It’s good to be got
I was watching “The Good Girl” starring Jennifer Aniston and some other random people last Wednesday on my lunch break. Before I go any further let me say that this isn’t a movie I recommend. I got sucked in and had to know how it ended. My predictions were that someone would get pregnant and that someone would die. Needless to say, I was flowing in the prophetic when it came to the movie. There was in fact a pregnancy and a death. Anyway, the whole premise of the movie is that two randomly odd people get to know each other and oddly enough they realize that they “get” each other, or so it would seem at the onset. It later turns out that one of them is a chemically imbalanced manic-depressive and the other is just bored. Not really a winning combination. Like I said, I don’t recommend it. What drew me into the movie is initially it seems as if by some strange twist of fate, two people with the same quirky idiosyncrasies have found each other. They now have someone who gets them. They understand one another and they subsequently realize that it’s good to be got.
On numerous occasions, I’ve have touted my weirdness. It is also no secret that I would like to get married some time during my childbearing potential years. But there have been many times when a panic creeps in. It’s slow at first, almost undetectable. It usually begins when I make a random reference to an obscure Prodigy song that is blasting in the background at White Boy Fest 2003 (also known as Tony Hawk’s Boom Boom Huck Jam, story by Toya, forthcoming) or when I choose to watch a documentary on the Titanic or when I stay up until 4 in the morning playing Number Stumper on my Speak&Math. The panic creeps around to the frays of my mind until it becomes a full-fledged multi-firing synapse. I wonder, “WHO’S GOING TO GET ME?” There is some random guy out there who’s going to see me, get to know me and all of my nuttiness and decided he likes me best…? Seriously?!?
I am the most random person I know. There was a running joke on my hall in college. Talking to me was like driving stick on uneven terrain: you have to constantly change gears. I have the most random thoughts. I do the most random things. And Lord knows I say the most random stuff, sometimes to my own chagrin. (Please reference my post from August 19th) And I guess because, I’m not the coolest chick I know, and I’m prone do odd things I wonder who’s going to get me. I wonder if my roommates really get me. I wonder if the relationships of yon didn’t last because the guys finally got beyond the flawless skin, beautifully arranged features and million watt smile (You’re so vain….you prob’ly think this song is about you) and realized, “that girl is weird.” I wonder if Toya upon our initial meeting thought she’d moved in with a mad woman. I wonder if after 30 years of marriage my husband is going to turn over in the middle of the night and say,”Princess (YES he will call me PRINCESS) I love you but, whoa, you are odd” and then roll over and go back to sleep.
There is a caveat of sorts. I know that there are other people out there like me. And that knowledge keeps me from moving to an island and secluding myself forever, or at least until I run out of batteries and have to make a trip to the mainland to stock up again. One of my closest friends from college, Brian, has the illness I suffer from. He’s even gone so far as to give it a name: Retarditity. I think the reason Brian and I get along so well is because we get each other. We know the other person’s limits. We know when to say when. And it’s good that way. Brian didn’t look at me weird when I wanted to sand wood for any hour. He just gave me some goggles, a piece of wood and an electric sander and went and did other boy things whilst I took to task. Toya may not be a carrier of the retarditity gene but she is sympathetic to plight of those with it. She simply smiled and shook her head when I hung my union jack flag (that’s the British flag for those who didn’t know) in the corner of my room and ran around the house humming the British national anthem.
They say that there’s someone for everyone. I believe that. I believe that somewhere out there, beneath the pale moonlight (I’m sorry I couldn’t help it. And even if I hadn’t y’all would have been thinking it anyway) there is someone who’s going to get me. There are friends to be made who will understand my reference to THE COAT. There’s someone who will revel in the fact that I thoroughly enjoy watching Steven from the Real World slap Irene (so much so that the last time I saw it I sled off the couch with my arms in the air squealing with glee.) There are people out there who won’t raise an eyebrow when I make random references to carrier pigeons as a legitimate form of communication. And when I find those people, I will gather them all at an undisclosed location and we will begin plotting our strategy for world domination. I already know you’re going to want to be down.