People quite often ask me how I ended up with a life that is full of nutty incidents and fabu-crazy people. I honestly don’t think that my life is very different to anyone else’s. But, on a very regular basis, I hear the words
That could only ever happen to you
Now, I am not rich or well-connected, nor do I associate with celebrities. In fact, I live a mostly very normal, workaday life. But it’s certainly true that a huge proportion of my friends are performers, creatives, or deeply involved in various forms of sub-culture; and that lends itself perfectly to a portfolio of stories to dine out on (see my post about disgraceful restaurant conversations).
Like the time I skipped, hand-in-hand through a bar with a man who was wearing nothing but gold nipple tassles and a pair of embellished briefs (a post for another day, perhaps?). Or the night my neighbour asked me if I was a real princess, whilst I was putting out the rubbish wearing a full-length evening gown, tiara and false moustache. Or the day I got a frantic call from a performer-friend, which resulted in a 3am adventure to a cheap hotel with a handbag full of gaffer tape.
It’s true that like attracts like, and so I presume that my own craziness plays a part in throwing other like-minded people into my path. Or I theirs. But I honestly think it’s an attitude too. A friend once said: “Ooh – how do you meet such perfect friends”. I heard myself reply:
None of them is perfect – they’re just crazy in a way I understand.
For example, one Thursday night, I was having a glass of wine in a bar with a friend. She saw some people she knew and we went to say hello. Chatting ensued, and someone invited me to a party. I just LOVE a party.
So, less than 36 hours after being introduced, I found myself clutching a vegan apple cake at a costume party, in a complete stranger’s house, watching a grown man in full Darth Vader costume who was, incidentally, pole-dancing.
Some people would say that I could easily have awoken in a bath full of ice, with one less kidney than is usual for me. And don’t get me wrong –
I’m as self-conscious about meeting new people as you probably are. But it was great; I met loads more fabu-crazy people, and I had a wonderful time.
Now clearly I am not saying that if a stranger invites you to their house you should go. Please do not try this at home. I am very cautious about the particular brand of excitement I invite into my life, for fear of coming home one day to find an undesirable leaping from my dustbin with a bunch of headless roses.
But life presents opportunities and sometimes, just sometimes, they feel right and safe and too good to miss. I would argue that it’s just a case of releasing your own, inimitable brand of fabu-crazy.