdo.  Love you, too.

This is usually followed by me tackling her into the wall and hugging her like Lenny found a bunny while she screams for help.  But no one is coming to save her.  She has to suffer.  She signed a piece of paper in front of a judge.  I own that piece of crap.

I can’t help it.  Sometimes I just have to express how happy I am, how enthusiastic I am, how much I love things.

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But I don’t have the social skills to make this aspect of my personality not come off as anything but weird.  You know what makes it worse?  I really really really try to control it whenever I realize that it’s bubbling out.

I’m too self-aware.  I know that if I walk up to a stranger I just saw pick up an ice cream I love from the freezer case at the grocery store and try to strike up a conversation about how mint chocolate chip is the best ice cream, I’ll probably get maced.  At best, I’ll get the dreaded “what kind of fucking weirdo are you?” look.  That look stings.  And the cops might get called.  It’s just a bad situation waiting to develop.

I also take things at face value.  For such a sarcastic, fat fuck, I tend to take the things people say and believe that they truly mean them.  I don’t detect others’ sarcasm as well as I should, nor do I detect it quickly when people are being disingenuous.  If someone says “Oh, my God, isn’t Taylor Swift amazeballs?!” I’ll treat them to a ten-minute monologue about how Shake It Off is the anthem we all needed when we needed it.  Of course, then I see the “look at this weirdo” expression on their face and I realize that, once again, I’ve missed the mark with my poor social skills.

I’m a pretty sarcastic person.  I deal with a lot of things with humor.  A lifetime of battling anxiety and depression have forced me to either develop a dark, dark, dark sense of humor or succumb to a really dangerous mentality.  A lifetime of feeling on edge randomly (thank you, depression, anxiety, and horrible people) has forced me to develop a pretty thick skin.  An air of “I don’t give an eff of any size”–which is in direct contrast to who I truly am as a person.  That person is “really big cheerleader”.

I’ll pop, lock, and drop it for anything I think is amazing.  That could be anything from a really tasty slice of pizza to that raccoon who is foaming at the mouth.  But, I’ll be a total asshole while I’m doing it.

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I guess the fact that I’m not apologetic about it, the fact that I know I’m being a weirdo but don’t try too hard to stop it, the fact that I will never stop doing it, can be a little much for a wide swath of the populace.  That’s okay.  I’m not everyone’s cup of tea.  I’m a really fine bourbon, anyway.

So, I guess, what I’m saying today is:

Not everyone will appreciate your enthusiasm.  Fuck it.  Be enthusiastic anyway.

Be you.  Be weird.  Us weirdos get it.

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I gotta go.

Until next time…


18 thoughts on “Not Everyone’s Cup of Tea

  1. So is there like a basic bitches thing for weirdos? Cuz I was thinking that I don’t really fit into the basic bitches mold after I read Kat’s blog, as much as I fit into the weirdos mold cuz I don’t even have a pair of knock off Uggs. And I only drink hot drinks when it’s really cold outside, but I say shit that people freak out over that gets me into trouble and I don’t back down to things I don’t believe in or agree with that gets me into trouble and I’m always being told to calm down or pipe down and I love boxes because I love decorating boxes that people want to put me in and then I want to decorate boxes for others but I don’t want them to be in it and I’m rarely in any one box myself because I’m out looking for fun shit to decorate it with. I want my box just to hold space for all those things that can’t fit and don’t fit anywhere else.– those intangible things that permeate a freaking box that I decorated — great conversations and funny shit and Buddy’s farts. Boy would I love to contain those! And I love people but I hate people when they’re trying to have normal conversations because I’m an idea person and I know how to poke holes into other people’s arguments pretty well and I don’t follow what other people do very well because I believe in thinking for myself and I speak up usually but I think we need to come up with a basic bitches thing for weirdos. But then if we did that, would it kind of normalize being weird or would that just be hipster? Allen, what do you think? Mona 🙂

    1. I think we should just stay on the fringe and be weirdos. I mean, I don’t like being one thing or another. I’m just an “Allen”. LOL I mean, sure, sometimes it stings when people treat me like a weirdo when I’m just being nice–but I’m old. I don’t have any fucks to give anymore. Can’t spare ’em…

      1. I wish I could give up all of my fucks. No. No I don’t. Not really. I’ve got fucks to spare. You’re right. We just got to embrace who we are. You’re all Allen and I’m all Mona and there is never going to to be anyone quite like either of us ever again! WooHoo!

  2. Weird you may be, but you’re our kind of weird and we love you just the way you are! If there’s such a thing as too sarcastic I’ve never met it… though my husband (and friends, and family, and co workers, most salespeople, hairdressers, mailmen… okay you get the picture) will tell you I’m the dictionary definition. I may be charming online, but in reality there are those who think I’m “too much”…. whatever that means. Fly your flag high and proud, if you’re not everyone’s cup of tea, that just means there’s more for us. I’ll take mine with lemon please.

      1. Well, never fear. If I see you in the ice cream aisle buying my favorite flavor (mint chocolate chip rules!) with a foaming at the mouth raccoon in your cart, I shall bear hug you into oblivion…. let the world be damned.

  3. That’s why I sign off most of my blogs with “Stay weird, my friends. Normal is boring.” Keep it weird, my friend and just keep doing you!

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