War Of The Weirdos.

I am slightly afraid at this moment. Maybe afraid isn't the exact word I am searching for, and a more appropriate term would be unnerved. It all stems from some bizarre middle-aged woman mailing me through Facebook, talking about all sorts of oddness to do with valentines day and secret admirers she has. I still do not understand how she can have a secret admirer, who she knows is not on facebook. For if he is secret, how the hell does she know anyway?
This was bad enough, but then, after I added her account using a secret fake account I keep, in case of situations such as this, she has up-linked my profile, with the picture of me and Marissa on the front - in one of her profile updates. This, for want of a better set of words, is kinda screwed up. And it scares me too. Not in the funny 'what a weirdo' kind of a way, but in the 'Jesus... I don't even know this person' type thing. Anyway, I blocked her, warned Marissa, and hope this is the end of that. But man it feels creepy. I ave an affection towards weirdos, yes. But stalkers are just dangerous.

The second odd thing, was an old chubby guy who started talking to me in Starbucks about my amazing laptop. Which isn't that amazing, as it is four years old, has low memory compared to most modern machines, has a few keys missing, and ran windows 7 at a speed so slow, that even snails would ridicule it. Of course, I have written my amazing book using this, but this is another form of value altogether.
He was telling me how he plays Clarinet Jazz through his laptop, and records it - which is fair enough. Then asked me if I was Australian... which, considering I have had people think I was Irish, Scottish, German, Italian, Croatian, Turkish, Arabic (When tanned), and South African (While standing in a freezing Rugby field in my underpants), is probably not that great of a shock. I was however, weirded out when, a few hours later, as I sat in the boardwalk of Edgware eating a reduced wholemeal sandwich from Boots (receipt retained for points), and looked on at the clothing shop ahead of mes collection of tacky t-shirts - bearing such original slogans such as 'Remember my name, you'll be screaming it later', or 'If found, please take to the nearest pub', wondering to myself who in the hell actually wears this crap... Mister Jazz man turned up and grabbed a copy of the screaming t-shirt, and took it in the store to buy it. My first thought being that whoever is screaming his name later, must be seriously blind, desperate, or both! It's funny really, if I wore a t-shirt bearing the face of Albert Einstein, most people would both wonder who he is, and think I am odd. Yet wear a t-shirt which expresses an inability to be original and independent, and a bunch of dumb-arses will love you. Oh and fellas, just so you know, those t-shirts make you look both stupid and desperate. And the last time I checked, stupid and desperate do not equate to high value, social cognition, and strong replication value... go look the words up.

Anyhow, needed to get this off my chest. I feel better now. Just want to live my life, make good associations, and help others too.

And, to miss bizarre woman, if you read this. I wish you all the best, but with due respect, bugger off. And to Mister Jazz man... just bugger off. I love you both really, but not enough to take it further than this.


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