Tuesday, December 20, 2011

Crazy Girl

"A question that sometimes drives me hazy: am I or are the others crazy?"- Albert Einstein

A friend and I were discussing the other day how easy it is for people to assign the "crazy" tag to a someone they probably just don't understand. "It's a total and complete cop out." I was saying as I navigated my way through a burger the size of my head. I made small, stacked piles of my food as I tried to figure out how to tackle it. "I mean, I've been called crazy A LOT. But I feel like it is just something someone says when they don't have the intelligence or the energy to commit to knowing someone."

"I agree." She nodded. "However, what I think is crazy is the fact that you DO NOT KNOW HOW TO EAT A BURGER. Insane, really."

"I'm serious about this!" I whined. "A friend the other day actually PUT MY NAME INTO ANOTHER WORD. He called me 'Melly-dramatic.' CAN YOU EVEN BELIEVE THAT?"

She gasped as she set her beer down and stared at me with wide eyes. "No. He. Did. Not."

"He did. Oh, he did."

Perhaps all of this crazy talk should make me examine the way I interact with the world and the people I love in it. So, I did. For about 5 minutes. And I realized that I kind of love who I am and the fact that (okay, yes,) I am bat shit crazy. Out to lunch. Up a wall. Unhinged. Up shit creek without a paddle...(well. That one doesn't really work.) What I am trying to say is: yes. I am crazy. And dramatic. And I really don't want to change that.

I only feel so confident in my insanity because the people I surround myself with are all bat-shit-up-a-wall-and-a-creek-or-whatever as well. I sat with a friend drinking whiskey on my balcony the other night until 4 am cackling over how Emily Dickinson was a prude. This was the night before our poetry final. When I had to wake up to take the test 3 hours later I called him in a panic. "Hi. I am still...I am still drunk. What do I do?"

He didn't miss a beat. "Drink another glass in the shower. You'll be fine."

So this is how I found myself at 7 am shooting down a coffee mug of whiskey as I tried not to get shampoo in it. Not my finest moment, surely...but definitely one of my more interesting ones. I called my Mom on my walk to school and started the conversation with: "Hi. I can't feel my feet."

"Oh my God, Melissa Beth. You're drunk."

"You jump to that? Do I usually call you at 7am drunk?"

"Well no. This is a first, surely. But, you'll be great. You are so smart. Just make sure you don't get hit by a bus or anything, ok? Love you! And text me later so I know you didn't get hit by a bus! I don't trust those city busses..."

She never called me crazy. She never questioned my questionable decisions. She just wanted to make sure I was not a victim of public transit.

That is how it should be.

I also made a friend recently that has open discussions with me about how much we both like crying. I feel comfortable enough with him to send him text messages that say: "Hey. I just watched a Bruce Springsteen music video and lost my SHIT." To which he will reply: "Oh yeah. I would too. Was it Secret Garden from Jerry Maguire?"

Why yes it was.

When I am around "normal" people I can never feel comfortable in my skin. And not because they are calm and collected and hike with their dog Fluffy every Sunday and eat granola and shop at L.L Bean and listen to Hootie and the Blowfish. It is because I know that somewhere, somehow they are "crazy" too. They just won't admit it. Instead, they will go up to the first poet/artist/fun-time-party-girl they know and slap that label on them. And you know what?

That's crazy.

My Dad is a mortician and does an amazing Kermit the frog impression. My Mom used to sculpt Victorian-era-looking woman out of snow in our front yard with her bare hands. I was too afraid of swapping blood with my girlfriends, so instead of becoming "blood-sisters" in the typical youthful rite of passage, we all peed into different cups, flushed it together and chanted: "URINE SISTERS FOREVER!" I took a final slightly drunk but nailed it. I cry at commercials, I cry after too much wine, and sometimes I cry just because it feels good and I am watching a Tom Hanks movie. I talk to myself, I talk to my fish, and actually hid in a bush last week in order to avoid running into someone I knew on campus because I hadn't washed my hair.

Maybe that sounds crazy to you...but I think it sounds just about right.

Get a little crazy. All the cool kids are doing it. You can find them in the bushes.


  1. We all are a bit crazy aren't we. I have to admit I've taken a test buzz but never in the morning. I have drank in the shower and in my case the shampoo did make it in the drink, I thought it was bad whiskey, I had a hangover for 3 days, tell me that's not crazy

  2. "When I am around "normal" people I can never feel comfortable in my skin" -- Felt that way my whole life. And I like feeling comfortable. So bring on the crazy. Life needs a little flavor.

  3. AF28- Wow! A three day hangover? That's impressive. And crazy. And awesome. Thanks so much for reading!

    Corey- My skin feels great when I am around you. I love you!