People don’t get me. This is why I will ultimately fail.
I was one of those kids. You know that LOOK. The ones the cool kids gave the nerds (those are you, by the way.. bothering to read my blog). it was this scrunchy up thing with a sideways eye peer. Maybe the phrase “OH MY GOD, BECKY! Look at HER BUTT! It’S SO BIG…”*
[*disclaimer: I listen to LOTS and LOTS and LOTS and LOTS and LOTS of NPR. and I voted. For whoever you think I should have voted for that makes me not an idiot. Please love me. And when I have t-shirts, please buy them. or make them. or give a care. maybe. no.. no. wait, I’m kidding… NOT THE LOOK… *gurgle*]
Anyway. Now the nerds are in control. The geek has inherited the earth. And *I’M STILL GETTING THE LOOK!* I should have known. Because I was a Dork!
Yes. A dork. My reply to the cute boy who I wanted to take a walk around the neighborhood with me in highschool; when I asked “wanna go for a walk?” and his chilling response was “I’m ONLINE…….” like I didn’t have two brain cells to rub together was later.
“So? How’s your modem?”
Smooth, Den. Smooth. Least I had awesome… um… attributes. Yes. It’s true. They won out in the end. Or in the front, or whatever. My poetry wasn’t really good enough though, yet, to maintain his interest. And when it all faded away I had my Rachmaninov.
Because I’m special. Yeah. One of those genius types. No one really understands the tortured twistyness of my sad soul.
Which is why I am so often bemused when you humans don’t get my Xondorian humor. I’m trying to get *IN..* I want to hang out at the TOP TABLE! The one at the comic con! That’s why I came in a CAPE!
Oh. You’re not wearing capes. You’re wearing T’shirts with funny symbols and weird lyrics to songs I don’t know because I am still listening to secret music I don’t talk about. The same song. Sometimes several times a day.
Yeah. That band you’re talking about. I probably haven’t heard of it. Yeah, I’d probably like it if I knew. I live in a pod. I’m pretty sheltered.
It’s cuz none of the cool kids will play with me.
Maybe I should stop telling the other dogs at the dog party about my bad case of mange.
Talk about faux paws.
Den. The Xondorian. No. You don’t get her.
ps. Bless her if you have tried. And if you have actually listened to enough of my songs to have noticed that YES, there are codes and a pattern and some secret messages… BLESS YOU.
pps. It’s nice to get attention. Shut up. You know it’s true. That’s why I like to pay attention to you. 🙂
ppps. Dear superbowling halftimers. The use of autotune-capabilities as an effect is a privilege. Not a right.
pppps. Everybody sells out eventually. This is my worst fear, about how, when, and where to do it – and with how much class. Perhaps I should do it early, when nobody gives a rat’s.