Dirty Hippie

So this weekend, I think I officially resigned myself to the fact that when people see me, one of their first instincts is to pin me as a hippie.

Why this weekend and why this conclusion? Well, my neighbor across the street (who I've dubbed "the Garage Sale Lady") has taken to calling me "Hippie Girl." This after only having met me once, when I was dressed fairly normal as my clothes go.

I don't know why this is, but it seriously never dawned on me that I seem hippyish to folks. I mean really. I think Peppermint was the first person to ever really point blankedly call it to my attention when she stated that I was "a lot more hippyish (and stone cold foxy, of course) than she had expected after talking to me over email and reading my blog" (to paraphrase a bit ; ). And I really was surprised. Then Organic Mechanic smugly chimed in in agreement over a very wet burrito. Appalled and shocked (I truly hadn't really ever thought that anyone actually saw me this way), I inquired to other friends who sheepishly agreed, but were quick to amend that it was a first reaction and not something that clings to me so much anymore.

Why this is, I'm still not sure.

Perhaps it is the hair-wraps I wore incessantly for a while.
Perhaps it is my penchant for nekkidness.
Perhaps it is the fact that I can't manage to keep my feet clean for more than 20 minutes at a time.
Perhaps it is my (as OM so kindly put it once upon a time) "hippie stench."

I don't know.

I know I can't pull off the corporate whore look. I know I can't pull off the prepster look either, not even if I tried my hardest.

So perhaps I'm just cursed. Cursed with this stinky oblivious hippie gene. But I guess there could be worse stereotypes I could squeezed into, so I'll live.

*Sniffling a little and lighting some patchouli incense to make myself feel better*

* * * * * * * * * * * *

So here I'd like to pause to further demonstrate my point:

Yesterday, I had written this blog up to the asterisks and then saved it to post today. I returned home to find a package from Amazon that my mum had told me she'd ordered and had sent to my house.

What was inside? A copy of The Hippie Handbook. Apparently my mum and I are uncannily psychic.

That and she thinks I'm a dirty hippie just like the rest of you.

Imagine my further dismay when I perused The Hippie Handbook only to realize that I do in fact fit many of the stereotypes inside.

*sob*

Ways in Which I Fit the Hippie Stereotype
(According to The Hippie Handbook)

1. Appearance-wise:

According to the book, hippies...

Cut their hair as rarely as possible.

Never shave... underarms.

Often wear kerchiefs in their hair.

2. Anthropomorphizing Inanimate Objects:

Please meet my plants: Guacamole, Magenta II, Basil, and Ralphie II.

Please also meet my stuffed animals: Harold, Al, etc.

3. I know how to tie-dye a t-shirt.

4. I know how to make a skirt out of a pair of old jeans (and have done so)--and I know that this tutorial is a bit more complicated than need be.

5. I know how to grow an avocado plant from an avocado pit placed in a jar (shout out to Lyndsey on that one).

6. I amble like a hippie:

I walk barefoot;

I notice snails, slugs, blossoms, spider webs, etc. while ambling;

and I jaywalk.

7. My car has a name--the Great Purple Murple.

8. I know how to do a sun salutation.

9. I know how to cook like a hippie:

Just this weekend, I made pesto, one of the hippie staples listed in the book.

I also consumed peanut-butter and honey bread for breakfast all week at Michfest the past two years.

10. I am guilty of owning the following home decorations:

Macrame hangings;

Plants;

Found furniture;

Art I've made;

More than 4 candles in any given room;

Chopsticks and wooden spoons (the chopsticks which are used frequently for eating canteloupe).

11. I frequently dumpster-dive--I have at least 4 pieces of furniture that I've gotten this way.

12. And finally, I've seen the following hippie movies and read the following hippie books:

Easy Rider;

The Last Waltz;

Monterey Pop Festival;

Woodstock;

Yellow Submarine (which I own);

The Doors of Perception by Aldous Huxley;

Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test by Tom Wolfe;

The I-Ching;

The Moosewood Cookbook;

Our Bodies Ourselves;

The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran;

Siddharta by Herman Hesse;

some of Trout Fishing in America by Richard Brautigan.

*Sobbing a bit harder and lighting a second round of incense*

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