She's a Strange One

The sickness is passing! Today is the first day in a week that I woke up feeling more like a normal human being rather than a mucus monster from outer space! muahaha. My head is much clearer and sentences are being formed much easier. And lo and behold, the backspace key is working and my filter is back up! Except for that outer space part, I apologize.

As my loyal readers (whose readership, I'm sure is dwindling, since I have left you out in the cold for so long) know, I am not normal by any means. Sure, I may seem like a normal, nice, sweet girl on the outside, but once you start to get to know me and I start to feel really comfortable with you (which, by the way, doesn't take very long), you start to see my very strange side. I attribute much of this to my lack of friends as a small child. My mom told me that she would find me in the basement numerous times just playing by myself with My Little Ponies or Barbie (suuuper girly). I think I developed an overly active and exaggerated imagination during these years, which plays out on a daily basis in my life. It works well for me when I'm doing improv, but so much when I'm trying to have a normal conversation with a person whom I've just met.

Most of my friends and family are quite used to my overactive imagination and find it to be endearing (or at least I hope they do!), but they still roll their eyes at me when I go off the map and make absolutely no sense at all. A lot of the time, I am simply trying to be funny but to no avail. My sister is usually a good reality check when I start telling the story of the lonely gas attendant and his philosophies on why he loves to pump gas, and New Jersey is the only place that lets him do it as an occupation. Sometimes I do this on road trips, but no necessarily about the gas attendant and his 15 children he needs to feed! Come on people, it's heartwarming!

Another example of my weirdness: my roommate and I have an ongoing game in our apartment that involves a small magazine cutout of Justin Timberlake's head. It's called, "Find Justin." Basically, as you can imagine, one person tapes Justin's head cleverly somewhere in the apartment and the other person has to find it, then puts it in another discreet location. It's probably the most amazing game, and I didn't come up with it! I give full credit to my roommate with whom I share a wacky sense of humor. I don't think anyone else in the world would have been as excited about this game immediately when she mentioned it besides me. There is no final objective. We don't do it on a daily basis. It's just amusing to look around and see a teeny tiny Justin head taped on your painting, really amusing.

So, I was recently watching a preview to this movie, "My Sassy Girl," in which Elisha Cuthbert is a wacky girl and Jesse Bradford falls in love with her. The beginning of the trailer says, "She's beautiful. She's talented. She's crazy." Why are quirky women always crazy!? She believes in aliens, so what? I believe in cashmere (that was for my roommate, don't even try to decipher). Ok, so she really is kinda crazy from what the trailer tells me, and trailers don't lie, people! They may just include the "best" parts of the movie and some trailers may even be better than the movies...regardless.

The movie trailer got me to thinking. I may be a little crazy, quirky and down-right strange sometimes, but I'm not that strange. I do have a job, and a good one at that! I do have friends who like me, so I'm not a complete werido. If Jesse Bradford can fall in love with someone who slaps him in the face for no reason, I should be able to find a guy who can tolerate my inane stories about gas attendants and strategic placement of Justin Timberlake's head in my apartment. I mean really.

So, since the sickness is passing, I'm going out for my cousin's birthday party tonight. Whenever I don't interact with people for a couple of days, I get extremely wacky, so I am expecting some major eye rolls and/or laughs tonight from the crazy shit that is bound to come out of my mouth. Not shit literally, but words, you know? Of course you know. And here it starts.