When I'm in default me-mode, I don't tend to think overmuch about what people are going to think of the way I look, talk, act. I'm just me, you know? I dress the way I want to. I use the words I want to. But when I'm out in public, especially in a nice large city, people are apt to think that it falls within their job description to say things to me.
You bitches thought it was funny to say things along the lines of, "Shake it, mamacita!" to the fat lady, eh? Had I been 15, with the attitude I have now, I probably would have rearranged your face. Sad that I'm an adult and would be prosecuted as such now...
People comment on my hat relatively often. I would guess that about half are being sincere in saying that it's a nice hat, and they like it. The other half, the hollered "Nice hat!" from cars, in male voices... more candidates for unprofessional plastic surgery.
Their opinions don't matter to me. That they think I am an acceptable target for their rudeness and self-loathing and insecurity does bother me. I can't smash all of them in the face with a hammer. I would probably be appalled with myself if I seriously entertained that thought for more than a few minutes.
I don't belong here. Sure, I can pass. I can wear slacks and nice shirts and lose the hat and put on makeup. I look good like that; even I think I look good like that. But when I'm just-me, when I've got the jeans and the default shirt and the hat to keep the goddamn sun out of my face, if I'm slouching and not made up, if my hair's looped back in a ponytail to keep it out of my way, if I don't bother to keep a masklike expression on my face, if I walk and ride the bus rather than beg a ride from someone who's got a car... then I'm just another street madwoman, and fair game to be taunted and "Do you see that hat she's wearing? Tee-hee-hee-hee!" discussed, with intent to be overheard.
I am who I am. I'm beautiful when I try to be, or when I'm happy. I'm brilliant and articulate. And, in person, I'm antisocial, I avoid groups, I rarely return favors or intimacy, and many people who I'm sure would love to be friends with me get rebuffed without me really knowing that I'm pushing them away.
I'm the Lunatic. And I hate to be called insane...