Good morning! You’re about to enter a world where up is down and down is up. Where the absurd is the norm and nothing average makes sense. Where everything occurs in Technicolor pictures and people carrying on heated discussions with themselves is accepted behavior. You’re about to enter…the Chris-Zone.
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| Not the Chris-Zone!?! |
(Oh yeah, I crack myself the heck up!) A few days ago I was sitting on the couch next to the hubby, playing on-line with the laptop. I guess he was watching over my shoulder, because out of nowhere he asked, “Why 13?”
“Umm…that’s random enough. Because 12 and 14 don’t like each other and needed a mediator?” was my STELLAR answer.
That was when he gave me “The Look” and pointed to my Twitter page (@pixiecd13). So I explained to him why the 13. For my honesty I was rewarded with the blank-stare-head-shake-and–added-sigh. “Honey, I didn’t think it was possible, but you just get weirder and weirder. Sometimes, you even scare me. Just a little bit.”
What the heck!?!
The next day I tried the explanation out on my daughter, whose eyes grew to the size of salad plates. “Uh, Mom? You know you’re seriously crazy, right?” she said as she was backing slowly away, I assume so as not to startle the nut-job standing expectantly before her.
So I’m going for public opinion on this one. I’ll explain why 13 to you, and you can either support or refute my family’s opinion about how freakin’ crazy it is.
Do NOT ask why, because I’m not sure how or it started…but from about the age of 10 I had a near pathological fear of odd numbers. (I am SO blaming this for my suck-i-tude at math!) I was never 11, instead I was 10 and two halves. (Stop laughing a minute. I’m being serious!)
I was totally connvinced even numbers were lucky and odd numbers were the worst kind of bad luck. I did everything in evens, including walking. At the height of my “glitch,” I would count the steps I took from place to place, adjusting my stride or adding a tiny “hop” at my destination to insure I had taken an even number of steps. Yeah, for a chick that HATED math, I spent an inordinate amount of time counting.
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| My Nemesis? My friend? |
On those dark, scary days of uber-bad luck, Friday the 13th, I’d wear bells on my shoes or in my hair to scare away the “evil.” (I knew it worked ‘cause I heard it on a record about superstitions and folk lore, which was narrated by the AWESOME Vincent Price, so it HAD to be true!) Can we just say, my teachers HATED me? The one poor soul who tried to force me to remove the annoying bells was met with near panic…
This “odd” behavior continued throughout my teen years…and beyond. I never even had a 21st birthday. (Yep, 20 and two halves.) It wasn’t until I was in my early 20s that I started reading a lot of mythology. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that to most cultures, odd numbers weren’t unlucky!
It seemed the whole “3” is special was somewhat a world-wide thing, at least in ancient cultures. (And don’t think I didn’t briefly consider the fact that these cultures were kinda “vanished” and possibly so because of their extensive use of odd numbers…)
But something had to give. I mean, I had reached the point where I’d close a door twice every time I used it (or just leave it open). People in public were starting to stare…
So I took a deep breath…and started “using” odd numbers. I even made a concerted effort to STOP counting everything!
I eventually got the point where I could use my actual age, like 25, without having to fight down the feeling of sheer panic. (Yeah me!) After a while, I got so good at odd numbers, I decided to face down the Great-Grand-Daddy of them all, 13! You know what happened? NOTHING! The next Friday the 13th I didn’t even wear bells. And you know what happened? NOTHING! I had freakin’ WON! I beat my fear of the “oddies.”
So, occasionally if I’m required to add a number after my name because somewhere in the Universe lives another nut-job who calls themselves “pixiecd” I’ll just toss on 13. (After all, most people think it’s unlucky, so it’s ALWAYS available.) To me it represents my triumph over my own stupidity.
Oh, just for the record I firmly deny any connection between three 3's being considered the luckiest number to many ancient cultures and the fact that I might wear 9 bracelets, have 9 ear piercings, 9 toenails (just...don't even ask), and things inside my home end up accidentally arranged in groups of 9 here and there. (That? Would just be silly!) It's all pure coincidence!
Thank you for joining us on this weird trip through a psychosis in a place where sane men fear to tread. Where strange women count and 13 is lucky. Where every day is a trip through…the Chris-Zone!
