Nice to "meet" you... sort of.

My husband calls me "the magnet". Not because I randomly stick to the fridge or set off the metal detectors at airports but because of the strange people who are drawn to me when we are out and about. On the train, bus, plane, no matter where we go in the world if there is a nutty person about you can be sure to find them chatting to me. It made for some interesting nights out when I was single. Not.

It's not that I'm oblivious to the nuttiness, oh no I am very perceptive. I see the nut a mile off. I know that if it is a chatty nut, then there is no point running, the nut will find me. I've tried to do the nod and smile thing but you know how talkative I am. My version of silent treatment still contains words. My husband says it encourages the nuts but I feel so sorry for them. I'd hate it if I said something to a stranger and they ignored me so I always end up chatting.

It happened on the way back from our Thailand trip in February. I accidentally befriended some sort of drug lord. Well that's what my husband thinks anyway. This rather colourful character who kept calling me bella and chatting to me like an old friend. He told us he had a small jewellery store in a tiny NSW coastal town. He said he flew to Thailand 5 times a year to attend gem fairs and 20 years ago he spent some time up in the hills of Thailand with his wife.

Fair enough, you say. What makes him a drug lord? My husband tried talking to him about a mining company he had floated, you know since he was into gems and all and he very quickly changed the topic. When asked how business was going in at the height of the GFC he actually said it was booming and the retail sector was doing the best it had done in years. Umm ok.

He also mentioned he only ever goes first class and for a country town jeweller it all seemed a little odd. He spent a fair amount of time name dropping as well. When we got home, me being the avid researcher that I am (aka nosey parker) I looked him up. There is no way that store turns around the sort of cash he'd need to jet about the way he does. So my husband's theory of the drug lord made a little bit more sense and it also adds some sparkle to an otherwise boring travel story.

Now that I have this funny little blog, the same thing happens via email. My husband says I shouldn't reply to the really nutty ones and let me tell you they are rather odd but I feel so bad I always do and then the sagas begin. Now you know what he sent me this morning my dear husband?

He sent me THIS article. It is horrifying. Another story out of the US about a woman who made friends with someone online who later killed her and removed her baby from her womb. The baby also died. Tragic story. My husband thought I should read it in light of my magnet problem.

Thanks dear. Now I feel ill. Shudder.

So tell me, are you also a magnet? How about online? It also just ocurred to me that maybe you think you are the magnets and I am the crazy person. Oh dear.

image credit badgeplanet

Big Wigs... asking questions.

"He is a big wig you know. He lives in America."

-"Oh."

"He is in Chicago, you know he lives in one of those fancy suburbs. Jerry Springer is next door. When I call him on Skype I hear them saying "Jer-ry Jer-ry" in the background. And Oprah, you know Oprah? She is also his neighbour."

-"wow. I'm sorry I left the baby in the car, I've really gotta go."

This is the conversation I had with the dry-cleaner tonight. Verbatim. He was talking about his son and I was lying.

My baby was not in the car. I would never leave her in the car. She was at home with Grandma but I had to get the hell out of the store, he was doing my head in.

Every week I take my husband's shirts in to be pressed. I am never going to do them myself. No way. That's where the buck stops I'm afraid. I may wear an apron but I won't iron his shirts. Why waste an hour per shirt when I can pay$2.50 a shirt?

The dry cleaner and his fanciful stories that never seem to end just keep coming back week after week got me thinking. I am such a talker. When in doubt, I talk. I feel awkward and rude asking questions and prying so I tend to overcompensate and just spill my news instead.

It's not that I don't care or I am not interested I just feel rude prying into others' business. I hate it when people pry a lot but then I reckon people might think I share too much.

As with everything in life I suppose you have to find the balance. Maybe I should try harder to ask more and tell less.

What are your thoughts? Are you someone who asks or tells?

Now before you point this out, yes I realise that *if* my dry cleaner's son did in fact live next door to Jerry he wouldn't hear the sound of the audience because Jerry's silly show is filmed in a studio. I really wanted to say that, but it is probably the 10th time I have heard that story so I was forced to lie about the baby instead of engaging further.