Thursday, October 6, 2011
Recently someone I’d just met sized me up through narrowed eyes and said, “I heard you were kind of quirky.” I’m not sure it was a compliment, but it was the truth.
I’ve been quirky from birth. You would be too, if your mother was a free-spirited Episcopalian and your father a foot-washing First Baptist deacon. They met on a blind date and proceeded to drive each other?and their offspring--crazy for the next 30 years.
If being quirky means being curious, socially awkward and sometimes voicing every thought that crosses my mind, I’m quirky.
I read too much, eat too fast and run like a penguin.
Every morning I prop a long, narrow, hand-painted wooden sign against the pillows on my bed. It says “Gone to Therapy,” which tells you all you need to know about me and morning.
I’m still crushing on Josh Groban. “Higher Window” makes my toes curl. Backwards.
Carrots are over-rated.
One of my favorite sayings came from an ex-basketball star on a reality TV show: “There are things I don’t do, and things I won’t do, but there’s nothing I can’t do.”
I hate going to the beauty salon, but with my hair it’s a necessary evil. I cringe the entire time?until the miraculous moment my steel-wool mop is blown out to smooth, silky perfection. Which lasts for 10 minutes, or until I walk out the door to my car.
I don’t get manicures because I’m a tightwad, plus the fact that I can’t not talk with my hands for even five minutes.
I don’t get pedicures because A) see manicures and B) I can’t imagine paying someone to labor over my little piggies. (Also see “foot-washing Baptist deacon father” entry, above.
I don’t get massages because HELLO?a stranger’s hands on my body?!?
Everyone should make a will by the time they’re 40. It’s very adult-ish.
I won’t watch one frame of any movie featuring the sexual degradation of women. Nor will I watch anything directed by, produced by, or starring Roman Polanski or Woody Allen. (One had sex with a 13-year-old, the other with his adopted daughter.) Ditto for Julia Roberts, who said hateful things about the south while filming “Sleeping With the Enemy” in Allendale years ago. And she’s from Georgia!
I like to cook, but only for other people.
I don’t know who’s unfriended me on Facebook, and couldn’t care less. Literally, I care more about the sex life of the Amazonian red ant than I care about who took their marbles and left my game.
If I unfriended you, it’s because I haven’t seen or spoken to you in, say, 20 years. Don’t take it personally.
I don’t eat red meat, and don’t believe anybody I know cares one way or the other.
You don’t need a lot of friends, just one or two who’d post your bail when the chips are down.
I used to be horrified when people said they didn’t go to church. Eventually I realized that a lot of good people don’t go to church, and it doesn’t make them any less good.
The best advice I ever heard was: “Don’t judge.”
I am blessed beyond my wildest dreams. Sometimes it feels like I sneaked into someone else’s awesome life.
Julie R. Smith, who has plenty of quirks she won’t tell, can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org .
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