Weirdo Magnet or They always spill at my house.

My husband always asks me, “Where did you find them?” When I bring home a new friend or speak of a new acquaintance. I swear it isn’t like I collect stray puppies or anything, but I seem to have the John Berendt-like ability to attract weirdoes.
They used to have a commonality, either strange first names, or bizarre jobs, or long dark hair, but now that I am not changing states every few years, the odd people I meet are found in places I frequent.
As a writer this is great fodder for the mill, a nice way to glean info and an amusing way to live. This is why I hardly ever miss a new experience.
As a certified wacko myself, these strays are in great company.

So, when I threw a recent Passion Party, it was no surprise that the ladies putting on the event were (1) strangers in my house (2) oddly comfortable with each other (3) knowledgeable in the phallic substitution venue (4) embarrassingly forthcoming (5) people I never would have run into in the grocery store on double coupon day.
My guests asked me how I knew them. My answer? I have never met them before in my life.

I probably should be dead or at least the victim of a few horrible crimes the way I tease danger.
Under my high school yearbook photo is the caption: What is life without a challenge?

Learn it. Live it.

And no I am not unveiling my purchases, but I might pass on what other folks bought. Too bad the borrowed camera’s flash misfired and all the black-mailable photos came out dark.

4 responses on “Weirdo Magnet or They always spill at my house.

  1. James Simpson

    Funny. My wife and I went to one of those in St. Pete years ago when we were first living together (in sin!). It was the same type of thing, but also a birthday party for our friend Sharon thrown by her boyfriend Chuck. They were both from Jersey.

    The two female MCs were middle-aged beauty queens from Texas. I loved their accents. I think we bought some sort of heat-sensitive lotion … or maybe it was edible panties. Whatever, it tasted cheap and plastic.

    Susan and I were responsible for bringing the huge phallic birthday cake. We bought it at a little Cuban place in Tampa that specialized in sexy pastries. And no, I was not intimidated one bit.



    K-I could guess. Or I could make something up. I do have a lot of left behind catalogs with crazy things circled and starred on dog-earred pages. And I still have no idea what the Pharoah does, but I know that for $146 it should be doing my laundry and answering my emails.
    Practically orgasmic.


    Cheap and plastic,eh? I think things have changed in the Passion Party world. Plastic has become synthetic skin and multi-function remote controlled toys like the battery-operated tongue seemed more intimidating than the twelve syllable African American chocolate delight.