9:26 p.m. - 2004-06-18
Watching what I say
Ah, Friday at last. It seems like everyone else is just as tired as I am.

I worried so much last night that I had offended my cousin with the Cheezus picture and I emailed him an apology, then I worried about it all night because I never want to make anybody mad or uncomfortable. I go on the biggest guilt trips.

Turns out he was not offended. I mistook his response to my Cheezus email and he was actually just sort of making a little pun. I guess after it was all said and done, everyone who saw it had a good laugh. I lost sleep over it anyway.

This leads me to discuss the thought pattern I have been having all day long about how much I worry about what other people think. Part of me realizes that as an aspiring writer, I must abandon some of the restraints that hold me back and just say what ever the heck I want.

On the other hand, I do not have an innate sense of what is proper and what is not, what is rude and what is crude. I usually see things a bit differently than most people. I then go on heavy guilt trips about what I say and how it may, or may not have sounded or looked.

I was kind of an awkward teenager and one night I was invited to a big birthday bash for this girl that hung with a crowd that I definitely wanted to be "in" with. I chose a birthday card that said "Want to get a real bang on your birthday?....French a light socket". I remember picking up that card at the drug store and thinking that I was so hip for finding such an edgy card. I hid it from my parents who I was sure would be appalled at my giving it to someone who I called a friend, yet, I was sure that these "cool" people would think it very clever.

The Birthday Girl opened the card and her face fell. She gave me a pissed off look and I felt like time was standing still as I looked from face to face in that room full of people who were all looking at me like I was a disgusting lunatic.

After the party regained its momentum, I quietly slipped the card into my purse and left the party and cried for the next two nights.

Here I am now, 48 years old and I still don't have the guts just say what I want and expose what I think without wondering if it is going to piss someone off.

This time though, I am feeling just a little less guilt as the Cheezus picture is still making me laugh.

I would never knowingly say things just to upset people and I believe that most people who know me think I am a nice person, so I am going to just start running with what I think....at least on this diary site. If I ever say anything that anyone takes offense at, please just know that I never say anything to knowingly offend.

On the other hand, I am entirely tired of living a life of doing and saying things based on what other people will think.

Like the title of my diary...An Oddball in an Odd World!....I am indeed an oddball. I am attracted to people that no one else is attracted to and I in turn attract oddballs.

I used to belong to a community group. There was a young woman in this group who was mildly retarded, yet she was able to drive and work and her parents wanted her to socialize with people who were not mentally challenged. Her only other option was to socialize with people who were more chanllenged than herself and there was no opportunity for growth. She was a nice girl and an asset to our club.

Prior to my belonging to this group, my friends were mostly partiers and neer do wells and the parties I had usually ended up with someone puking in my bathtub or passing out on my bed. I decided to turn my life around and this community service club was my first attempt to establish a circle of "normal" freinds. I had always wanted to have a nice and normal party with nice and normal people, so I volunteered to host our Halloween party.

In this area, there is a lot of competition for peoples time and the age of this club was that of people with young families. It was hard to get a group together to do anything. There are always those who figure that they won't be missed and are no shows, being that there were plenty of people who said they were going to attend. The problem this particular night is that 95 percent of the club had the idea that "they" wouldn't be missed and no one was banging down my door come party time.

I want to add that our little club was always looking for new membership and fresh blood and I put out the word that everyone should bring a friend if they could.

I was sitting at my picnic table waiting for someone to show up, when a large van pulled up and out came a number of people. One was about 3 feet tall dressed like a devil and had a hunchback. I was wondering who's clever costume it was and as this little hunchback devil came limping across my lawn in the dark, I realized that the only part that was costume, was the devil suit. There rest was real.

It turns out that the retarded girl brought a slew of her retarded freinds and out of the lot, she was the least handicapped. Besides this van full, only one other person from the club came.

Now, I have all the sympathy in the world for people who are mentally challenged and this story is by no means a way to make fun of them. They were nice people and I had never had a problem with my club mate being a memeber. However, it was a long, long, long evening pretending that I was enjoying their company and entertaining them.

Since then, I have not tried to have another party, unless it is having my immediate family over for Thenksgiving or Christmas Eve or an occasional barbeque. My family understands my idiosyncracies and they love me anyway. However, if I had the notion to try to entertain a group of people again, I would be too fearful of the outcome. I am sure that despite my attempt to befriend and hobnob with the normal, I would again be spending an uncomfortable evening, entertaining the oddballs of society.

This story is not an attempt to invoke any kind of sympathy. I have thoroughly accepted that my path in life is to attract and be attracted to the oddballs of this world. I am very much a loner and prefer to observe rather than be observed. Writing has always been somewhat of a passion for me and maybe it is my destiny, to observe, experience and record things that no one else notices, and if that be my destiny and my purpose, then I will gladly and passionately accept it.

P. I. Yarnsmith

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