So I’ve had it pointed out to me that I’m a bit odd.
Like I didn’t know.
See, here’s the thing. I’m 53 years old. I know I’m odd, left of centre, geeky, weird.
I suffer from what I call Peter Pan Syndrome. I don’t particularly act the way people my age usually act, apparently. My problem is, how am I supposed to act? Like, where is it written down that I have to behave a certain way.
I like pop music, house music, rap, R&B. I drive my kids crazy playing “their” music so loud the sub woofer vibrates. My husband is trapped somewhere in the 80’s, listening to droning John Farnham, or ACDC or Toto. OK, I will admit they had some good songs. In their day. But I prefer the vibrant beats and rhythms of todays music. I love the contemporary lyrics and even the swearing. It’s real, and it’s honest. And for some reason I totally relate to it.
I love horror and sci-fi and weird artsy movies.
I don’t have one single friend who watches any of the TV shows I watch.
Which lead me to becoming engulfed in the fandoms online. I love Bones, Doctor Who, Supernatural, Walking Dead, Game Of Thrones, but alas, I have nobody to fangirl with about them. So I turned to the internet. There I have found entire fandoms, full of people who love these shows as much as I do. And I’ve made some amazing friends !
I LOVE the internet. I have Twitter, and Tumblr and Facebook and a YouTube Channel with over 2,000 subscribers and almost two million hits (which in the big world of YouTube isn’t much, but it is for an Aussie housewife who makes fanvids!) I write fan fiction as well.. and have a nice little following by people who enjoy my little scribblings.
My kids know about it all, but choose to turn a blind eye, because you know, it’s embarrassing that their mother gets retweeted by celebrities and producers and other people.
Today it was pointed out to me that I was wearing odd socks. They asked if I realised. Well, duh. I haven’t worn matching socks in like, 8 years, give or take a year. It started when I was running late one day and couldn’t find a matching pair. Then the next day, I found the missing sock, so paired it with a different sock. And so on. And basically I realised that it doesn’t matter if they matched. They’re socks. They keep your feet warm, they stop your shoe rubbing on your skin. They fill the gap between your pants and shoes.
My kids asked me why I don’t wear matching socks and I told them that if anyone could show me a rule written down somewhere that said I have to wear matching socks, then I would. Until that day, well it was a done deal that I would just grab two socks and wear them. I have some pretty weird socks too. I hate plain or black socks. So of course my odd sock thing is really noticeable compared to someone wearing two different shades of black socks. I never even think about it normally, until someone points it out to me.
Like, did you know you’re wearing a red and purple stripy sock and a green and orange polkadot one? As if I hadn’t noticed it. The look on their faces always makes me laugh when I just shrug and say, they’re only socks. People are way too anal about bloody socks. Hey, my undies don’t match my bra, do they need to? And let’s be frank, or henry, or jack… who can be bothered matching stupid socks? Clearly, the answer is not me.
My whole life is a bit like a jumbled sock drawer. You never know what you’re going to get on any given day. It’s fun and it’s weird.