Socially Awkward Masochism: Episode 1

Lately I've been a real weirdo at parties. Truth is, I'm not a fan of large gatherings. Being around people who expect you to grease the social wheels with them can make me feel put-off. It doesn't happen all the time, I like meeting new people and making new friends, but certain party atmospheres mess with my mood alchemy and I become distantly aware of my stupidity, but unable to stop it. This odd compulsion reminds me of Marco Stanley Fogg, the main character in Moon Palace who chooses not to help himself survive and leave his life to fate just to see what happens when his world stops being beyond his control.

Example 1
Stealing Time Octoberfest Party, 7:15 pm. Me talking to a senior writer in a big agency's medical division. Her name could be Lindsay.
Lindsay: Aren't those mini crepes delicious?
Me overlooking the obvious non-octoberfest food conversation starter: yeah.
Lindsay: So where are you from?
Me: Cundari.
Lindsay: Cundari, what do you do there?
Me avoiding the polite response and not asking her what she does: junior writer.
First awkward pause.
Lindsay: I'm a senior writer at big agency medical.
Me: cool.
Lindsay: How long have you been at Cundari?
Me: Not sure.
Awkward pause.
Lindsay recovers: Where did you go to school?
Me: Humber Copywriting.
Lindsay: Me too!
Another awkward pause with direct eye contact and several blinks. She no doubt suspects I am employed because of some equal rights initiative that integrates mentally deficient people into the workforce.
Me in a moment of sanity realizes that I'm sabotaging myself: cool. Did you have Jane Bongers?
Mutual laugh at the program co-ordinators funny last name.
Me half to self: Bongers.
Lindsay: I did, but she was teaching then. When did you do the program?
Me: Two years ago.
Lindsay: So you're around 22?
Me: Nope. 26.
Another long pause.
Lindsay reaching: So have you seen Inglorious Basterds? I'm going tomorrow.
Me : Yeah, I like this one Nazi a lot.
Substantially awkward pause.
Lindsay: I've got to go throw out my napkin.
Scene

Caution! Fly!

Yesterday, due to a broken screen, a blanket of tiny flies coated the entire second floor woman's bathroom. Underneath the window is a dumpster, which is why there were so many. I made a teeny fly-sized caution sign to go with the mess. The picture doesn't show the half of it. Seriously, it was frickin' bilblical.

My gushing head wound

Last week I decided to stand out.
Enough of being a wallflower, enough of blending into the background, enough of going unnoticed by even the most appalling looking members of the opposite sex, enough of being mistaken for a speed bump or a potted plant.
I will be seen!
But how?
I can't hang my hopes on getting adopted by a wealthy, high profile family this late in life. Maybe I can stand in Times Square with a balding, saucy talking parrot, or make an Internet video where I play Obama being visited by Lincon’s ghost who also just happens to be drinking a Pepsi.
No.
I need a real showstopper, something sure to stand out.
And then it hit me. Literally. All it takes to get noticed is a gushing head wound.
Now, as the yogurt and regional car dealership endorsements roll in and I make club appearances with Lindsay Lohan and her gushing nose, or guest star on a very special episode of John and Kate Plus 8 where I teach the octuplets the importance of safety when using a wood chipper, and to that end, the importance of family; I look back on my obscure past, into the feelings of inadequacy mired in meaninglessness and I think gratefully on my positive life choice to become a person who counts.

Memo to those who stop to talk on subway stairs during rush hour

Keep walking.
If you're the Spanish looking guy in the Madonna t-shirt from last night, alejarse my friend.
Stopping suddenly when others are behind you is just plain dangerous.
You wouldn't kill the engine in heavy traffic to admire a majestic butterfly would you? No you would not. Because you'd have a ten car pile-up on your hands, not to mention the blood of the family from Vermont whose car is crumpled and oozing behind you.
Even nature knows better.
What do you think would happen if a gentleman salmon, mid-migration, stopped swimming because he wanted to chat up pretty Miss. Salmon?
Ha! Trick question.
That would never happen, because even salmon have more sense than you.
If you would like to stop and chat on the phone or in person with consenting friends, by all means, feel free! Stop and talk your black little hearts out. Just make sure you remember to switch crowded stairways for the front of a moving truck.

Kisses,

Me