Notes on a Socially Awkward Existence

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I’ve never been what anyone would refer to as a social butterfly. There is a slim section of the population I can stomach being around for any length of time, and the rest of the world of people who breathe are simply not my wavelength.

I’m sure there are people I would like, if I put forth the effort. I’m sure I judge interaction too quickly and give up too easily.

But people – creating a rapport, being approachable and interested, making conversation and thinking of things to say…

Just typing about it makes me tired and anxious.

I grew up among people, though. This should go against everything my pew-studded history embedded within me. Right? I mean, there were times, children. Times when I loved being among people and I was loud and jolly and obnoxious. There are still those times, yet I couldn’t name the last one. These days I’d much prefer staying home binge watching Breaking Bad (again) or reading comics with the lights off.

Is that so wrong? Am I so different? If you prick me, do I not bleed?

I can’t be the only one.

For example, the text message.

People, if you text me and I don’t respond it means I have nothing to say. Or that I don’t have time to respond. Or that I don’t feel like settling into a ten minute back and forth of “no way, why?” “Where are you now?” “I think those shoes would match.”

AND ALL THE OTHER BULLSHIT.

I love people. People fascinate me. I love text messaging. It jives splendidly with my random stream of consciousness existence. I do NOT love feeling obligated to check in or small talk when I really don’t have reason to. Chances are if I haven’t responded quickly enough to your text and subsequently received a “?” text from you – unless you are my husband or mom or otherwise important family, then well… I may not ever text you again.

It’s just a fact.

Embracing the kook within

Historically I have never been what you would call a joiner.

It's all too much, man. Too much work.

It's why I don't have friends. It's why I find my own things and bury myself in them. Hell, it's why this blog has not died a raging fiery inferno death – because I do it whenever I please and big middle finger when I don't.

But my husband, he's a joiner. He gets all up IN all kinds of shit. And he does it because he's good at it. I support that. How could I not? It makes him happy. Happy him, happy me.

So in a grand gesture of solidarity and total outside-my-comfort-zone-ness, I am donning my brand spanking new JustUsGeeks tshirt, hauling around my weight in purple bluish memefont flyers, and going to a comic & toy convention.

Yeah, that's right. You heard it here first.

 

But you know what's crazy? I'm excited. Like, stupid excited.

So by the time you read this, Josh and The Guv and I (Catch that? Did you? Yeah, I said my name and his name but not Lucy's name. More on that later.) will be tooling off toward Kentucky. Or, well, Friday morning. So whenever you read this in relation to Friday morning. Because I think I'm going ahead and publishing this tonight.

 

See it? It's already happening. DARING.

Wish me luck!

Being a person

It’s been a long time since I’ve been to a party with no kids and no real time constraints.

Until this weekend.

Our friends The Wallins have somewhat concurrent birthdays, so they had planned a big party for this past Saturday.

Now, before my brain got all woobly and I started being anxious about things like my shadow and how maybe my shadow didn’t even like me after all, I was a party goer. I did the people thing. I loved it and I was good at it. Perhaps it is just a product of age and things like that, but more often than not I opt out of parties and people and being around other humans in wads.

For some reason, though, I wasn’t worried about this one. Maybe it was the fact that I really like The Wallins and I really enjoy all the JustUs Geeks¬†and the little family it has become, maybe it was all the superhero themed wonder, or maybe it was just all the cake. I was excited.

It was so much fun. S’mores with marshmallows the size of my head, hamburgers, cupcakes, fire, pingpong, photo booth.

I saw people. I talked to people. And I had a good time. This is huge. HUGE.

I should be a person more often.

Part 2 of 2…about the catfish

So another movie I watched this past weekend…Catfish.

When I initially watched this movie last year sometime, that title was stupid and made no sense. Eventually it got explained in the movie but I can’t help but think the film would have maybe escaped obscurity if it had a different title.

Consultation services available upon request.

So the movie is about a photographer in NYC who becomes acquainted with a young painting prodigy named Abby, and through her he “meets” her family on Facebook.

Nev, the NYC photographer, who is totally adorable and down to earth, is drawn to the family because they are hip and with it and very…cool, for lack of a better term. He chats with all of them and gets into a pseudo relationship with Abby’s big sister, Meg. Texts and google chats are flying like monkey feces.

