We're all a Tad Crazy Sometimes

Life would be boring had we all been completely sane all of the time. We all have our little meltdowns, crazy moments and habits that other people find bizarre and makes us appear to be two eggs short of a dozen. Having received a text message yesterday regarding a former colleague’s apparent nervous breakdown (she made a number two on the bathroom floor, at work, instead of in the toilet and thought this was normal), I couldn’t help but ponder on my idiosyncrasies and the things I do, think and believe that, at times, too make me appear somewhat, shall I say, crazy.

Spending a day in my head would be interesting for some people and utterly frightening for others. You see the world according to me have certain rules; rules that one must abide by out of respect not only for yourself but also for those around you. Therefore, out of respect for your neighbors never leave the house in ugly clothes not even when taking out the trash. Performing menial task like this requires a certain amount of dignity and a robe, PJ’s and slippers is unacceptable. But there are other household chores that require less pageantry and more imagination.

Washing the dishes is something I absolutely dread and I never attempt it without rubber gloves. And this too have a certain routine to it. The dish water must be absolutely boiling hot and the items are always washed in a certain order. Seeing as this is a chore I loathe I make it more bearable for myself by wearing an imaginary tiara and sometimes I would even attempt singing. But, luckily for me we now own a dishwasher – the best invention by mankind in all of history. I still would wear my imaginary tiara while rinsing of the dishes before stacking them in my little magic cleaner, but instead of 20 minutes of washing it now only takes me 5, leaving me more time for my other queer habits like smelling my cats.

There’s a saying that reads “Always take the time to smell the roses”, well the same is true for cats. I would sniff my cats at least a couple of times a week and it relaxes me, they don’t particularly like it, but hey if they can smell each other’s asses I can sniff their fur. I believe smelling your cats is not only a unique way of showing them how much you love them and but also is a very effective way of checking up on their personal hygiene. After all, on completion of a good snuffing session they inevitably would end up spending an hour bathing themselves. Cats not only smell nice but they are also superb listeners too.

I have had many serious conversations with my cats about pressing issues. They don’t always appear to be enthralled by my discourse, but they always listen and sometimes they would even talk back. Other good listeners are telemarketers. Often times when I am bored and there are no Jehovah Witness around, I would engage telemarketers in heartfelt conversations. I amuse myself by asking them deeply personal questions about their personal lives, why they are still single, how strong they think their marriages/relationships are, whether they have ever cheated on their partners and whether God really exists. You’d be surprised by the responses I have had and how incapable they are of hanging up the phone in your ear. And this brings me to the issue of sex.

Most of us who are lucky have sex often and in order to do so one requires certain products, like condoms and KY. Frankly speaking I find purchasing these products embarrassing as the cashiers always looks at me judgingly and I know they know I am having sex. Buying sex aids became my husband’s responsibility three years ago after a rather awkward situation at a certain drug store with an over eager sales person that involved a crowd, condoms and KY. Let’s just say it was not my finest moment and the sales person had a really bad day as did I. Curiosity did not serve her well, and the same goes for my housekeeper.

Our housekeeper is obsessed with how much stuff costs and her vexing obsession has caused me to develop a paranoia about receipts. You see whenever hubby or I buy something whether it’s new dining room chairs, groceries or clothes she would dig through the trash, find the receipts and comment on how expensive and/or wasteful we are. It has reached a point where I am now shredding and hiding receipts from my maid. Sure we could fire her, but she is such a good housekeeper, sparing with cleaning products and punctual, the discreet disposing of receipts seems a small price to pay! But one day her mammoth guilt trips and assiduous curiosity about my spending habits will lead to a colossal melt down, the type I rarely have, but when I do have them they are epic!

Screaming is something people do who don’t know how to use words and I always try to avoid it. When I have melt downs I don’t raise my voice, I do one of three things – I either cry hysterically, behave like an emotionally disturbed child or become ominously quiet. In all three cases it’s always best to avoid eye contact with me, stay at least three feet way and speak with a quiet mild toned indoor voice. Transgressions of any of these rules while I am in the midst of an emotional supernova is sure to leave anyone traumatized and in need of serious counseling because I will then squeal profanities at you with apocalyptic zeal!

The world is one big queer place filled with strange and wonderfully diverse people and I firmly believe part of being sane requires us to be a little crazy. Embracing the crazy sometimes also opens up a new appreciation for the little things that makes life so very special. Sure, I sometimes behave like a child, I hide receipts from my maid, talk too and smell my cats and wash the dishes with a tiara while singing GAGA, but hey life is too short not to!

Till next time.

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