In my family I am known not only for the outlandish things I do but the outlandish things I say. No topic is too taboo, no place to risque to let the anti-black hole, that is place so conveniently in the center of my face, to spew forth such ridiculous remarks that make my own mother wish she birthed a mute.
My conversational abilities are so rudimentary and awkward that "crazy" or "weirdo" have been deemed not merely character traits of mine, but have become nicknames. These two traits have ingrained themselves into my psyche so much so that any conversation I have not only highlights these two descriptional flares of mine but advertises it with such ferocity that I blind my conversational companion with my eccentricity.
Over the last few years of excepting my rather odd psychosis I have began to make a kind of game of it. I like to label it Conversational Karaté. Its not simply karate but Karaté. It is sophisticated enough to have the additional flare added to the end to let people know that there is a fine amount of finesse in this rather odd off shoot of the typical conversation. It is not just about a diarrhea of exchange but more like a very specific planned ninja attack on one's fellow conversationalist.
I graduated from Conversational Diarrhea to Conversational Karaté without realizing that I was transitioning into this much more sophisticated method of exchange until it was far too late. I have found it a efficient no bullshit approach for individuals who want to understand me and a quick way for me to get to know them. This verbal Ninja Attack is an way to make any mundane introduction exciting. I have come to secretly enjoy it not only because it complements my klutzy conversational abilities but also because it happens to jump start any social exchange; leaving people dazed, confused and vulnerable.
It was in a moment of my youthful travel weariness that my social ninja attack abilities were discovered. I was 19, in a foreign country, emotionally exhausted from ingesting Italian culture, my ass hurt, my legs were numb, and I could not even imagine ever being so dirty in my entire life. This coming from a person that at age 8 was allergic to anything that aided me in being clean and hygienic (a unfortunate trait that has more or less faded over the years, or so I hope).
Some how, I found a way through my exhaustion, and was bubbling over with excitement at my first real conversation with a foreigner my own age! I did not know where to begin or how to begin. At first I let the poor unsuspecting boy talk to me and begin to paint a picture of a sweet demure young American girl.
As he talked I became more and more antsy, fiddling with my sweat soaked tang top and squeezing my mouth into a pucker so as to keep my possibly klutzy exchange at bay. However, this act only made me look that much more angelic and shy, something that I most certainly am not.
My Irish companion suggested we go for a walk around the area so we could get some fresh air. At this stage I was at my breaking point; only seconds away from exploding with inappropriate conversational remarks. This mixed with my fear of being alone with a stranger, in a non-English speaking country, in the middle of the night, I knew would not equate to a very angelic remark but rather the opposite.
I had said very little up to this point and was confused, scared, intrigued and naive. It was a pyroclastic cloud of words waiting to happen. An unstable verbal display that was ready to topple forth from my lips.
As the fresh air undressed my senses and licked at my sweating brow my ropes of restraint broke. And with that I exploded with, "Your not going to rape me are you? Because if you try I am going to kick your ass."
My best attempts at Conversational Karaté and I did not even know it. I blew away my conversational partner, a round house kick to the gut. All former ideas of me as being a sweet, angelic creature to rival all American stereotypes was crushed. But there was one thing I knew for sure...I was most certainly not going to get sneak attacked that night.
After my unconventional conversational introduction and a few moments of recovery, I could recognized the tell-tell signs of amusement and of growing respect in the eyes of my Irish companion. How could he not be entertained, because who in their right mine would be brave enough or insane enough to say something so stupid?!
