What can I say?
First day on the job, so to speak. I can already feel a headache coming on.
Seemingly at a loss for words so soon (not an easy feat where I find myself nosing) I tremble in my knee-high converse at the prospect of the days that lie before us.
How to address you all? Not that there necessarily would be an 'all'. Maybe one day. Quite the thought- Miss Misfiter, blogger extraordinaire. Yeah. I'd say "when pigs fly", but George Bush is a frequenter of the mile high club (ooh, relevant).
Thing is, my life's not a freak show. Offence only slighted intended, my life's really none of your goddamn business. So why this blog? Why "The Misfit Diaries"?
Hawking knows, I barely understand my motivations- the more I think about it, the less inclined I am to dedicate myself to this..... escapade.
So here's the rub.
You're going to know me as Misfiter- that's my alias, however presumptuous it may strive to be. That's it, case closed. Last thing I need is a group of people on my ass for this ill-conceived project.
Thing about the kids at my school; they're about as innocent and trustworthy as Tiger Woods and a ten person tent.
And I tend to get a little.... frustrated with them.
However, being the Godsend that I am, I try my hardest not to gossip- somebody would try and flip me on my wkeji* within moments. Thing about the grapevine where I receive my education- it's so trodden and worn it's practically a fine wine.
So how better to get the world a front row seat to highschool then anonymously retelling the fascinating tales of my day?
Like I said, I'm a Misfit. I'm the jagged edge of the puzzle. I fall between the cracks.
And oh, I know, the archetypal teenager's complaint: I'm a loner, I don't fit in, no one understands me. Blah blah blah, shut up.
Look , I've got my friends and my family- I don't care to pretend otherwise. I've got some reliables - well, as reliable as any media-monkey hormone mess can be.
And I'm gonna be up front with you- the homestead isn't exactly sunbathing in the Barbados, if you get my drift. More like leisurely floating towards the Bermuda Triangle.
Still, that's life, right? Whatever. Boo-hoo, Daddy didn't love me, all that jazz.
You know, as I read this over, I see that I sound like I'm a bit of a bitch. And maybe I am. I don't know. Who's to say? After all, everyone's a critic. And if that's the case, I'm the Sarah Palin to my Gay Community.
Which leads me to my next point of pivotal information- I'm bi. Whoopee, PARTY! Well, technically, I'm pansexual: and for all you politically confused out there, that means I'm not limited or inhibited in sexual choice with regard to gender or activity. So, in simpler, non-dictionary terms, what you've got between the legs doesn't particularly sway me to one parade or the other. So, essentially, this is a form
So for all you bible/Qu'ran/Pick your own religious text huggers out there (don't get me wrong, religoin's all too cool, just quit it, would you, G.D fundies?), if you've got a problem with this, your problem, chijiz**. You're a dying breed, what do I care of your morals on sexuality?
And the twist; only two people know I'm pansexual. Two friends. I assumed every kind of knew, but alas and alack, you can, apparently, lead a horse to water and force its head into the stream, but if the damn thing's stubborn enough, it still won't drink.
Still, one thing at a time, yeah?
So, lemme see- freshman, loner, sarcastic, pansexual.... yep, pretty much covered the niceties, which is what I hoped to accomplish.
So stay tuned, kiddies.
This is going to get interesting.
Teenage angst and jaded humour,
Misfiter.
P.S., my schedule won't exactly be reliable- I do have a life, you know- but I'll update at least three times a week.
*Wkeji: Abenaki for buttocks.
**Chijiz: Abenaki for baby.
