I thought, in light of all of the upcoming New Year's celebration, this would be an appropriate rerun. And it's #StillAccurate . . .
That's not exactly accurate. I hate anticipating parties. I usually have a decent time once I'm there as long as I know some people. But I need at least a week to recover after being around large crowds, even as a completely sober party-goer.
This probably falls under that "I Totally Have Issues" thing.
People don't understand this about me because I talk a lot, and talking a lot makes me look like I am having sooo much fun. And I do have fun . . . eventually.
Lately, inspired by recent titles like Yes Please by Amy Poehler and Year of Yes by Shonda Rhimes, I have been trying to say "yes" more to social stuff, mostly because if my husband, Dan, dies, I will have no one to hang out with anymore.
People think I’m outgoing because, like I said, I talk a lot. But I talk out of nervousness. The more nervous I am, the more (and faster) I talk. I almost scared Dan off after our first date.
"I thought, 'Man, this girl talks a lot!'" he said. "'I wonder if she would be this talkative on a second date.'"
In other words, Dan asked me out again only because he was curious how deep the crazy went.
I have a better time when the social gathering is small or when I am familiar with the people. I hate going out of my way to meet new people. I would rather stick a fork in my eye than make small talk with strangers.
I am a friendly person, and I never actually act like I want to stick a fork in my eye, so I know this might be blowing your minds.
I often experience overwhelming anxiety before I attend social functions. You would think my seriously introverted husband would have the most trouble being social, but he is the one who sits in the car and calms me down before we enter the room. He doesn’t worry about parties because he never talks. Therefore, he has no chance to say anything super awkward and stupid.
Sometimes, after I have had a lot of fun somewhere, I come home and worry all night about everything I said.
This isn't a new phobia I have developed in my old age.
In high school, the music group I was a part of had a sleepover at the end of every school year. The first year I was in it, most of the kids were older, and I didn't know them very well. I came home from school the afternoon of the party and fell asleep immediately, hoping that an extended nap would prevent me from going. But my mother woke me up, and I went and sort of enjoyed myself.
During my young adult years, back before Dan and I were dating, I was supposed to go to a bible study at his apartment, and I didn't know the people in the study yet. Dan instructed us to either tailgate another car into the gated apartment complex or call his number if no one was around to unlock the gate. I didn't want to call anyone, so I made a deal with myself. If no one was around to tailgate, I would turn around and go home.
Luckily, I was able to follow someone in. The car that drove in ahead of me that night may be the reason Dan and I are married today.
Lots of people think Dan and I are opposites. But we're not. I'm just the more talkative version of him. We both like one-on-one friendships. We both like to stake out spots at parties and stay there. (Although, I will go to the dance floor and leave Dan to watch my purse from time to time. Dancing doesn't have to be a social thing, by the way.)
The other day, I attended a social event and headed straight for the hors d'oeuvres as soon I walked through the door. It is easy and slightly comforting to sit in one spot and eat all night so that one does not have to mingle.
The organizer approached me as I sat in my chair (that I stayed in all evening), eating.
"I thought I saw you sneak in, Becky!"
“Well, you know, where there’s food . . .” I said with a nervous laugh. (See what I mean?)
Dan laughed at me when I told him about this exchange.
Then he paused, "I think I would do the same thing."
But, since everyone wants a socially awkward, anxiety-ridden, nervous talker who will eat all of the food at the party, keep inviting me, people.
It’s good for me . . . sigh.
But don't be offended if I occasionally decline. I might just need the week to recover.
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