I collect weirdos like people collect tchotchkes on a shelf. It’s both a blessing and a curse. Some are fun and fascinating. Among them is a former Franciscan nun and military vet turned talented fresco painter. Her work is amazingly free and whimsical. There is the bi-polar boy wonder who at 50 is trapped in the body of a 15-year-old; he’s smart, clever and exceptionally witty. I am accustomed to buckling in for his roller-coaster mood swings. There is also the transexual sissy sommelier, whose vulnerability is sweet and endearing. She constantly confesses she wishes she has been born a girl. They are beautiful, wonderfully weird people, who add texture and color to my life. They are blessings and I have a gift for seeing them for who they are and loving them. They are my friends.
But if it’s true about what they say, “your vibe attracts your tribe,” I. am. f*cked. It would seem I also have that invisible homing beacon for those weirdos less fun or fantastic. There is the paranoid pot farmer who threatens to go postal at every local and national election and actively works to recruit me to his cause. There is the mean-mouthed genius actuary that insists he is too smart to ever be wrong…about anything, ever. He “tolerates” me because he finds me mildly interesting…and attractive. There is also the 400-pound neo-nazi who spews venom without end but manages to overlook my Jewish roots. He uses the word “kike” at every opportunity. I can’t tell if he is oblivious or using it to try to provoke a reaction. It’s a curse. Even when I shut them down and slam the door, they are slipping notes under the door.
Dating is a nightmare. Somehow I attract dull men without jobs, personal hygiene…or teeth. I attract men with psycho baby mamas or deep personal dramas. I attract crossdressers and militant lesbians, religious fanatics and dooms-day preppers. I get gamers, gamblers, and goths with unhealthy obsessions. I attract hoarders, collectors and amateur detectives, addicts and ambulance chasers. I attract men who flaunt their thick thatch of chest hair, gold chains, and ankle bracelets. I even attract the Nigerian money scammers, who pledge their undying love in the first minute. Seriously, what the hell?
What is it about me that screams, “weirdos apply here”? If you passed me on the street you would hardly notice me (unless you are weird). There is nothing extraordinary about my appearance or dress. I am confident, strong, stable, safe and secure, but how would they know? What magnetic pulse am I sending out? It is one of the great mysteries of my life. I’d like to know where the off switch is. My life is full and I don’t have the capacity for more. In fact, I would be quite happy to part with half of my collection…for free. If you are interested…inquire within.