Archive for the 'Socially Awkward Barbie™' Category

Flaws

October 3, 2007 | Filed under: Blogology, Great moments in narcissism, Listy, Socially Awkward Barbie™

“Certain flaws are necessary for the whole. It would seem strange if old friends lacked certain quirks.” ~Goethe

Today is The Great Mofo Delurk. I like the word Mofo though I use it so rarely because I’m much more fond of the more formal ‘Motherfucker’. As such, I am presenting you with a few of my pretty bad but not as bad as my propensity to drink two bottles of wine just because it’s in my line of sight, flaws. Feel free to delurk and divulge your flaws or just delurk and tell me how drop dead gorgeous I am or delurk and ask me a question like how I’ve managed to get through almost 24 years of life without spontaneously combusting from my overwhelming social awkwardness.

1) There are days that I feel like my only contribution to society will be rampant socially awkward behavior that will make others feel much better about their ability to communicate with other human beings. Whereas I kind of just stand there looking like I’m in severe pain, other people are able to, you know, open their mouths while making semi-coherent sounds. Though I was recently told, during a dinner, that one could sense that I’m a ‘writer’ (the noise you just heard was the sound of my eyes rolling). I choked on my fourth glass of cheap merlot and asked how and the woman seated next to me said that she could tell by the way I chose and used words very carefully. I laughed and patted myself on the back for being able to carry on a conversation for twenty minutes without sounding like I may have been dropped on my head and landed right on my soft spot as a baby.

2) I think that the telephone is the invention of Stalin and the Devil. Therefore using the phone requires deep cleansing breaths, acupuncture and a little hypnosis so that I can actually pick up the receiver. Prior to most any phone call, I write down notes on a 3×5 index card to lessen the chance of an untimely heart attack due to being unprepared for a difficult question. The ones that usually catch me off guard are the toughies, like “Is this Heather?” or “How are you?” I figure that with it being 2007 and all and with the wifi and the ability to listen to music on your telephone while wikipedia-ing ‘Squeaky Fromme’ means that one should be able to simply email a question. The phone doesn’t need to be used in every situation, in fact, I’m pretty sure that it’s use can be limited to dialing 911, ordering Chinese food, and possibly can be fashioned into some sort of weapon.

3) I received an email yesterday afternoon asking if when I said ‘Versailles’ I meant VERSAILLES. Is there another Versailles that I am not aware of? The Versailles I plan to visit next month has a Hall of Mirrors and Orange trees and Louis XIV once lived there and it’s located in a little place called France. The thing about my upcoming visit to France is that I am a notoriously awful planner. I say I’m going somewhere and then everything fizzles and my enthusiasm shrinks like a raisin in the sun, for prior to any trip there is thing called work which pretty much trumps everything at time, including eating and breathing and my ability to pee without bringing my crackberry into the stall with me. Because of this, I have two trips coming up that I have approximately zero plans for because when the enthusiasm doesn’t wane for me wanting a vacation but it wanes for deciding exactly what I want to do and see. Thus, my having to enlist Abigail to make up an itinerary for my upcoming trip to LA and the help I need right now from people that have actually been to France to tell me what I should see. I know the Louvre and Versailles and that big pointy phallus looking thing called the Eiffel Tower. Other than that I’m at a loss and the person going with me only wants to buy a bracelet at Cartier. So! Suggestions would be appreciated. For example, where can I go to get a croissant full of butter that won’t go straight to my ass?

It was only a matter of time

September 7, 2007 | Filed under: Comes And Goes, Oh The Stupidity You'll See, Socially Awkward Barbie™

“Life expectancy would grow by leaps and bounds if green vegetables smelled as good as bacon.” ~Doug Larson

Nine years ago I was in the throes of adolescence and thus constantly testing out one look or lifestyle after another. It was the chameleon effect as I like to call it, which is an unfortunate manifestation of my constant need to be a people pleaser and to have people like me. One thing that has always been consistent is my intense desire to just fit in and be like everyone else another unfortunate byproduct of growing up in one of the whitest places on Earth. Apparently black people aren’t too fond of the snow and the precipitation getting into their hair causing it to do crazy shit. For further evidence I point to any photo of my hair taken ever and you’ll notice how it’s always everywhere and it only took about 24 years to accept that that’s how things are.

Regardless adolescence is when one is most able to test things out to see how others live and who to possibly be. It was during this time that I decided to stop eating meat. I was going to Girl Scout camp with hippies and such and I ended up rather hippy like and one pair of Birkenstocks short of smelling of patchouli, wearing hemp and having underarm hair long enough to braid. I was rustic and camped and my mother would smile politely and purchase veggie burgers and kept me from setting up camp in the back yard. She also made me shower.

