Tightly Wound

Random Weirdness

Those of you who surf at odd hours may have noticed the bizarro-world comment spam that appeared on the previous entry--Marc did, and commented that I tend to attract my fair share of weirdos. I usually keep all the nutbar comments around for the perverse humor I take from them, but I had to delete that one, because it was just too freaking long to deal with. Maybe I'll start saving them into a Compilation of Crazy, and publish excerpts every now and again.

I do tend to attract random weirdness on this blog, which I find sort of odd considering its relatively low profile. I mean, I would expect my more opinionated blog brethren and sistren to get a lot of trolls and cranks, but I'm not exactly what you'd call a magnet for controversy. But then again, this sort of thing happens to me in real life A LOT.

I don't know what it is about me, but people who are in the throes of emotional trauma or who have deep-seated psychological problems tend to home in on me like delusional pigeons. It happens to me a lot when I'm shopping--random people come up and ask me for advice, and then launch into these sometimes truly horrifying tales of woe, and I'm just standing there wondering how the hell I'm supposed to recommend a recipe for frozen chicken when this 80 year-old-man is telling me that it's the government's fault that he lost his wife and now he has to cook for one and doesn't know how to do it. See? Tragic, yes, but also delusional, because his wife, from what I could tell from his commentary had perished of old age, not black helicopter induced cancer. And that's a fairly ordinary 5 minute encounter in the frozen foods section of the local BJs--if you're me, that is.

It used to be that random children tended to flock toward me. This was when I was 20 or so and hated all things child-related with a fiery passion. My friends and I could be in the middle of a mall or restaurant, when suddenly a child would materialize at my elbow and either offer me a pre-licked lollipop or ask me to tie their shoe or introduce me to their Woobie Bear. And it was always me, never my maternally-inclined friends or any other convenient grownup.

Now it's random grown-ups. I don't think I have a particularly approachable air about me, I don't make eye contact with strangers, and generally these people have to go out of their way to get my attention, when there are 4 or 5 other more easily reachable folks nearby. It's either karma biting me in the ass or some weird vibe I put out. And it must be a vibe that translates to the internet.

On the bright side, it does provide plenty of blog fodder.

Posted by Big Arm Woman at November 29, 2006 12:30 PM