Laughing All The Way

Why are you like this

I forced her out of the room. To be fair, and why not because that seems so much nicer, we forced her out of the room. My roommate (to be) and I made the plan. There was nothing stealthy about our movements and we were unconcerned with her feelings. Because she was odd.

Understand, this was before, when I didn’t realize that odd was a show of strength of character. I had yet to join (and see the fleshy underside of) a sorority. I was new to college and my whole understanding of the world was shaped in the idealism that was rampant amongst suburban teenagers who never had anything to really test ideals. I (forgive me) was not unpopular in high school and for some reason; college was an inkblot mirror image. I picked up where I left off and the days blended and blurred. The essays that I started to form within my core were able to mature and the fledgling sarcasm and wit (that was very harsh in high school) were honed to a fine craft. I became more of what I was and less of what I wasn’t, but that was to come after we made the move.

She wore clothes that had faded from use and wash, but not in the cool vintage way. She spoke of architectural features with awe and wonder. She wore her hair long and loose with angry fly-aways that were always in her eyes. Oh, and she was so depressing. I don’t think it was so much what she said, more how she spoke. Tone, inflection, weight, all lost on her. The monotonous droning was like Eeyore on lithium.

I just remember when I decided that she had to go. We were unpacking and she put her CDs on the shelf. To this day I have never met anyone with a more extensive collection of the Cure. I know that seems like such small thing, but at that time I was all over Seattle grunge bands and even at that early age had a CD collection that was deeply surprising and well stocked for both parties and impressiveness. I suppose that today I would be less disdainful of her, but I think that I would still have forced her out of the room. After all, she was odd.

Great anamnesis post.

Perhaps the girl may have changed since those high school blended pre-sorority days.  I’m curious and wonder what oddness you saw in her reflected in yourself?  You make “odd” sound like a final kiss.

You’ve made her sound rather cool to me.

J- I think that my treatment of her has identified all the features that should have made her the coolest mo’fo on the planet. I mean she should have be tighter than Samuel L. but she wasn’t. It was like she had all the right pieces but just couldn’t get it together. Cool is subjective and all, but from what she told me, I knew that she was well aware of her faults and flaws. Plus, she use to turn to me and say, “You are so cool, I just wish some of that would rub off on me.” It hurts to hear people say that. As much as she meant it as a compliment, I felt downtroddened by the sentiment. That’s some heavy shit to carry.

Sideon, oddness is not the kiss of death, and in fact, I recognize the fact that I am a touch odd. People who know me will attest to my oddness and yeah yeah yeah all that stuff. There is good odd and bad odd.

Bad odd is the kid in high school who use to abuse his fruit into shapes and then pretend that they were talking to him. Fruit puppets are not cool odd, they are creepy odd. Just saying.

As for what I saw in myself: long hair worn loose (but nary a flyaway), vintage clothes faded (from their previous owner), and extensive knowledge of architectural features (by reason of my major and was never spoken on in mixed company).

I suppose that in a different time and place we could have been friendly, but I still know that I could never happily co-habitate. She was just so depressing and that is one thing that I am not and with which I cannot abide.