Owner's Manual for a Hairy Ass

I have never been a conventional person. In fact, I have always found that any effort spent in doing so was entirely wasted on me. Not only did it make me exceedingly miserable, but ultimately my lack of desire to be another sheep in the herd always shown through. I simply couldn't cage the animal so I learned to embrace it to much success.

I remember when I moved to Hicktown, USA. Transitioning from private to public school was tough. Compounding that transition was having to live in a town notorious for hating outsiders. If you didn't wear car rims for a belt buckle or had the privilege of being raised in a family that found more value in Tommy Hilfiger attire than being a decent human being then you were set for having a bad time.

It didn't take long for the bullies to emerge. Everything from my tall lanky body to my crater face was ripe for exploitation. At first, this bothered the hell out of me. I'm trying to adjust to a new crowd that simply had no desire to adjust to me. Ultimately it would be by non-conformist ways that would pave the way to marching confidently to the beat of my own drum. I also developed a keen sense of psychological warfare.

The bully aims to expose your weakness before all in what should otherwise be a vain attempt to cover for their own lack of personal character. When you realize that their weapon is your perceived weakness, you can take that weakness and make it your strength.

As noted in the title, I in fact have quite the fro puff on the porcelain hills of my shiny white lumps. No one really knew this but I did not cease to take advantage of any moment to lay bare a quality that I would otherwise be ruthlessly harangued over. I wore it out with pride.

I did try and shave it once or twice but that never worked out. It was entertaining, though, one day when my beautiful wife took the task of grooming it for me. I mean she got all up in my crack with wax and everything. While she was doing a great job of cleaning it out, I was ever ready to pounce on any who walked in on us by informing them, "Don't worry, she's almost got the gerbil out." Hilarious.

Once, I flung open the bathroom door while plopping a deuce. I informed the horrified onlookers telling them, "In case you wonder what it looks like when I'm taking a shit." Surely they wondered, right? I closed the door and after a few minutes and a few sighs of relief, I flung it right back open yelling, "In case you forgot!" Minds were scarred that day.

It wasn't uncommon for me to answer the door in my underwear when a solicitor would show up at my home. Almost as many times as I did so, I would quickly lunge out and hump their leg like a dog in spring and then scurry back inside just as quickly while slamming the door in their face. For some reason we got less visits from would be marketers.

This was the age of grunge and I was really big into the scene. Replete with long hair, I quite probably looked like an Amazon woman from behind. Not a fact lost on me as one day I had one of my sister-in-law's friends doll me up like a woman. Another friend and I then went cruising downtown. Yeah, cruising was the weekend thing to do for this largely lifeless town. It was the type of town where literally all people were interested in was fighting or fucking. Dressing as a woman allowed me to mess with the minds of these folks the most.

My friend drove in the left lane so that I could sit with my back to the window for onlookers in the right lane. When some hyper-hormonal jock douche would cat call at me, I would wait until we hit a red light. After much begging for my attention they got it in this moment. Immediately proceeding a "hey baby" type comment, I would turn to them and in my naturally deep voice say in a sultry manner, "Well, hey there big fella."

The looks on their faces were priceless. On the one hand they wanted to whip my ass for being a dude in drag but, on the other, is the sick realization that they, in all their hypo-machismo demeanor, realized they just hit on a dude in drag. It was the ultimate redneck paradox and witnessing their mind imploding deep within their eyes was nothing short of pure delight.

I had a black belt in Meg Griffin.

Owning my flaws has prevented others from having power over me. If you show you do not care, then it is difficult to make you miserable. As a point of fact, if you REALLY show you don't care, you can turn the terror back on your would be harassers to such a point that they will outright avoid you or beg you to stop.

It did backfire on me once. We had a Christian concert at school and I flicked a lighter and waved it like I was at a rock concert. Folks around me got a pretty good laugh but my vice-principal was not so entertained. In fact, he hauled me into this office and fondly tried to tear me apart for being a "Satanist." I was, at this time, a Southern Baptist so it was hard for me to not laugh at him. He suspended me.

Those whom would have otherwise terrorized me, but were powerless to do so, decided to capitalize on the opportunity. They concocted a story that I had made threats against the VP's life. They told him such creative things as "I would lop off his head and put it into a basket." I'm pretty sure they've seen too many movies as I was far more imaginative than that. To any effect, I was booted out five weeks before graduation.

Was it worth it all? Absolutely. I would do it again if I could if not for the sheer joy that even to this day that man is terrified of me. I don't even have to do anything outrageous to spur his fear. In fact, I kill him with kindness. That makes it all the funnier.

If there is a lesson to be gained in all of this it's to just be you. Own yourself. Own your strengths but definitely own your weaknesses. The less you give someone to exploit, the less capable they are in being able to do so. The more you own you, the less someone is capable of taking it from you, even if by force.

Own your "hairy asses" and your spirit can never be broken.