Tag Archives: weirdo

Adventures at the ATM

There’s a good chance the Pope and his posse could pull up behind me in the Popemobile at the ATM and I would still think they were plotting to mug me or judge me for taking too long to complete my transaction.

In my defense, I had never even used an ATM before a couple of years ago. I have no idea why that was, but I have since remedied the situation and can say I’ve probably used one in an excess of two dozens times since that first jaunt. However, like most mundane activities, I can find something to complicate the situation.


A normal person would simply drive up to the machine, insert their card, enter in their PIN, complete their transaction, grab a receipt and move on with their life. In case you are new here, I’m not entirely normal.

While there are moments of ATM glory, there are also moments of shame and most of those moments look something like this:

  • Drive up to cash machine
  • Reverse back the required amount to align car window to machine
  • Set parking brake, put the window down, glance around to make sure no one is lurking nearby
  • Grab purse and try to pry the debit card out of my wallet
  • Find mint and get distracted by my good fortune
  • Focus on card and then swear as it refuses to budge out of my wallet
  • Turn the radio down—too distracting
  • Precariously hang out of the window to insert card
  • Attempt to insert card into machine
  • Re-insert card the right way up
  • Glance around again for would-be muggers
  • Enter PIN
  • Enter amount of cash required
  • Press cancel and re-enter correct amount of cash required
  • Back up the car again to retrieve an envelope for soon-to-be-delivered cash
  • Retrieve cash and receipt
  • Glance around again for would-be muggers
  • Grab purse and place cash and receipt inside
  • Look for another mint but find only disappointment
  • Drive forward two feet
  • Reverse back to cash machine
  • Precariously hang out of the window to retrieve card
  • Grab wallet again and shove card into the slot provided
  • Silently memorize the facial features of the irate male driver/would-be mugger in line behind me
  • Drive forward two feet
  • Bath my hands in sanitizer
  • Move on with my life

You see how exhausting this is?

No wonder I held off so long.

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I Smell

A majority of the decisions I make on a daily basis are at least partially the result of the “smell test.” Maybe it’s because I have a big nose, but my first instinct when given something—be it food, a puppy or even a candle specifically labeled “unscented”—is to smell it.

I’m just a “smelly” person.

Example A: My bedroom dresser.


As you can see from candles and reed diffusers to lotions and perfumes, there are various vehicles for delightful scents (and a lovely shot of my bed in the background.)

Other rooms in my house have more subtle touches —a Glade Plug-In in the bathroom, a candle in the living room, room spray throughout, etc. Now before you go making assumptions, let me point out that I don’t stink and overcompensate for that fact with these things. I smell just fine, even delightful at times.

But I’m still a “smelly” person.

I’ve been this way for as long as I can remember. When I was just a little one with issues, I had a white blanket  with fringe on the end and I would wrap a clump of the fringe around my little finger before pulling it off and smelling it while I sucked my thumb.

We apparently called this “Nonny Nose,” although I don’t remember that part and surely would have come up with something more clever had 3-year-old me been given the option.

But here’s where it gets interesting, as after the blanket, there was Bun.


Trust me. He did NOT start out looking like this.

Instead of bringing the fringe up to my nose when I sucked my thumb, it was his left ear—almost always the left one. Why? Because I slept on my right side—always facing the door in my room—and so his left ear was closest to me.

He slept on his back.

I can’t tell you exactly what it was about that first in a series of OCD rituals, but I can tell you I remember thinking that his (snot and spit-covered ear) smelled different with my thumb in my mouth. Also, the left ear was superior to the right and if I didn’t suck my thumb and smell his ear, I wouldn’t be able to sleep.


Notice the color difference between the two ears despite many washings.

When we traveled up north to our trailer in the summer, I would sleep on the top bunk of our triple bunk beds. Because I often fell out, we had a bed rail. Because Bun often fell out, we tied a shoestring around his neck noose-like and secured him to said bed rail.

A bit dark, yes, but it did the trick.

Bun went everywhere and did everything and his body showed the wear and tear of being loved a little bit too much. It was a sad day when I finally let go of his scrawny little neck, but my dates were getting uncomfortable with the fact I let him keep his side of the bed.


Bunny porn

I’m kidding, of course. But from blankets and Bun to other things that don’t start with “b,” I’m just a “smelly” person.

I see, I touch, I smell—even delightful at times.

But most certainly better than Bun.

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You’re a weirdo, but that’s okay

Hey, you.

Yeah, you.

Come in a little closer, closer…


I want to tell you something very important, something I think you should—no, something I think you need to hear.

Are you listening?


I just want to tell you that you’re not alone,

in feeling the way that you do.

You might be a weirdo for dozens of things,

but never for just being you.

I know, I know…

You’re rolling your eyes and sighing out loud,

ready to click of this site.

Letting that guard down is not quite your style,

and talking about it’s not right.

But I bet you’ve had doubt, I bet you’ve had fear,

I bet that you’ve questioned your thinking.

Walking that line between okay and not,

feeling your heavy heart sinking.

Days when you feel like the silence you hear,

from words that the others don’t say,

is a chasm to fill with assumptions and doubts

about how you have failed in some way.

It might help to know that you’re not by yourself,

and that someone else feels that way too,

But maybe they don’t know just what they should say,

as they’re not as open as you.

Most people won’t tell you about all the times,

they feel cheated or hurt or confused.

The might never speak of the ache that they feel

when their confident ego gets bruised.

It’s often believed being strong has to mean,

going alone on that ride.

But a stronger thing still is to make yourself fragile,

and speak of those things that you hide.

I bet there are times when you read through a post

and think, “I feel the same exact way.”

Relief in the knowledge that someone out there

expresses the words you can’t say.

I know this is true as I see it a lot,

in the comments I read here and there.

How someone knocks down any walls that they built

through the words that they’ve chosen to share.

They might feel a vulnerable itch as they write,

not knowing how things will turn out.

But even if one person kind of relates,

it’s enough to erase any doubt. 

The person who gets it might not be the one,

that you talk with in person each day.

It might be a “stranger” from some other state,

that takes time to read things you say.

The distance won’t matter when matched against depth,

and authentic relationships form.

As shedding the layers of doubt that we wear,

reveals there is no baseline or norm.

My point is that often we feel like we’re weird,

and honestly, that’s probably true.

But it’s not for the reasons we probably think,

It’s never for being just you. 

Now feel free to click off this site if you must,

I know that his poem’s kind of lame.

But sometimes you need a swift kick in the ass,

and this weirdo is eager and game.