Cranky's Bizarro World

Has the world gone mad? Is everything topsy turvy?

• Praxis throws shyness to the wind, flirting with gorgeous women in his office building.
• Bonniebell lets two Scorpions entice her into drinking Crown, which causes her to throw her lipsmackers to the wind and lay the smackdown on some girls with "uberbutch" flair
• Glinda and I have switched places, with her having to do food and panty checks on me during a breakup
• 2shirts is at a museum in Canada. Canada?! A museum?! 2shirts?! No beer?!
• I, the organic foods only freak, am living on a diet consisting of pez, starbursts, and chips and salsa. Don't worry-- if I open up a can of Spaghetti Os and franks and eat it with a fork straight out of a can with a side of Mountain Dew, you know I've gone to the dysthymic place of no return. Pez is just a symptom of working through the blues .
  
• Gordie, the whining queen of failed dysfunctional relationships tells me, "Don't worry. There are worse things in the world than being single. At least you aren't lying in a hospital on a ventilator like my mom."
  

And to top it off, I'm living the life of Bridget Jones, though I am certainly not as pathetic and ridiculous as she (at least I hope not). Still, I'm being invited to dinner parties, right and left, surrounded by happily marrieds who kindly remind me that my ovaries are soon to run out of eggs and that my uterus may fall out on the curb while I do my nightly run if I don't get something implanted it in quickly. Another fun stat: "Don't forget, Bridg...er, I mean Kim, that a woman is more likely to get hit by a car after the age of 35 than to get married, so you've got 3 more years. You'd better stop playing around and snag you a husband." Or the uberbest--I get invited to parties where they have these dreadfully boring men or boys, whichever the case may be, who live with their mothers, drive Audis, wear geek chic glasses atop their shaved, balding heads; said boys are there solely to meet me, the recently dumped woman whose uterus is falling out. They crowd around me, completely unaware of subtlety, probing me like I'm on a job interview, trying to figure out if I'm worth their time, money, and sperm, I suppose (none of which I want from them).

What the hell? I haven't been single for more than a week since 1994, and that my friends, was a bad year. I was 19 then, but I don't remember single life being quite like this. Has it changed? Is it bc I'm thirtysomething? Is it because I'm single in wretched Pewston?

Oh and then there are the older friends who counsel me about appearance: perhaps you shouldn't show so much cleavage when you go out (I have no breasts; how can I show cleavage???). Perhaps you should wear something cuter or plainer or tighter or more demure or more slutty or more this or more that--dichotomies everywhere. And then, when I emerge from my room in a nice turtleneck, slim jeans, boots, and my only true friend (my leather jacket), they gasp: "OMG, did he turn you into a lesbian????" At this point, I wish that Bonniebell were present to lay the glitter and gloss smackdown on them with her fairy wand.

And the Christmas presents from friends range from "Who needs him" self help books to facial rejuvenation certificates to help get rid of the apparently large wrinkles all over my face. I must look like fucking Quasimodo.

Where are my normal friends, off in other places reading this blog. Thank you, normal friends, for being, well, normal. But to the rest:

Bizarro Crank has decided that the rest can all go to hell, and I am going to show my nonexistent boobs if I want and wear a leather studded collar if I want (no Glinda, I don't want to; it's just a hyperbole for effect) and Cranky is emerging into the world as a freakin drop dead gorgeous, uberfeisty, highly intelligent woman who is about to whoopass on anyone who crosses her, so BACK OFF!

Ok, I feel better now. I'm cranky, and that is certainly not Bizarro. I have returned from the land of Htrae and am back to normal again. Aaaaah...