I may just be the weirdest person I know. I don’t mean this in the “Hey look at me, I’m so weird!” but rather I mean it in the “Umm, hey, look at me, why am I so weird? I think I should go to the doctor or something.” Granted, there are all those people who aren’t even allowed on my scale of weirdness, those people who are so incredibly weird and strange that you don’t know if you should laugh with/at them or help them. They are the sidekicks in Disney movies, the other halves in most Jackie Chan movies, the guys who take blow up dolls to prom in high school, or sit around and play Magic or D&D rather than socialize with others…umm…I feel as though I’m digging a hole that I just may be buried in. Am I offending people? That’s not my point, my point is that there are those people who are consciously or subconsciously anti-normal, anti-main stream; that is not the group I’m putting myself into.
Rather I am a dork (whenever my grandma heard me say the word “dork” she would always say, ‘you know what a dork is right?’ and I would calmly respond, ‘no, what is it?’ ‘It’s a whales penis. You don’t want to call yourself one of those do you?’ I always wanted to respond by saying that actually, yes, I did want to call myself that; that I found calling myself a whales penis quite humorous and almost giggle worthy. But instead I simply nodded my head and said “oh, wow, I didn’t know that it meant that. I feel so ashamed grandmother.”). I am a dork, and I’m finding that the older I get the more weird I am getting.
I don’t want anybody to hate me. So I am therefore not going to tell any stories about pooping on the floor, lighting my friend on fire, skinny dipping in baptisteries at churches all across America, and the like. No, I fear that if I told those stories I would have more than just the D&D players knocking at my door with shovels in hand. No, those stories are to violent and graphic.
Here I am. This is me. These are the stories that define me:

• I wore Santa hats to church
• I carried around a wooden sculpted head that was the size of a small basketball. I carried it around the house, at church, and on joy rides. Why? ‘Cause I liked it
• I wore these knee high striped socks everytime I played basketball. When they finally ripped, I used them as wristband
• As a young child I really liked Jesus. I would sit and turn the pages of the bible, I couldn’t read mind you, but I enjoyed the experience
• When I was five I would lay out my clothes for the next day…but sometimes after my mom and dad tucked me in I would secretly get out of bed and put those clothes on and then get back into bed so they would never know
• My first email address was bucketlover@hotmail.com , what can I say, I liked Willy Wonka. It wasn’t until I realized that “bucket lover” had a phornographic (if I don’t misspell that word, my internet will block it out!) ring to it that I changed
• I’ve started Sword Fighting Clubs, exorcise clubs, among others. The pinnacle of my Clubbing experience was the club that was called Doggy Dudes and Dudets
• Before important indoor soccer matches I would weight train by curling pumpkin pie filling cans and soup cans
• As a young child I went before my church with my dad so that he could communicate to the community that I loved Jesus
• Sometimes I get too explicit with people I don’t know when I have diarrhea
• Sometimes I give naked pictures of myself to friends of mine
• Sometimes I sit next to people in class (before I graduated) for a whole semester and then when by chance I sat next to them outside of school I introduce myself to them as if I never knew them…I don’t think she liked me after that
• Sometimes I bring spedos to my work
• Sometimes when I’m sick and my throat hurts too much to talk and my brain hurts too much to blog, I find myself mumbling random lines from Saturday Night Live, more specifically the phrase “potent potables”. I think it sounds nice.
• I’m going bald

You may be asking yourself, why did he write this blog? And I would simply respond by asking you to visit this link