I’m not normal. I don’t know what normal is. And the cliche says that nobody is “normal.” But I’m really not normal. In fact, I’m pretty fucking bizarre, which is why I have a terrible, terrible time meeting men. Sigh.
Anywho! There are some things that definitely separate me from the pack of humanity. Below are 5 of these things.
1. I love cutting coupons!
Ever since I was a little, limp-wristed homo in training, I have been calmed by the soothing act of slicing scissors across dotted lines to reap incremental savings off of products such as bath tissue, Cinnamon Toast Crunch and Bacon Bits. Every Sunday I would run outside to snatch up the paper, throw the departments on the ground and tear into the Sunday Savings. With my mom standing in the kitchen either doing the dishes or washing her hair in the sink (for some reason she viewed the kitchen sink as a catchall for cleanliness), I would crack open the insert and clip all the products I saw regularly in the kitchen. If there was an item that was questionable, I’d yell out to my mom, “Mom! Mom! Mom! Mom! Mom!” (mind you her head was often under a gushing faucet). When she finally gave me the attention I deserved, I’d ask her, “Do we use Colgate toothpaste or AIM?”, to which she would roll her eyes and say, “Just clip them out and put them in a pile I’ll sort through them later!” At the end, I always felt a wonderful sense of accomplishment. Did I mention I had very few friends?
2. I love Ziggy!
Hahahahahahaha! Duct tape! Genious!
Another remnant from my past, growing up I was obsessed with Ziggy, the fat, short bald man who starred in his own comic strip about how the world hates him. True, in later years he started talking about love and rainbows. But classic Ziggy was all about getting shit on. And I ate it up. I had dozens of Ziggy dolls, including a gigantic plush Ziggy that I slept with everynight. My sheets were Ziggy sheets, and my favorite book was a Ziggy anthology that I read so many times it became tattered. Looking back on it, I see all this as the early signs of my gayness. I mean, here I am, an 8-year-old boy sleeping with a middle-aged troll of a man. Twenty years later, the same thing still happens on occasion.
3. I love fast food Web sites!
There's more grease in this picture than on the faces of a dozen high schoolers.
Only on the rarest occassions do I actually eat fast food. I live in Chicago. I can get amazing cuisine blocks away from my apartment. Why would I want to trudge through slush and snow just to chow down on a burger that resembles a piece of painted styrophoam. And the shits. Don’t get me started! But I have a strange obsession with fast food Web sites. I love visiting them, seeing what is new on the menu and reading up on nutritional information. I want to see what the rest of America is eating, even if I myself frown upon the so-called “Happy Meal.” My favorite thing to do is to see what the absolute least healthy item on the menu is. Hardee’s is the best for that. That restaurant notoriously serves up hamburgers that contain three times the daily alottment for fat and calories. Maybe it’s because I don’t have cable anymore, and the sites give me my food porn fix. Or maybe I’m a closeted fast food lover secretly getting my fix on the net, like so many married men who delete their cache files so their wives won’t find their “special stash.”
4. I hate when people whisper the word “Popcorn.”
You better not be saying popcorn, so help me God!!!
One day in elementary school a young girl in my class was trying to slyly get a boys attention from across the room. She had a bag of popcorn, but for some reason didn’t want to say in a normal, audible tone the word “popcorn.” So instead this 4th grade harpee decides to stage whisper the word “popcorn.” Meanwhile I was caught between the two, sitting a couple desks beside her. As she repeatedly tried to explain that she wanted to give him popcorn by stage whispering the word “popcorn,” I became increasingly full of rage. It got to a point where I wanted to take my pencil and either jab it in her eye or jab it in mine, if only to make a scene to interrupt the ping pong match of popcorn whispers. Ever since then, I can’t bare to hear the word “popcorn” whispered. I can’t quite explain why it irritates me so much. Try it yourself. “Popcorn.” “Popcorn.” Isn’t that irritating as all fuck?
5. I fear technology!
Keep that satanic chunk of metal out of my face!
Funny thing. I write about technology for a living. And I’m using my beloved Mac right now (Mac’s are one of the good one’s, fyi). But overall, technology scares me. I have never purchased a DVD player. I didn’t get a cell phone until I was a junior in college. I’d probably fear the Internet if it didn’t solidfy my trust with its promises of pornography. I think it is the unnecessary complexity that technology puts on our lives that makes me suspicious. I’d much rather play a board game or interact with real human beings than fiddle with a Wii over some gigabyte cockatils with my robot friends. Because that’s what the future is going to look like. Gigabyte cocktails. Robot friends. That’s why I’m planning on building an underground world for all of us technophobes. We’ll live down there and talk about an uprising, only to be crushed by digging robots with drills for hands called DrillBots. Then we’ll all be slaughtered by SlaughterTrons and eulogized by EuloBorgs.