If you’ve known me from anywhere between 2 minutes to twenty-three years, you certainly know this one thing about me:
I thought I was a cat in 5th grade.
Or so that’s how the story goes, my friends. Truth is I was of course completely aware I was a human being. I was just unaware of this, if anything, during morning, lunch, and afternoon recesses. I was also completely unaware of how terribly uncool this was.
I, (Blackstar), was just tryna swag out and be the leader of my clan (Thunderclan) and catch some prey (sparrows, mice, other small things found in rural midwestern towns) while protecting myself from my enemy (Shadowclan).
Try explaining your way out of that one while phone interviewing for your first big girl job.
“…So basically I have great survival skills and can make a fort out of leaves, vine, and sticks to protect myself from invaders. I think I’m highly qualified to sell forty-five year old women clothes…I’m well rounded?”
Weirdly, I ended up getting the job. I can now proudly say that I am able to protect my fellow associates at White House | Black Market from prey shortages and enemy clans. They’ll be thankful to have me when that time comes- and I didn’t even tell them that I have a level 120 Nidoking and level 114 Charizard on my Gameboy Color game Pokemon Blue Version too! Check that swag, my neighbors.
So, the point of this post? (Other than the fact that I blatantly overuse the word “so”.)
I could not be more happy with how extremely weird I was (and still am) while growing up.
When I was a kid, I always lived my life like I was the focal point of a Meg Cabot novel. I envisioned myself like Mia from The Princess Diaries or Judy from those Judy Moody books. Being completely conventionally weird, I kept a diary from 7th grade all the way up to 10th grade. I wrote almost every single day from 7th-8th grade and included the exact time I was beginning to write (9:36pm), the mood I was in (OBBBsessing over ❤ Mason ❤ ), and entries frequently interrupted by, “OMG G2G MOM IS COMING UP THE STAIRS” or “oh gosh I have to poop so bad…okay I’m back it only took me fifteen minutes”. Stuff like that. You know, what every 7th grader writes in their diary about.
I loved to read, and reading made me especially imaginative at a young age.
In high school, I retained my image of weirdness. The deadly combination of being the only freshman on my varsity volleyball team, having awkwardly long, pale arms and legs, and a knack for Youtubing the dance moves to Soulja Boy vids did nothing to make me more cool. In class I kept my “weirdness” under wrap. I specifically remember one of the most popular girls in school asking me (she only asked because I was sitting right next to her in government class) a question and I completely blanked out and couldn’t believe she was talking to me. I don’t think I ever answered her question. She’s probably still desperately waiting to find out the answer to question 14c.
Crazy stuff. I would say I didn’t care about fitting in, but the fact that I freaked out there makes me rethink ever affirming the “I don’t care” line.
The amount of time I also remember spending perusing the online sale and clearance on Abercrombie, Hollister, and American Eagle is bat sh*t crazy. The evening after I received my birthday money for my 15th birthday I purchased a pair of Hollister jeans that I considered “cool enough” but ended up being ill fitting and entirely uncomfortable. I would unbutton them while sitting in class because they were too tight to keep buttoned. There were times I was able to get full priced items from these stores of course (more often than not) and I would always jump at the opportunity for my shirt to visibly sport the little moose, seagull, or eagle logos I had grown to love. The more obnoxiously present it was, the better. I think many of you girls can relate- how many times did you throw on a tight button down in navy, pink, grey, or cream with a lace cami underneath with a pair of jeans and some Ugg moccasins or boots? It was the height of cool back in ’09. Or at least in my mind- it’s what the popular kids would wear.
And of course here’s a little disclaimer for those of you who knew me in high school- I was never the kid who was bullied mercilessly by her classmates. I was extremely average and had a decent high school experience. I don’t want to make it seem like I struggled hardcore every day, because I didn’t. I had other struggles of course, but I wasn’t like those Napolean Dynamite kids or Carries who lost their shit at an #$% backwards school. I was the kind of kid who knew several of the older girls at school because I participated in one varsity sport, but yet the kid who carved her initials in her violin in orchestra, and spent hours painting in studio art classes. I also had my friend group change around my junior year of high school. The typical high school stuff. I was never part of the “drinking crowd” and had myself convinced that I would never drink alcohol in college because “Mountain Dew got me so hype and I couldn’t imagine something better”.
…I’ll just leave that there for ya.
So basically, I was just a weird kid with friends who actually had social skills and put up with my lack thereof. And I’d still say the same thing to this day.
As many of you probably know (where my Instagram fam at?!) I spent a majority of my junior year in college trying to beat Spyro: Year of the Dragonfly, Gallop Horse Racer, and ATV Off-Road Fury 1, 2, 3, and 4. In my off time I would make Instagram videos of myself mini golfing and heating up potatoes in the microwave.
You know, the stuff a 20-something year old does (see what I did there? That crap is called a “call back”!!! I think.)
But truth is, in everything I’ve learned from high school to college, turns out that being okay with being myself works for me. Like I said in a previous post, when I’m comfortable with me, others tend to be comfortable with me as well. In some ways I find it somewhat unfortunate that I’ve figured out how to do my hair and makeup and dress myself, because on the outside (and in any tagged pictures you’ll see of me on Facebook) I appear to be someone a lot less weird than I actually am. And I’m proud of being weird and having a couple diaries and numerous sketchbooks filled with crude drawings of my old cats (S/O to Clarese and Sashi ❤ ❤ ❤ ).
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Alright. Even though I’ve clearly had a time and a half talking about myself here, I want you to be able to apply this to your life. Because why the heck else would you want to read about Kristin Hovie being a cat? You wouldn’t. Unless you have found my highly elusive cat diary, which I am still searching for after five years and are about to text me, letting me know you stole it.
So if you have a weird side, freakin’ embrace it. It’s what makes you, you. If you’ve already graduated high school or college and have already reached this conclusion on your own, great. I think it’s highly important. If you haven’t, tap into it. Why not? There are too many people that try to fit in (oh god, this sounds like one of those motivational posters with a picture of the world surrounded by black space) so switch it up. I wish I wouldn’t have spent all those years wearing those Hollister jeans- because I would have saved myself a lotttttt of indigestion and farting.
Be proud of being completely and utterly weird if you are blessed enough to have been dropped as a child. I’ve gotta say that through everything I’ve gone through in my life, being insane has kept me sane.
And once again, this is where I’ll leave you.
Stay weird, my fellow weirdos.