Happy Thanksgiving to a Wackadoodle

At first, I thought the wackadoodle was a lot of fun until it set in that that non-stop manic energy and strangled laughter were indicators of insanity. She literally drove me crazy and didn't understand my subtle ways of ending the friendship. It was an out and out confrontation two years ago. I hoped and prayed she'd disappear. But not my luck.

It's the night before Thanksgiving and I'm in my dear friend's kitchen watching her cook 14 entrees and 20 sides for the following afternoon. Thanksgiving is the one day a year in which she shines so she goes about it in a methodical way. It's unfortunate she has no room in the tiny space and only 2 working burners. Yet, the amazing food she produces shows determination and talent. While she toiled throughout the evening, like the good friend I am, I took naps and ventured in from time to time to yammer away about crazy people I knew, a common lament.

"Oh boy, she vandalized my wikipage again," I sighed. I referred to the recent wackadoodle who plagued me over the past two years.

"Again?" cried my friend while simmering something on the stove.

"Yeah. The first time she wiped out my account. And instead, put in one word on my page."

"What was that?"


It must've been the fatigue of cooking for several straight hours, but my friend found that hilarious.

"Bugboy?" she yelped in a doubled over position.

"Yes. Bugboy," I said, "the only time I ever had so many visitors - over 2,000 people read under my name, Bugboy."

Once again, my friend broke down in laughter. "I can imagine looking at a glamorous headshot of you and then reading Bugboy..." she burst out in laughter again.

"This is the nutjob that cyberstalks ex-boyfriends from 30 years ago, personal details of their lives, like dredging up their mortgages, jobs, wives. This is the delusional one who looks older than me and crows how men find her irresistible even though she hasn't been out on a date for at least a decade."

"Great, now she gets to stalk you, Bugboy," and peels out in laughter.

"She's the one who told me I couldn't write, after my first book was published and insisted she was a far better writer than me. Then she proceeded to read a one page dismal affair that showed how unbalanced she really is."

"As if naming you Bugboy isn't a clue?"

I laughed. "Now I understand what a wackadoodle's about besides her insanity: she has nothing else in life going for her - no friends, no family, no boyfriends. So, she focuses on all those people she ever interacted with and targets them. It would be funny if she weren't so pitiful." With that, I laid down and dreamt happy dreams of a gourmet Thanksgiving dinner with my friends and their family that would come true the following day, interrupted occasionally with a yelped word, "Bugboy," and laughter.

So this post is dedicated to you, Wackadoodle. You showed me the true meaning of Thanksgiving. It's not about vengeance, cyberstalking and vandalizing a wikipage, something you excel at. It's about leading a happy life, a productive life and having a great time meeting new people, surrounded by the ones I love, having sex with the FedEx guy and laughing laughing laughing.

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