Given that I was a girl with a fondness for fried chicken and a Big Mac, the fact that I found beef to be revolting nearly gave both of my southern born and bred parents a heart attack. I’m pretty sure there isn’t a chapter in a parenting book as to what to do when your daughter wakes up one morning and says “I’m not eating those ribs and please remove the pork fat and back from my collards. Thanks.” My father would look at me like, who are you and what happened to my daughter who could suck down a plate of ribs? In fact my father for years asked me if I was still on ‘that vegetable diet.’ I will confess though that it wasn’t a moral thing and only recently saw footage of cow slaughter. Hell, I do have a little bit of a thing for a certain retailer of fine leather goods and there is really nothing better than smell of new leather boots come fall.

Apparently though this living from the earth – while simultaneously carrying all of my shit in a large leather tote bag with a little Coach tag swinging from the front pocket – phase went on a lot longer than expected and my father just started to roll his eyes and embrace the fact that I did not want bacon anywhere near my food and if it were there I’d vomit. This is about the time that he probably started drinking heavily. Oh, children, such joys. So as I continued my quest to be a little more ‘natural’ (or as I continued to get dumber) I contemplated the Peace Corps then grew out my hair (If you think my father didn’t enjoy the whole ‘vegetable diet’ thing, well my mother about shit herself when I said, “I don’t want no damn relaxer” and promptly cut off my hair) and cut it all off but ended up in Madrid where I became a pescetarian. The consumption of fish was because I didn’t want to miss out on too much but even then I had to very slowly explain to my host mother that I did not eat meat. One day during lunch she inquired that since I didn’t eat meat would I like to have some rabbit? Perhaps some lamb? Because it’s ok not to eat a cow but it is ok to eat a tiny fluffy bunny. Got it.

I’ve been a pescetarian ever since and anyone who has hosted me is well aware of this and has been accommodating. I’ve been eating a lot of shrimp and salmon and things are good.

So imagine Isabel’s surprise when I sat her down last night after my 15th glass of wine and said very seriously, “There’s something I have to tell you, but you can’t get mad”

“Up until yesterday (Monday) I haven’t eaten meat for about nine years”

The look on her face was dire shock at best then she put her head down on her arms, because in the 48 hours that I stayed with her I had managed to consume a very large hamburger with a surprise inside (cheese), teriyaki chicken, Italian sausage, prosciutto wrapped asparagus fresh from the grill and the most delicious pulled pork sandwich ever.

In 48 hours. Right down my gullet.

Isabel asked why I didn’t say anything. I drank the rest of the wine in my glass and said “Because I felt bad.” I’m an eternal people pleaser and she didn’t know and it all just sort of happened and god damn, those burgers were tasty and have you people ever had prosciutto wrapped asparagus?? Goes down like butter, baby.

I’ve yet to tell my parents about this. A) Because then they’ll force a hot dog down my throat, B) Because my father might think that the apocalypse is coming next or that while he was away for a week I found Jesus in the form of barbecue and C) Because I’m not sure whether or not this is a permanent thing or a fluke because I didn’t want Isabel to hate me. Not that she’s the hating type, but I don’t know…I just have a problem with feeling pressure wanting to make people happy and not being rude and oh my God, barbecue tends to taste as amazing as it smells. As a matter of fact, I am now sure that this was a fluke as my mother just mentioned some sort of penne with beef bits and I felt the bile coming up in my throat. And yet I still can’t stop smelling bacon.

Vicariously

August 29, 2007 | Filed under: Comes And Goes, Humdrum, Socially Awkward Barbie™

“Any emotion, if it is sincere, is involuntary.”  ~Mark Twain

During our last night out together, Marci made a bet with me that I would find myself dating seriously in one year’s time. For she truly believes that I will and should have no problem with putting myself out there and navigating the windy, tumultuous roads of dating because I’m swell and everybody loves me.  Oh she of great faith, precious. If not, then she would owe me a dinner at the restaurant of my choice. I sat and pondered this with the corners of my mouth turning upwards, dreaming of the deliciousness that is Filomena or perhaps Fahrenheit or hell, why not live it up and enjoy the wonder that is Komi? She scoffed and was incredulous the fact that my dating life has ended with ‘or lack thereof’ for years.

I’d prefer to stay intact and avoid drama at all costs. There’s also a bit of a self-deprecating factor to it all that keeps me from placing a toe into the freezing waters of dating. Frankly it’s just something that doesn’t cross my mind until someone else brings it up and I often appreciate the fact that I’m not like most 23 year olds, solely on a quest for ass. I’m ok with going a majority of my life not worrying about some venereal disease I may have contracted at in bathroom at a bar in Dupont.

Though lately, I’ve been living through my friends. Experiencing their first forays into new relationships while doing a happy dance at every small victory. For each kiss that they receive or the good dates that they cannot help but be giddy about, I am just as happy for them. It’s easier for me to live vicariously through them than to embark on any dating myself because of that fear of getting hurt or fucking up or not living up to anyone’s standards of perfection.

