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Nearly a fortnight ago, our Princess Party commenced. It was a thrilling, silly occasion that included frolicking stupidly around a park. A very useful park, for it had all the whimsy a princess needs: ducks, squirrels, flowers, ponds. As well as things we could have used less of, like the old man with the fancy camera taking pictures of us or the tourists with their phones out taking pictures of us or the senior people walking past taking pictures of us. You know, if you just ask, we’d almost certainly say yes. We’ve had people do that before, it would maybe be a bit uncomfortable for us but we appreciate the asking permission. It’s also quite flattering to see people so enthralled with our Saturday get ups.
The Princess Party Saturday was sure to receive looks and questions which we were wholly prepared for. It would be pretty damn stupid to go about in public, the five of us decked out in pointy hats with billowing tulle and flouncy skirts, and not expect a side eye here or there, or a “is there a special occasion happening?” It would be foolish, cocky, dare I say ignorant of the behavior of our fellow humans. However, I am troubled by the audacity people have to take pictures of strangers, without said stranger’s permission, as though they’re at a zoo. This happened when I was a child, swimming around the local pier with my friends. We paddled to a floating dock a little ways away and as we basked in the sun, we noticed the horde or tourists… photographing us… children in swimsuits. Sure it’s legal or whatever, public place and all that, but it’s fucking weird too! None of those people were our parents and we weren’t any of their kids so why are photos being taken of our soggy asses? Why are people compelled to do that? I don’t like the fact that a random old dude has however many pictures of me and my mates in our regal getup. I don’t like the fact that I have no information about what was captured. He was so unapologetic about it too. They all were, no one trying to hide or be discreet. I’ve seen plenty of brides and their grooms out and about and I’ve looked in their direction. I try to stare only when they aren’t looking or I’m not in their view but that’s where it stops. I stare, I admire, I move on. I don’t whip my phone out and start snapping up shots of spiffy people I have never met. Hell, the amount of cool ass outfits I’ve seen people wear have tempted me greatly, but I don’t give in because it’s weird. I simply collect the image with my eyeballs and stow it away in my brain. Maybe I’ll be able to recall it again one day, maybe not, but it brought me joy for some time nonetheless without making anyone feel violated. I’m almost certain I did a whole log about this but I am going to reiterate anyway, strange looking people are not attractions. Unless we’re clearly performing on the street, we are not seeking attention. We are just living our lives in our silly little outfits. We aren’t asking for anything, just like pregnant people aren’t asking for everyone around to get all handsy with their midsection because it’s practically spherical. Or, or when folk be walking their dogs, like, that doesn’t give you sudden permission to just go up and act like you’re best friends with that dog. I don’t know if it’s a lack of patience or a sense of entitlement but humans aren’t humaning right in this department I feel. Just… be a normal person and ask.
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There’s such a simple pleasure in receiving a fortune cookie with your meal. Even though much of the time it’s an incredibly basic fortune or not even a fortune but a random quote, it’s still fun to crack open that little cookie and collect the paper inside.
Such was the mindset my friend had going into hers when we were sat at a table in a mall food court. She cracked open her cookie and the four of us leaned in, anticipating what might be written. It was instructions. It was instructions to go online to the fortune cookie’s website. My pink friend said she wouldn’t even bother, but the owner of the fortune cookie was in too deep, she had to see what was up. The site had the audacity to request her email before she went further, but she gave it nonetheless. There was a mystery to get to the bottom of. I believe she typed in a code that was on the “fortune” paper and that’s how she got her result. Sorry, better luck next time. I beg thine absolute most genuinely pure pardon? HUH? If I could skillfully type in a sputtering way, I would, but you’ll just have to imagine it. How’m’st is that all she gets? All of those extra steps and not a fortune whatsoever? Since when was that a thing? No quote? No list of lucky numbers? Just a “sorry, try again” message? IS THIS THE WORLD WE LIVE IN NOW? The third friend who was there hates apps, er, to be more specific, hates that everything has an app now. And I’m inclined to agree. This took that kind of nonsense to a whole nother level. Why, in the name of all that is unholy, do you need to go online to figure out what your fortune cookie wants to tell you? Is it solely just so that company can send you spam emails? Is that how desperate people are these days? Like, what are we doing? Upon reading that result, our gasters were flabbered. Our gobs were smacked. Our boozles were bammed. We truly are living in a dystopian hellscape if a girl can’t even get a fortune out of her fortune cookie. They printed out a slip of paper to plop inside and everything. Why could they not just type out a “you will see good things next week” message or something? It’s just so godsdamned insulting, utterly disrespectful. It’s hard enough to find joy these days and now fortune cookies have been ruined by corporate weirdness! This was not the blog I was going to write initially but this situation was just so absurd that I had to. What a bizarre timeline we’re in, eh lads? I don’t want to sound like an old curmudgeon saying “back in my day”, however, I think childhood and teenhood were better without existing so much on the internet. Granted many people my age did, I just wasn’t one of them but now it’s so much easier to end up on there. Everyone films everything even if you didn’t agree to that and the judgement is worldwide. Being a teenager and even a teenager of sorts part two: the twenties edition, is stupid already. Discovering yourself is hard and weird and uncomfortable a lot of the time, and it’s made worse that seemingly everyone is paying attention to everything you do. You have to fit in but you also have to be unique but not too unique but not too on trend. I’ve seen some discussion of late about the disappearance of young people's personalities. Everyone is so afraid of being ridiculed and it’s not even unwarranted because everyone is also not afraid of ridiculing others. You can be anonymous on the internet or just say whatever even when you aren’t because it’s not like you’re saying these things to one’s face. But because of this fear, people won’t admit what they like, they won’t get excited in front of others, they won’t display their passions because they don’t want snarky comments and judgement.
