Eccentricities

I found myself at a bus stop in Pasadena, roasting in my fall coat and knit beanie. I'd been wearing the same outfit for three days, and the broken left heel of my boot was in my right coat pocket. The coffee I was sipping was making me sweat even more. Despite an excellent few days of nearly non-stop amazing conversations (broken up by a few movies and some Red Dead Redemption at McJew's place) I was excited to get home. I felt like an RPG character with a niggling (HAW HAW) status ailment I had to cure by getting to an INN. If there was a cobbler in town who could fix my boot, why even better.

Every time I binge on friendship, it tends to center me more somehow. It makes me realize just how much learning I have to do...and just how much of a blank mind I need to retain. The worst thing for me to do is think I know something--and act accordingly. But FWOCK...I've barely been in the real world as of yet. It's like...it's like the tutorial really JUST ended, and I've got to embark on all these new missions. Jeez, that's two RPG references already.

NEEEERD ALEEEERT~!

While splitting a bottle of wine, a friend and I got to talking about eccentricities. About how you don't have to be particularly weird to be seen as eccentric in America, or more specifically, in L.A. How, growing up in Santa Cruz, I'm used to a much wider spectrum of eccentric and I tend to feel infinitely more comfortable around weirdos. About how in places like France (and here we both conceded that our knowledge on the subject was rather--hem--sparse) it seemed far more acceptable to just be fucking weird. What was the conclusion we drew from all this hashing it out? Aside from 'more wine!' it simply served to reinforce the fact that I've got far more flexibility to just 'be' than I ever knew. Whatever this entails.

One of my biggest pet peeves in the world is being told I can't behave a certain way--and my closest friends are the ones who I can make bootyhole jokes around.

Hmm-
Love,
Dak