There definitely is something fishy about it.

I really, really like asking people off-putting questions. I don’t know why; I’d like to blame the whole journalist thing, but that might just be trying to cover a giant strange with a tiny normal. I wouldn’t be surprised if it were actually the other way around, and that this filthy habit is the reason I was ever drawn to journalism.

I feel that asking people unexpected questions is like a layer cake of awesome, wherein the layers represent the separate and distinct reasons that I am powerless to resist the urge to indulge this bizarre and socially awkward practice. At the bottom, it’s hilarious to me. There is no unfunny response to a truly peculiar question posed at the most inappropriate moment. I’m not saying I burst out laughing- and I am aware that this makes me a total creep- but I kind of prefer to pretend like the whole situation is completely normal and save it for my own personal enjoyment later.

In the middle, there is the fact that I am insanely curious. If I were a cat, I would be so, so very dead by now. I would have been dead as soon as I was able to talk. True story: when I was four years old and in pre-school, my completely innocent curiosity led me to uncover the truth of what sex is, and since I had no capacity to understand it, I decided it was appropriate dinner conversation and told my older brother quite matter-of-factly how it all works over a bowl of mashed potatoes.

I stand by my original claims.

“Birds do it,” I said, “And… bees do it too.” (This is the PG version, for any insanely curious four-year-olds who might be reading this blog. You don’t belong here, children!)
He was so traumatized! He turned really red, shaking his head back and forth, his mouth a fine line of resentment and horror as he started repeating: “No, no, NO! That’s not what it is! Sex is when mommy and daddy kiss and cuddle! Right Mom?!”
“That’s right Chris!” Frantic mother replied. I was scandalized by censorship. And thus began my life as the black sheep of the family.
Needless to say, my insatiably inquisitive nature has gotten me into some situations. But I think situations keep life interesting. In the immortal words of Chuck Palahniuk: “All god does is watch us and kill us off when we get boring. We must never, ever be boring.”
To my mind, if I am bored, I am probably boring. Curiosity keeps me from being bored. The obvious conclusion: I will live forever!

Then there’s the top, which I envision as being that special cookie crumbly chocolate ooey gooey stuff that’s the only good part of a Dairy Queen ice cream cake: asking people something out of the blue is disarming; they don’t even realize the ways they reveal themselves when you catch them off guard like that. Even if they don’t respond, their body language will tell you something. It goes hand in hand with my curiosity, but it’s more than that. It’s deeper than simply being curious about people. I’ve always been somewhat introspective and I noticed when I was very young that no matter how close you get to someone, you remain isolated in your strange machine- in your cage of blood and bones. But when you can look inside and understand someone…When you can catch them unawares- well that’s a Teddy Bear’s picnic. It’s warm and comforting. I’ve always thought that it is in our private moments that we are most beautiful, we are the most open. The closest thing you can get to that is catching someone by surprise.

I think this is why I enjoy startling my infant niece. I kind of just pop into her field of vision and go “Boo!” I mean, it’s kind of cruel, she’s only like six months old and it makes her cry. But I love the honesty of her shock. It’s so pure, it’s so true.
It’s hard to get that in this world, if you ask me.

Anyways, basically, I suggest you try it. Just to help you get started, here are some of my favourite abnormal questions I like to ask people, and how I would respond to me.

Q: So, Erynn: If we were lovers, and then you found out that I was a vigilante murderer like Batman or Dexter- so kind of a good guy, but still a straight up killer- would you be afraid of me, or would you be oddly comforted that I could kill anyone who ever tried to hurt you?

A: Wow Erynn, that is such a good question, and it’s one I am so glad you asked. You see, I have been serially killing black hats for the last few years, and I have just been waiting for the right moment to get it off my chest.
Ah! What a load off!
Okay, but seriously- it depends. What are you like in bed? Are you sweet and sensitive, or are you arrhythmic and closed off? Do you light candles beforehand?

Q: I think you know the answer to that, Erynn…
A: Yeah, this got weird.

Q: Have you ever shaved someone else’s head? If so, did you enjoy it, and if not, would you like to? And if you would like to, would you rather shave someone’s short hair, or someone’s really long, thick hair?

A: As a matter of fact I have, and yes, I did find it oddly satisfying. Kind of like icing a cake in reverse. Though I have never had the opportunity to shave off anyone’s really long, thick, lovely and flowing hair, I would do it if I had the chance. I think I would probably cry the whole time. It would seem so sad, but it would hurt so good.
I shaved my cat once; she seemed like she had so much hair it made her uncomfortable. Everywhere she went she left like a whole other cat made out of hair behind. It was really unnatural, even for a cat.
Anyways, she hated the process, but I think she was happier afterward.
(Awkward silence)
She wasn’t completely bald afterward! Her hair was just thinner… and shorter…
(…)
It was summer and I don’t have air conditioning!

Q: Considering Hell as a general concept, what would Hell be like for you?

