Friday, February 25, 2011

Yell At Me Like You Mean It

I love being yelled at.
No, really, I mean it.

Nothing beats the sound of a good old-fashioned, "bull horn screaming at" that reminds me of being right back at home.


I know, for me, I always feel like an odd man out, you know..never really fitting quite in during public meetings or neighbor sightings or just plain old conversation. I hate people smiling at me or making me welcomed in their puts me on edge and makes me wonder what in the hell they expect in return for sharing their bread and shining my shoes.

I walk around, maybe 99% of the time feeling in a haze..wondering why I don't fit in...

and then, it happens, that god-send 1% of the time when someone just rip-roaring rages at me an I can finally exhale and feel I'm right back where I belong...

When I hear that piercing scream coming in my direction, It is almost as if the hairs on my spine rest, even the hairs on my mole fall from attention for a moment, and I just want to put on my bedroom slippers and light a cigarette.

Now, that is all fine and good; I mean, I will take a phone screaming at or a road rage yell any old day, but there is NOTHING..and I do mean NOTHING like someone getting all up in my face and tell me in a roaring yell how pissed they are at something I may or may not have done....
That kind of comfort makes me want to roll out my cot, make my pau d'arco allergy tea and start reading my Twighlight books.

Right at home.

I just can't help it. I love a plain-old yelling at, especially when it lists my faults in alphabetical order in a way that leaves me not even able to hear myself think...Maybe it's unfair that I have such a gift or have been given such insight into the true road to happiness; or maybe my momma just spoiled me. Who really knows about such good fortunes?

All I know is, if you want to be my friend, then yell at me like my momma would.