A show of hands if you consider yourself a little (or more) awkward. Nobody can see you, thus it's a completely anonymous poll; no need to worry. You may need to worry if you're sitting in a public library or a computer lab somewhere. Maybe that guy sitting across from the strange person raising their hand in a public library needs to worry. I've gotten off track again.
If you're anything at all like me, and I assume you are since we share over 40,000 genes (one is bound to be at a similar expression value, meaning we're at least one gene alike), then I bet you, like me, embrace the little bit of awkward you have. To be frank, there is a substantial portion of awkward in my molecular makeup. A recent Wikipedia page on Leon (made up) claims he is 70% water, 30% awkward. Today, I may just prove that true. (Note: a more appropriate word that may be used in place of awkward throughout this post is weird.)
So sit back, relax, put your hand down (I think that guy sitting across from you just uppity-upped and left), and enjoy, if you wish, a few of the more awkward moments (and quirks) of my life. Some of these I must attribute to those who have shared their somewhat magical awkwardness-talent with me, for I wouldn't be who I am today without them.
In general, upon meeting someone for the first time, I reach out and grab their elbow. One of my favorite individuals did this to me when we met and it stuck as one of my own defining attributes. Another he showed me was the awkward handshake I give by grabbing only the fingers of he/she attempting to shake my hand. I have also highly favored the frape over the past few years, which is where you take the palm of your hand, place it on the forehead of the person in front of you, and smear in a downwards motion. All of these gestures have been known to throw people for a loop, and, although it's done out of pure affection, I simply love the reactions.
About a year and a half ago, I was sitting by the fireplace in a ritzy, highly expensive living room at some young single adult activity. I'm enjoying a nice conversation with Kendall, and this unintelligent biped (bai-pehd) decides to stand exactly in front of me in order to talk to this other clique of likewise stupid people. Getting slightly annoyed, I reach out and awkwardly touch the guy's leg. This is not a tap; this is a stroke, a two-inch rub down back of his thigh or shin or whatever it was. Then, like the genius that I am, pretend I didn't see anything when the fool turns around and inquires, "Did someone just touch my leg?" We're still not friends to this day.
Some other oddities: I've licked somebody's face, shared toothbrushes with numerous people, had a mustache for over a month, gone on a date wearing all mismatched clothing, ridden mandem (where two guys ride a scooter meant for one) on at least 3 occasions, worn skinny jeans and a t-shirt stating "The Working Man is a Sucker" to my government job (where I met a producer in whose corn field we were working), openly admitted my obsession for Pokémon, confessed my love for someone over facebook chat, asked a girl out over text, told a girl in a note in 7th grade "You so fine, you so fine, girl I wish that you were mine!", attempted to correct a professor in the middle of class and was wrong, attempted to correct a professor in the middle of class and was right (! - had to throw that in), flirted with the bishop's daughter at an activity at his house (in front of him and his wife), called my sister's girlfriend (when I was in middle school) the blueberry girl, done Smeagol impressions to impress dates, discussed symptoms and realities of IBS on (many) first dates, donned grey hair and a grey beard for a whole night (not Halloween), ran away (literally) from a girl out of fear who wanted to kiss me, asked a different bishop who a certain pretty young lady (I actually said it like that) was only to find out it was his daughter, used made-up words (thanks to Seth) like H-ing to non-Utahns (they generally shrug me and everything I say off anyway), flexed my buttocks on the subway as a missionary, told a girl in Spain (in English) that she was a sinner for wearing a nose ring (she smiled and casually said "good bye" in perfect English as she left the train), carried a tin whistle around with me at college for a month, worn a pen around my neck and carried a notebook claiming I could communicate with a ghost whose only form of communication was the written word and who helped me solve cases (it was the exact plot of the cult TV show Ghostwriter - I was 28), spoken with a phony English accent for the better part of a night while touring a small city outside of St. Louis with a lovely Columbian (Missouri) family during Christmas (only to crack when someone would ask where I was from), spoken with a phony Alabaman accent while touring the famous arch at Lake Powell (only to find out the tour guide was moving to Alabama and wanted to meet up when she got there - I'm not making this up!),..., n, n + 1, ....... (the list goes on towards infinity here).
But the coupe de grace, the winner, the blue ribbon, the gold medal, the one what cuts the big fish, the cake-taker, the top dawg, after which only the fat lady will sing, happened to me (or should I say I happened to them) as I was sitting in the airport in Kansas City waiting for my plane ride home. Now first, you have to imagine what I looked like. I have on a green plaid driver (newsie) hat, glasses that scream metro!, a purple hoodie under which I'm wearing a blue and black checkered flannel. I'm wearing grey, no blue, super tight skinny jeans, and old, once-white Vans with red and black checkered laces. On top of all that, recall above when I said I had a mustache for over a month. I still have it. It's thick. Get the visual? Ready for what happens next? Please, don't judge me too harshly. As I hope you can understand from above, I have a bad habit of sticking my foot in my mouth all too often. I'm sitting there next to these two girls, looking like I did, and I just get this feeling. They're Mormon. So I decide to test my theory. Bust out the trusty MacBook, open up to LDS.org, begin to browse around. I see girl 1 send a text; girl 2 gets a text as soon as girl 1 puts her phone away. Sneaky. Upon reading the text, girl 2 looks at girl 1 and says, "Yeah, I do." Then they start ever-so-quietly speaking of religion. They start speaking a little louder. At this point, I know they're Mormon. I just know it. So I look over and say (and brace yourself):
I wear magic underwear.
As the words were rolling off my tongue, I could only imagine how awkward, creepy, and just plain weird this whole scene must look to an outsider, let alone to the two nice girls who didn't deserve that. This is what I imagined the people telling their families later that day, "So this guy, mid- to upper-30s, is sitting next to a couple of girls who are at best 20. The girls are having a very private, almost mumbled conversation. Suddenly, the guy looks over and proclaims, "I wear magic underwear!" (gasps! from the peanut gallery) And what's even more shocking is that these girls didn't get up and move or tell security or anything! No, they just sat there; they began to have a conversation with the creep-o! They stopped talking after two or three minutes; he went back to his Dante's Inferno or whatever it was and they went back to their conversation. Silence. I tell you what (!), I have never felt a more awkward tension than I did today. It was weird."
Mind your own business, filthy eavesdropper. Comments welcome.
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