Crazy Is As Crazy Does

by Brian

Up first in our “Just A Little Crazy” series is Pamela. She’s up way earlier than I am, her writing cracks my shit up, and she can be found here. And if you missed the introduction to this series, just scroll down a bit, or click here . . .

So here’s the thing.  I am not really one of those Go Out and Do Crazy Shit kind of people.  I’m actually the person the Go Out and Do Crazy Shit Kind Of People come to after they’ve gone out and done crazy shit.  I listen attentively.  And then I tell them that whatever it was that they did, was pretty stupid.

Vanilla.

Not that I haven’t tried to do crazy-ish sort of things.   I have.

One time, The Mister and I decided it might be fun to smoke a bowl and watch porn.   It didn’t turn out to be as much fun as I’d hoped.  It seems that in order to enjoy smoking a bowl, a previous bowl, or ninety, is useful.

I think porn would crack me up if I was stoned.

But I wasn’t.

And for the record?  The Mister was stoned.

I am the human equivalent of milquetoast.

I’m just not really into that whole adrenaline rush thing; I don’t crave excitement. I enjoy routine, a certain degree of predictability. I ruin movies for The Mister with my ability to suspend my disbelief, not on purpose, I just can’t help it. Honest.

So I’m here to write about the craziest thing I’ve ever done.

Skinny dipping… that’s crazy, right? I went to a cottage on the Finger Lakes with some friends when I was a senior in high school, and we went skinny dipping, stone cold sober. That was a short, totally crazy-ish story.

Vanilla milquetoast. That’s me.

The Mister and I live in the small village where we grew up.  Very. Small.  Not even a stoplight. About five years ago our street (one of three in the village) got a sign. It was very exciting. Pretty much everyone in town is in bed by 10 each night, except for the ratty children who have been roaming about lately, stealing hula hoops and egging houses.

Our neighbors to the east are an elderly couple. Our neighbors to the west are lovely, sort of shy. To the south, through our back yard, lives an older woman whose husband died a few years back from cancer. The neighbors to the southeast have a dog that poops in my yard and eats my compost, including the occasional chocolate bar that accidentally gets dropped in the bin. Their kids were courteous enough to leave a trail of empty cans of fluorescent shaving cream and bottles of Corona (some full) between their back door and my garage last Halloween, after they decorated my screen door and both of our vehicles…after they paintballed my house. Special, I know. And our neighbor to the southwest is a wonderful lady who is everybody’s auntie.

We all can stand in our respective yards and chat easily, except for Auntie, who is slightly deaf. We shout to Auntie.

If you are from a small town, you know there is always a certain behavioral code. There are a number of things you just don’t do in the Village. First, you don’t paintball your neighbors’ homes. Second, you don’t practice your mad graffiti skillz on your neighbors’ homes with shaving cream. Third, you don’t leave full bottles of beer lying about, especially when it’s Corona, and extraspecially when you do not leave a lime. And fourth, you don’t have sex in your back yard. Even when it’s dark.

Unless, of course, all of your children are tucked in bed, you’ve enjoyed a fine bottle of wine with your spouse, and had an amazing caprese salad, with glorious fresh mozzarella, tomatoes and basil from your garden, and homemade balsamic vinegarette.

There was definitely some baguette involved. Bonjour, entendre.

And just seconds after the, ummm, baguette had been put away, our western neighbors let their dogs out for last call.

It was like they were waiting for us. How terribly considerate.

The funny thing about this (is there just one?) is that before, during, and after, I never once considered that we might be doing something reckless, the thought we were doing something crazy never crossed my mind.

I have been informed, however, that doing it in one’s back yard, in full view of God and everyone, even if everyone is not watching, is crazy. And I think that might be the craziest thing of all.