A: Hmm… Okay, I would be on a train and people keep touching me. We aren’t packed in that close, so they could avoid touching me, but they just don’t, because they are inconsiderate pricks. So they keep just lightly bumping me with their bags or shoulders or whatever. Someone standing right in front of me is a mouth breather and I can smell their breath. Then, when I get off the train, suddenly everyone but me is wearing a giant panda suit, and even though they are the weird ones, I feel like a jerk that I’m not wearing one. And I don’t like pandas.
I have to walk really slowly behind some pandas, which is so uncomfortable, because I have naturally long strides. Probably a couple of assholes behind me give me a flat tire once or twice. I get on the left side of the escalator and the panda in front of me keeps making like they are going to step, but then they don’t, so I repeatedly ram my face into their lower back in my anticipation. When I get to the top of the escalator, I have to walk through a gauntlet of pandas force feeding me undercooked lobster and prawns. Then I open a door and it’s my bathroom, and it’s perfectly clean except there is dust in that dark corner behind the toilet that inexplicably makes me feel ill to see dust in. I try to clean it, and it comes out- but as soon as I stand up, it looks dusty again.
I am permanently nauseated; I am fat, but in an unnatural way, like a skinny person wearing a fat suit, so I just can’t get used to it and I am clumsy and unwieldy; I am constantly flanked by crying babies. I am illiterate and the Ricky Martin Christmas song plays everywhere at all times.

Q: ….Oh god. I am shuddering right now!

A: inorite!?
I take my job as a student of humanity very seriously.
It’s a proud and noble job.

Try not to over-think it. The important thing to understand is that it couldn’t be truer.

It probably sounds extreme, having all these clones running about, but gosh, I’ve just got so much to do in 2012! Aside from acquiring that basically useless superpower, I’ve also resolved to take slam dancing lessons. I have been looking everywhere for a decent teacher, but everyone I have contacted seems to indicate that slam dancing is something you are born with. They say it can’t be taught.

God, it makes me feel so inadequate, because whenever I try to let out my natural slam dancing ability I just look like an idiot standing there, jerking back and forth. I just know I’m missing something important.

So there’s that. Oh yeah, and that’s not even touching on the most important thing I resolved to do this year- get over my addiction to porn. It’s totally ruining my life! It’s like my parents come over, and there’s just porn everywhere. Porn on the couch! Porn coming out of the kitchen sink! I mean, I don’t even know where it all comes from, it just seems to settle around my house like dust! On a related note, I also resolved to hunt down and destroy that gnome that leaves porn all over my house; and, find out exactly what “porn” is.

Ever since the internet it’s all you hear about anymore- but with all these clones to control, I haven’t really had a chance to check it out.

I considered a resolution to eat less cucumber, but that just seemed crazy, you know, taking this whole “New Year’s Resolution” thing just a liiittle too far.

The truth is, I don’t believe in New Year’s Resolutions. I pretty much think if you think you suck, why wait for January 1st to change?

It’s important to think you are cool, since you have to live with your opinion of yourself forever. So be cool, blueberries. This is my song recommendation to you for kicking ass in 2012- my theme song for the year, if you will.

“i hate you.
that is all.”

Is that mean? It might be. When I saw it, I burst out laughing. I had completely forgotten about doing it. I guess it was just one of those offhanded impulsive things, that once it was off my chest, I forgot about it forever. Looking back at this person’s profile, I can immediately see why I might take a disliking to them- there is mention of hitting on ten-year-old girls and killing people as hobbies, both of which I personally find deviant- but there wasn’t really any indication of what would make me so fervent about this random that I would actually send them hate mail. I could only assume that I must have seen them commenting in a group or on an article and immediately decided they were the worst.

Whatever the reason, the fact remains that I did send this person a clear concise signal: “I hate you.” There’s really no room for confusion there.

While I do think that hate mailing can be a form of bullying, I actually feel that in this case, the simple elegance of it makes it something so much more, so much better than bullying. It was almost bordering polite; a brief interaction between two people wherein one despises the other, and tells them so- not to ruin their life or harass them, but just to put it out there.

i hate you!

“Oh, by the way- I hate you.”

“Oh, hey- I’ve seen what you’ve been up to, and I don’t like it. I hate you.”

I’ve had it up to here with everything you’ve been doing.

Is that really so wrong? Call me crazy, but sometimes I think that people who are out in the world being ass holes need to know that someone is seeing it, and hating them for it. They need to know that somewhere, somehow, records are being maintained! So if you’re thinking of keeping karmic tabs on an ass hole, on the internet or in real life, here is my advice for sending pointed hate mail without truly having to hate.

Keep it Simple.There’s no need to get personal, or be too specific about the basis of your ire. The idea is just to let them know that you’ve noticed what they’ve done, and it immediately repulsed you. Think of your message not as an insult, but more of a polite tap on the shoulder: “Excuse me. I don’t think you should be doing that. It made me hate you. Is that how you want strangers to react to you?”

Be Yourself. Don’t be a coward and send your message anonymously- that’s what bullies do. Facebook used to have this app called “honesty box,” and someone once sent me an anonymous hate message in it. I was like… ORLY? How hideously craven. I think if you can’t stand behind your insults, then you have no right flinging them. Sending an anonymous message just implies that you’re afraid of what that person might say in return- and if they basically know who you are anyways, which they probably do- then don’t you look the fool.

Don’t Get Angry. If you care too much, you’ll just come across like a big whiny bitch. You need to make sure your message is clear and concise. Remain detached and unemotional.

Pre-write a Calm Response. You don’t want to be caught with your pants down in the event that your target strikes back. Plan your response in advance, so you can take the high road. For example, if they come back with “WTF u dont even no me your the 1 that lix balls!” (They always have bad grammar) You can say “Okay, I’m sorry. I don’t hate you;  just your guts.” Boo ya.

Does this blog post make you think I’m deserving of hate mail? If you follow my rules, I’m cool with you sending it. Especially number 2.
I’m looking at you, honesty box coward.
I’ve had it up to here with everything you’ve been doing.