I’ve always claimed not to date by choice, which is true. I choose not to based on a myriad of reasons that are probably bullshit including not having my life together (who does?). All of which are a manifestation of some sort of fear I have towards the whole dating thing. If I could put my finger on it, I would and then I’d get over it, but alas I cannot. What I am certain of is that the feeling of fear begins to abate when sitting at home, alone, babysitting, eating birthday cake while watching a double feature of Something New and The Holiday. Then suddenly the fear I’ve always held on to and the thrill of living vicariously through friends turns to melancholy and I’m envisioning the rest of my life alone with all the birthday cake with pink butter cream icing in the world and about seven dogs to keep me company. Suddenly losing a bet doesn’t seem too bad.

Sadly, there will be no wine available

May 16, 2007 | Filed under: Socially Awkward Barbie™, Whoopdie Doo

“Everything becomes a little different as soon as it is spoken out loud.” ~Hermann Hesse

As part of The Great Bedroom Crap Cleanout of 2007, I came across folders upon notebooks upon binders of old essays and papers. My favorite was my musician portfolio in which I was continuously told to learn very basic C major scales or else my clarinet would be shoved up my right nostril. Another was my public speaking portfolio. It was full of ‘A’s and high praise for my general presence in a room therefore being able to captivate an audience’s attention from point blank. My really great presence in which I captivate the audience with my birds nest afro and shitty wardrobe.

I also have a tendency to either mumble or speak with a certain celerity and narcissism that compels people to focus less on the words coming out of my mouth but more on throwing hard objects at the center of my often oily forehead. Have I mentioned my proclivity to use the word ‘fuck’? Or have you all not noticed that?

Given the above, I feel the need to notify and warn that I will be speaking at a rather public venue this summer. Sandwiched between two of my best friends. During which we will all be sharing a prescription from the benzodiazepine family.

You’ve come a long way, baby

March 31, 2007 | Filed under: Blogology, Socially Awkward Barbie™, The District Of Columbia

“A man has to live with himself, and he should see to it that he always has good company.” ~Charles Evans Hughes

A few weeks ago, I spent some time perusing my archives. Not necessarily looking to bask in the glow of my brilliance but looking for a post highlighting my socially awkward behaviors. A post that screams: You KNOW you want to be friends with me even though I mumble. Anyway, during my quest, I came across one of my first pieces to adequately show off how I let anticipation run rampant through my life and psyche thus forcing me to stick my head between my knees and kiss my ass goodbye, when faced with a potentially awkward social situation. In this case the famed DC Blogger Happy Hour: The monthly event in which we speak less of blogging and more of the gossip and best practices for taking shots.

Given that I find most NEW situations with NEW people to be particularly frightening and I face it with a rapid fire ‘What if?’ round of questioning, usually starting with “what if they hate me?” and ending with “what if they think I drink too much?” Though most importantly, “what do I do when they decided that they hate me?” Because they will hate me, they have to hate me and maybe if I drink myself into a stupor, I won’t notice the seething hatred spilling out of them. I must say, thank the Lord that it’s a blogger happy hour, for they are the only people able to handle this extreme level of narcissism.

My first HH was an act of experimentation. Balls of never ending nerves and a shaky hand trying to hold a martini glass perfectly steady. That was the happy hour when Cookie and I bonded over double fisting chocolate martinis before Dragonfly’s drink specials ended (I am nothing if not excellent in getting more bang for my buck). It was the happy hour before I knew of the drama that those surrounding me could endure and involve themselves in, stupid shit that need not be detailed. Mostly because my attention span is a grand total of 2.8 seconds. It was the happy hour during which I realized that everyone needs a few drinks to relax themselves, thusly I am not really that much of a lush, just completely normal.

This past Thursday was I-66’s last stint as social chair. We went to Buffalo Billiards. Kassy met me outside with hugs and a kiss on the cheek. We beelined for the restroom and then to the bar, for we are two girls who have our priorities. We were cornered at the bar by a man who wanted to express sincere adoration for us and we in turn, wanted to hug…during which she was gracious and I made my “oh my fuck…there’s better shit to read” face. But it was his sincerety that kept me from awkwardly shifting from one foot to the other. An Argentinean Jew greeted me with a real hug. And these two are not nearly as scary as one might think, in fact it’s there whole “I don’t give a fuck” demeanor that gives me more inclination to love than hate. She thinks I exude smarts and I’m positively giddy each and every time I see her. They’re both hot and fucking brilliant and I want to pet their heads because they like me, they really like me.

Imagine walking into a room and being totally at ease. The ability to approach someone with “Oh….we were trying to figure out who you were” without the recipient punching you in the nose for being so damn rude. It’s not about whether or not they like me or what I had to do and have to do to keep the others for finding me terribly annoying and bull in a china shop-esque. Though I’m sure that the monthly bribes do help a bit. I don’t know what happened or the when or the how, but I suddenly find myself to be gregarious and freely meandering and laughing through waves of people. Genuinely happy to see and meet, while staying out of the fray.

Is it possible that my socially awkward phase is finally abating? Is it that I’ve slowly grown into feelings of comfort and affability when with this particular group? That all remains to be seen. But I can say with complete certainty that there is no such thing as too much drinking at HH. In fact we embrace the drinking whole-heartedly and as the reigning Biggest Lush, that first drink, is on me.