A Merry Celebration of Un-Birthday... Joy.

To say that strange people gravitate toward me is a minimization. The frequency at which I find some stranger wanting to tell me something bizarre has grown at a rate that can be only described as alarming. Sometimes I feel like I have fallen down a hole and found myself lost in a world of madness.

Today, I stopped at a nearby grocery-type store near where I work. My mood was somewhat tense; I was trying to manage three things at once and I hadn’t eaten all day. As I stood in line with my fruit and ice cream cone lunch (yes, I have turned to frozen treats as a way to cope with stress) I heard a high pitched, gargling voice announce, “Yes, this should tide me over until the end of the conference.” There was a strange force to this voice, loud and declarative, like he was talking to everyone in the room but no one was interested. The volume and intensity of the voice suggested that he was directing these comments to me. I was hesitant to turn and look. “Yep. This should be good.” Damn it. Some idiot is trying to get my attention. My head turned slightly to reveal a pimple-faced, twenty something with a bag of gummy worms and a Styrofoam basin of chicken fingers. “There is a conference next door.” “Hmm,” I replied. Apparently he missed my disinterest because he kept on going. “Yeah, it is a science fiction conference. Are you a student here?” “Uh, no. I work next door.” “Oh, well if you were a student you could go for free. But there are all sorts of workshops and lectures. It is really amazing.” “Cool.” I nod my head and try to get the cashier’s attention. “Let me show you.” He balances his food on the display next to us and reaches into his bag to pull out a schedule. Glancing at the schedule I see a lectures like, Bella as a Mother: The Fantasy and Danger of Vampire Offspring and Wizards, Unicorns and You. I nodded and paid for my indulgent lunch, walking away without a word. I guess I should be grateful. It is not every day you run into a walking stereotype. The problem is that this wasn’t the first time some very odd stranger approached me.

Last night I was standing in the fabric store looking at buttons. I swear, I was minding my own business when this lady with a wobbly voice and a shock of white hair to me announced, “I finally found it!” I thought she was talking to herself so I continued looking through the vintage reproduction buttons. “This will be perfect.” She said it a little bit louder, as if to get someone’s attention. I looked in the opposite direction and the past her, down the aisle. Crap. I am the only one here. Smiling, I said, “Oh, what did you find?” She showed me an iron on pattern book with a line drawing of clothes hanging on a line. “I am organizing a reunion and the theme is: Things I Remember About My Mother.” “Oh, how nice.” “My sister and I used to put these things together but she just died.” Tears begin to well in her eyes. “I am so sorry to hear that.” “I bought some fabric for a table cloth. My mother used to hang our clothes out on the line. I wanted to put this image on that cloth.” “What a lovely thought, fabric blowing in the breeze.” “Yes. We used to have chickens. She would chop their heads off and hang them from the line, too. I think I am going to add that to the picture.” “Oh.” She thanked me for talking to her. I told her it was my pleasure. Now I can’t get the image of bloody chicken heads hanging from a clothes line out of my mind.

The third story is a little less detailed. The names and particulars have been withheld to protect the idiots. Let’s just say that earlier this week somebody told me that they loved me in the romantic, I-Can’t-Get-You-Off-My-Mind Way and I became incensed. Not a normal response to a declaration of love, right? Well, it is a pretty complicated situation but one of the things that annoyed me about this pronouncement was that they don’t know me AT ALL.

And that brings us to the thesis question of this blog: Why do the denizens of Crazytown know my address and invite themselves over for a tea party? Is there an invitation on my back to an un-birthday engagment in their honor? Is it the way I look? Is it the way I carry myself? I don’t think I am encouraging these people. If you have the answer, perhaps in the form of an “Eat Me” or “Drink Me” potion, I would be much obliged. I miss my cat.