SPOILER ALERT:

Abby’s whole family is pretty much complete bullshit, all fabricated by her mom Angela. While Abby does exist, she doesn’t paint. Everyone else is pretty much fictional and the people who are real are not accurately portrayed at all.

This is interesting to me because I’m pretty sure a girl I went to college with is doing the same thing. She has made this entire life for herself, away from everyone who knew her in reality. She has, according to her photos – lost nigh unto 100 pounds and gained not only fashion sense but a completely new bone structure.

The thing is, THIS IS AN ASSTON OF WORK. Profiles. Pictures. Stories to go with the profiles and pictures. The movie chick even had phones for different characters and all sorts of crap.

My thought is…you know, write a book. Put that effort to some use. Creating new lives on Facebook is not exactly lucrative.

Vince Pierce: They used to tank cod from Alaska all the way to China. They’d keep them in vats in the ship. By the time the codfish reached China, the flesh was mush and tasteless. So this guy came up with the idea that if you put these cods in these big vats, put some catfish in with them and the catfish will keep the cod agile. And there are those people who are catfish in life. And they keep you on your toes. They keep you guessing, they keep you thinking, they keep you fresh. And I thank god for the catfish because we would be droll, boring and dull if we didn’t have somebody nipping at our fin. — IMDb Quotes: Catfish (2010 Documentary)


This concludes my series on movies that are interesting.

Where I talk about hugging and Max blogs

I don’t hug my kids enough.







I admit it, it’s totally a downfall. Max hugs awkwardly, Ava chooses the absolute hottest, sweatiest times of day to want a hug, and Lucy loves hugs so much she shrieks if I put her down.

Yesterday, though, I hugged my kids. They are freaking awesome little people and I hate that I sometimes take them for granted.

We had a good day.









(also, I asked Max to contribute a blog post of his own. I told him he could write whatever he wanted, but then Dan showed him my Harry Potter post and I think he thought that’s what he was supposed to do. So I admit, I’m a little let down. I expected probably too much, because dude – the kid can talk like nobody’s business. He goes nonstop. I figured he’d slap out gems of information, like I’m Max, I’m nine, and here’s a working recipe for dynamite. It’s a work in progress. But Max is awesome and I’m including his post. Here ’tis.)

Hi. This is Max. This is what I think about Harry Potter.

I’m very sad about the series ending finally ending. It has a place in the hearts of millions, including me. At first, I didn’t like it. When I got about halfway through the first book, I started to get into it. By the time I finished it, I loved it. I read the third one in 3 days.( I’m not trying to brag.) I fell asleep reading Goblet of Fire. And now it’s all over. It’s just another Star Wars, Marvel, or Chronicles of Narnia. But Harry will always live in our hearts.





In case of the Zombie Apocalypse

So, I just finished The Walking Dead comics. Well, I got up to date on them, anyway. The next one comes out at the end of this month.

And here’s the thing. Out of all the (as far as I know) unrealistic events and fantastic scenarios, a couple of things kind of niggled (oh no, autocorrect, not jiggled. I said NIGGLED and I meant it) at me.

First of all, we’re all beasts at heart. Really. We bathe and corset and spray ourselves into thinking we’re somehow above the very basest human animal parts, but throw us into hopelessness for a bit and it gets REAL real quick.

Secondly and what’s gotten to me the most, is you can never really know anyone. Like KNOW them know them.

Don’t give me the soulmate true love bs. I’d bet my right leg and my left arm that Sweetie Pie has ten thousand thoughts a day that would shock and astound you.

The thing is, now that I’ve decided it’s really true, you can never really know anyone, it’s kind of scary. And by scary I mean petrifying, horrifying, poop your pants kind of fear.

Because the thing is, with that kind of uncertainty, you have to trust.

Trust that Sweetie Pie won’t strangle you in your sleep.
Or have another family.
Leave you to the zombies.
Tell your secrets.
Disappear.
Close the church doors and leave you to the madness.

And I don’t know anyone with that kind of trust.

I suppose all we can do, at the end of our ability, is to give up and learn that maybe trust is the best hope we have to be happy.

Although I really think prenuptial agreements should begin to somehow integrate undead protection clauses.