I don’t know about you, but I’ve felt like a goddamn weirdo for most of my life.
Even though I’ve grown up to be a relatively normal adult who wears normal clothing and has a normal job, I know that the eccentric, awkward child who loved to wear over-sized men’s suits in junior high is still chilling in her pinstripe slacks and loafers somewhere deep inside of me.
I never really felt out of place growing up, but occasionally the “cool kid” (translation: now a drug dealer or bartender still living in my hometown) would call me a “lesbo” and my confidence would be shaken (it’s funny how being called a “lesbo” as a kid was so “shocking”). Though I could really give a shit about what other people think, there is still a tiny piece of me that dreams of walking into my high school reunion and screaming, “Y’all are FAT!” and doing the midget-in-Twin-Peaks dance for 30 seconds before running outside.
This is why I felt slightly vindicated when I read the recent Wall Street Journal story regarding (more…)