As I said in another post, me and a couple friends are trying to depart from our "pathetic era”. What one friend often says is “to be cringe, is to be free”. This is an important step to becoming un-pathetic. Because in order to fully be yourself in your truest form, you must embrace being cringe at times. You must allow yourself to be silly, to like what you like unapologetically. We cannot become cardboard cutouts of empty humans. Expressing oneself without fear is the ultimate form of power. Dressing the way you want, talking about the things that truly interest you, not toning your personality down to nothing when in public. Life is hard and sad enough, why do we have to make it worse? Show appreciation for things, give a kudos and leave a comment on that fanfiction you really enjoy so the author knows someone cares. Recommend a show to your friends that you can all watch together so they can finally see why you won’t shut up about it. Play your music out loud in your workplace that’s cool enough to let the staff put on their own playlists. Display your artwork, your books, design your room to be something that matches the true you. People will always find other people cringy, and that’s okay so long as we keep it to ourselves. Miserable jealous people will always make a remark about it but that’s because they have nothing better to do. Don’t let your own opinions or the shallow opinions of others prevent you from living life how you want and learning who you are as you embrace the world and all it offers. I keep feeling stupid for really enjoying young adult books even though I’m twenty-six, but who cares, that shit’s great if you know what you like. I like animated movies and shows. I like listening to music that’s all over the place. I like my plushie collection and playing Baldur’s Gate with the girls and shopping at Hot Topic. I like that my house is more mismatched than it’s ever been because now I don’t feel like I need to stay within a certain aesthetic. I like stuff and things because I am a living human being. And whether they’ll admit it or not, so does everybody else. Acting like you only enjoy things ironically and being too cool to care is not a great long term plan. It’s how to have no real relationships or no authentic happiness. Look, I know saying “be yourself” probably makes you wanna punch me in the face, it would definitely make me want to punch me in the face, because it’s obviously not that easy. That shit’s hard, especially nowadays where everyone is so weirdly analytical and judgy. But we gotta start somewhere. Start in your friend groups, be weird with other people so you don’t feel so alone. Maybe start being weird as a group of friends in someone’s house, then maybe out of town, then a mall. I specifically started experimenting with weirder makeup looks when we all binge watched the entirety of Star Wars because I could justify that I was doing that for a theme. And that actually really helped since my friends got used to me wearing makeup in general but also more unhinged makeup and months later, by the time we finished, it was just normal. It wasn’t a thing to raise an eyebrow at, in fact I’d feel more weird not wearing anything since my friends already did long before me. So, again, I know it’s not easy, but baby steps are helpful. And mayhaps, one day after many of us take this strange journey, it won’t be so taboo to just… be a person. Because the Pride Parade and following festivities is in July, it’s hot as hell outside. We learned that the hard way after the first Pride since covid came about and we all nearly suffered heatstroke. Ever since then, we split up the day a bit. We watch the parade, then go to brunch, then go to the vendor tents to peruse the goods.
We love brunch so any excuse to get it is great for us. So that’s what we were doing after the parade. We were eating out beloved breakfast foods, enjoying the protection from the outside heat, slurping cold beverages and chatting. In the past, our random conversations have gotten a chuckle out of passersby and waiters. This day however, we weren’t exactly discussing anything enticing or scintillating. We were talking about the bizarre plotlines and unexpected violence in young adult books. It wasn’t our most witty conversation nor humorous, we were really just rambling. I only mention this because I otherwise have no idea why what happened later on occurred. We were sat at a corner table that was really meant for three but the four of us squeezed in because we like ourselves a booth. The small table next to me was occupied but I avoided looking in that direction lest I make accidental eye contact with my neighbour. I was aware of the presence as we were yapping, but I paid little mind overall. Until I heard him talking to the waitress. He was complimenting the joint and the staff and the exchange between them was merry and friendly. They asked for each other’s names and I assumed he must be a regular, the both of them finally learning the names that belonged to familiar faces. I didn’t eavesdrop too much since I was still talking to my mates. The waitress came round to us and asked if we wanted our bills, to which we said yes and, at the same time, the fellow left. I learned afterward that her question was a hint to him to exit before anything was revealed. She didn’t come back with our receipts, instead she came over and let us all know that the gent who’d been quietly sat next to us by himself had paid for our meals. I don’t know if it’s because he thought we looked cool, what with our colorful pride getup, or if he was enjoying our conversation, or if he just thought we all looked like we could use the help, but he paid for four meals and drinks nonetheless. This was not a cheap purchase for him, especially given that he paid for his own food too, but I guess there was something about us that made him think we were worth giving to. He wanted to leave before we received our bills so he was gone before we could thank him. I never even saw his face, I only heard his voice and learned from his exchange with the waitress that his name was Daryl. We were flabbergasted to say the least and spent the rest of the day on a high because of this man’s random act of kindness. I wish I could tell him how grateful I am and how much we all appreciated it and how happy it made us but since I can’t, I’m going to write about him and his deed instead. I know not who you are, Daryl sir, but you shall be immortalized in the hearts of us weirdos who you fed and this blog that some people read. Thank you for your service. |
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