When the going gets weird …

the weird turn pro. – Hunter S. Thompson

The year of living weird is almost upon us. I’m just about completely done caring what anyone thinks about me in damned near any fashion any longer, and it’s going to manifest in some unusual ways in 2015. I now start to get why women of a certain age start wearing wigs and crazy lipstick, or how my Grandma used to just take off her shoes in the Goodwill and leave them there and wear the other ones home. “What’s the big deal?” she’d say, “I bought those here, they can just keep them.” It’s like you want the world to conform to your rules, you’re tired of conforming to their rules, and you’ve had just about enough, thanks. Friends, lovers and enemies, you’ve been warned.

It’s sort of a return to the past, but NEW AND IMPROVED. When I was in high school, I wore whatever I felt like and didn’t much care about what was in style or what people thought of my clothes. Cobbled together from thrift, hand-me-downs and my own alterations, a typical outfit might consist of a band T-shirt from the band I was living with, two different colored Chuck Taylors with “Sexy” and “Sadie” written on the toes, hand-me-down jeans and an Army jacket or Boy Scout shirt. That would look just ridiculous on an almost 46-year-old woman. Which is all right by me. In fact, I plan to be ridiculous. I’m going to work more ridiculous into my life. Maybe I’ll dye my hair blue or create some jeans like in the movie So Fine. I’m going to sing walking down the street whenever I feel like it and dance in the grocery store if a good song comes on my iPod.

More road trips, to be sure. And if I have to get somewhat drunk in order to force myself to get on a plane after someone bought me a plane ticket to come see them, that’s what I’ll do. And more freelance work. Done waiting around one by one for rejection letters, I’ll just paper the world with my garbage, surely someone will pick up a piece of it and want to publish it.

Roll up the red shark convertible, I’m ready for a ride. Who’s in?

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