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.