Going Crazy

When I started this blog, I promised myself I’d make time to post on a regular basis.

Well, damn.

I’m not taking full responsibility for this one, though. I’m currently Internet-less because of shoddy Comcast equipment and their wildly underwhelming customer service. Dear Comcast, I remain as unimpressed as a 5 year old on Christmas morning opening up a box of white socks. You blow.

Still, my life is not completely without wi-fi, this post is coming to you from Denver’s 16th Street Mall Barnes and Noble.

City life is good.

City life is also crazy; which is the reason I am writing today.

That’s a lie – the real reason I’m writing is because our power went out and I needed a place to hang out that has air conditioning and offers 24 ounces of iced unsweetened green tea in a mainstream container. We’re on another streak of 90+ degree days. Ohhh Hot August.

But the crazy is always more entertaining. And my crazy usually stems from romance.

Since moving to Denver two weeks ago, I’ve been asked out twice – get prepared to swoon, this is epic.

I politely declined both invitations since I’m pretty sure I saw the future love of my life in the cathedral last night and am focusing all dating efforts towards stalking him introducing myself, sharing the sign of peace and convincing him I’m not crazy.

Don’t judge, it is a flawless plan.

Don’t point out the obvious flaws in my plan.

Don’t ask me if things ever worked out with Mr. Tall, Dark and Holy in a few weeks when things haven’t worked out…

Aside from my habit of being a monogamous crusher, I have valid reasons for not going out with the other two guys:

The first was “technically not homeless” since he was living with people he’d met at Occupy Denver. I met him in the alley behind my apartment. He struck up a conversation and asked if I was single. I said yes. He asked why and I told him it was because I was kinda crazy and kinda new in town. Then, he asked for my number. I was so surprised by the blitz-flirting that I blurted out my real phone number. I always give out my real phone number. I default to the truth when I don’t know what to say.  He called me later that day to tell me about himself. He told me he loved my blue hair; I told him I was dying it brown the next day. I excused myself from the conversation after hearing about his teenage kids and the fiery manuscript he wrote about black and white race relations which clearly established white people as superior. He just came on a little too strong.

The second guy asked me out via text message (bad sign)…and has a daughter who is in high school (deal breaker). While my “datable age bracket” is usually flexible and up for debate, the hard and fast rule I stand by remains: if I am not old enough to be your kid’s mother, I’m not old enough to be your girlfriend. Biologically, it is impossible for me to have a 16-year-old daughter at this point in my life. Emotionally, I’m too immature. Honestly, I’d probably have more fun hanging out with her and helping her dye her hair/put on fake eyelashes than dating him anyway. I can be crazy immature like that – I’m pretty much a giant 16-year-old girl myself.

As I sipped on my tea, I thought about the dude from church and how crazy I really was. Then, I came up with an idea… how much fun would it be to completely unleash my crazy side onto downtown Denver!?

I looked over the kids with bright pink hair playing guitar on 16th Street, singing their hearts out for dollars and dimes. I watched people get on and off the mall ride, stumbling over pigeons and sleeping homeless. I looked around the preppy bookstore and counted my fellow posers. Suddenly, I felt very Catcher in the Rye; we’re all a bunch of phonies!

That’s when I came up with: Hashtag Spread The Crazy. *Non-twitterers, a hashtag (#) is a way to make something “searchable” on Twitter. If you are talking about a specific topic, you can mark it with a pound sign so that it shows up in searches about that (ie. #WaldoCanyonFire or #Election2012)

I started thinking and tweeting things as they popped into my head:

Bump into people while on the bus. When they say “excuse me,” scream, “YOU DON’T OWN ME” & get off at the next stop #SpreadTheCrazy

I laughed….and continued

Make eye contact with a stranger in a crosswalk, kick off your shoes & run away screaming, THE SLIPPER FITS, PRINCE CHARMING #SpreadTheCrazy


At a meeting, look around frantically & cry, “WHY WON’T ANY OF YOUR ACCEPT MY FRIEND REQUEST!?” Take the donuts & run. #SpreadTheCrazy

Solicit Craigslist to trade your bro’s comics for Barbies. Must be willing to pick up comics from under his sleeping body #SpreadTheCrazy

Drink green tea at a coffee shop. Judgmentally stare at customers, call everyone who orders a skim mocha a “great big phony” #SpreadTheCrazy

I’m still brainstorming ideas….watch out, Denver – I’m spreading the crazy.


3 responses to “Going Crazy

  1. Funny love the crazy, sounds like me at a younger stage in my life, of course now I am old enough to be that 16 year old’s grandmother. I do crazy things all the time, like blasting very unlike gramma music as I drive through town ect., it is a wake up people kinda thing…

  2. Hah–good luck with Mr. Tall Dark and Holy. Just remember that meeting and dating (even eventually marrying) a guy from church can be a whole lot of crazy (no offense to the sane ones). 😉

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