This is the first time in months I have had the house to myself.

I always feel like Gandalf when I smoke. Just something about a pipe and big smoke rings that makes me feel majestic as fuck.

But then again, most things I do when I smoke makes me feel majestic as fuck. Wait… Maybe I actually am majestic as fuck and I’m just completely and utterly aware of my awesome majestitude. One-hundred percent realized, baby. And everyone else is just behind on the times.

That’s probably true, but my self-doubt is in the way.

Or is it?

I don’t really know how to get out of these expansive questions once I ask them.

I make a lot of people feel awkward when I pose philosophical questions about mundane things. It’s gotten me a few free drinks though.

_______________________

An example: “Thank you so much for the drink.”

Him: You’re welcome.

“So now that I have received this offering of conversation, what kind of beverage do you think you would be and what kind of person would you want to consume you? When we die are we merely having our glasses tipped out into the universal consumption? What religion are you?”

-he walks away, aaaand free drink-

Another non-dating example: Lady in check-out line: Hi there, did you find everything ok?

Please, define everything. If by everything you mean everything I’ve ever assumed up to this point of my life and how it has left me in the vast peculiarities of a completely different reality to the aforementioned assumption I imagined when I was much younger then no, no I have not found everything. However, if by everything you mean was I able to find a particular item amongst a larger group of other items like any common chimp then – “Yes, I sure did. Thank you so much for asking.” Grin and charm ’em, Katie. Grin and charm.

_______________________

I’m still adjusting and censoring my personality when needed in this smaller town of mostly conservative values and morals…if you want to call them that. I’ve already gotten into trouble for being less than conservative in my viewpoints. Which I chose to vocalize. To the superintendent. (I’m sure most of you are saying, “okay? so?” while all the conservatives in my area would be going, “GASP! I had no idea she was so liberal.”) So, they find it strange I don’t go to church; or even believe in something other than “God” or “Jesus”; Or “Steve,” whoever that is, but Adam married him so it’s cool.

For the record, I fully support any decisions Adam and Steve make together as consenting adults. Or Betty and Veronica. Or Merle and Ivy. Doesn’t matter to me. I’m not really a believer in marriage, either, now that I think about it. Every relationship that I have seen resulting in “marriage” eventually winds up in the poop bucket. I’d rather save the thousands and thousands of dollars spent on the usual weddings around here for something like…a house. Or a life insurance policy. Something more practical than buttermints and over-priced sign-in books, flower arrangements, food catering, dresses, garter snakes (they have those in weddings, right?) and other like-crappified wedding things. Blargh. Pass.

I am fully aware you married folk only do it for the tax breaks. And these God-fearing, conservative-minded folk probably have some sort of “wait until your married– something or other” thought process…but in my case, that happened at least 12 years ago so we’re way past that, Father O’Finnegan*!

*Yes. I was raised in a Catholic household. The exact same Catholic household I grew up and currently reside in, matter of fact.

Yep, livin’ with the rents. 29 years old. Prime of my life and my parents are still trying to tell me to go to my room. Thing is now that I’m 29, I’d gladly go to my room.

(Like, forever. I’m at that point in my life where I really don’t know what the hell I’m doing, I’m just seeing what will happen for a while. No joke. Full disclosure. I have a great job as a staff writer at a newspaper and a part-time gig as a graphic artist/guinnea pig so it’s really fair skies in life right now. Besides the whole “living with my parents” thing.)

But I’m pretty sure we’ve covered that topic before, so I’m going back to Gandalf. My parents are both the age of Gandalf… NO! No. You may not have any more brain space. Gandalf…..Gandilf. Heh…Dilf.

There is only one dilf that I can think of, now that you (not I) have mentioned it. A dilf that I would do naughty things to. Just one. He was at Valleyfair. He was so tall and had slick backed grey hair, a huge grey trimmed beard, sunglasses, tats all over, nice buff yet also fairly fatherly build, a classic black t-shirt, rolled up jeans and black Converse high tops. Great giggle sticks I wanted to ride his coaster. If you know what I mean. If you’ve ever been to Valleyfair, you’re aware of a ride called “The Wave.” Let’s just say I rode the fuckin’ wave that day*.

*The Wave is the ride at the very end of Valleyfair that gets you all wet when you stand in front of it after you’ve ridden it. K? KAY?! It’s a dirty joke. See?

This is what I’m talking about! The rest of the world would be like “Oh that was pretty cleverly said, meh! I’ll move on with my life,” but people in this town? No, heavens no. People ’round these parts (not my vagina or boobs or anything like that; I mean the region in which I live. Also, I hate that I have to clarify that for some people.) would frown upon the thought of my body getting moist. Maybe because they know me or maybe also because the word moist just sounds really gross.

Moist.

Ew.

Unless it’s in a cake. I like moist cake. AW GROSS but now there’s a double meaning to the word “cake!” It’s young person for booty, I think. And I don’t like moist butts. That’s wrong. So wrong. And again, I hate that I have to clarify that for some people. Pervs! All of you!

How dare you. Get your mind out of the gutter, you heathen.

Oh dear.

I’m becoming one of them (as you hear “one of us” being chanted in the background)…

Fade to black. Aaaand scene.

Me: “So, what did you think, Gandalf?”

Gandalf: “Define think.”

Me: “Ugh, you are so exponential. I totally dig that vibe. Buy me a drink?”

Sir Ian McKellan looks at me: “Sorry,” he points to himself “Adam and Steve.”

Me: -Katie’s whacky catch-phrase jingle comes on- Aw, shucks! I’m back on the market!

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

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