Archive for February 6th, 2010

A couple of my good friends got engaged this week. Not to each other. You know what this means? I’m officially entering that phase in my life where I’m going to be attending weddings a lot in the summers. I’m going to celebrate the lifelong love of my closest confidants. I’m really excited for all of these people, but I’m not sure I’m ready for this.

While those people were getting engaged, I woke up on Thursday morning at about 11 am with a hangover. I also had $25 in my checking account not allocated to bills, a messy room, no sheets on my bed, a pile of dirty clothes that’s threatening to cause injury due to its massive size and location, a broken phone, a broken windshield on my car, a doughy body due to my year-long hiatus from exercise, and no hint of a romantic relationship headed toward even sharing a cable bill, let alone marriage. Adding insult to injury: I went out with a guy this week who’s building a multi-million dollar company, thus making me feel even more like I’m doing nothing with my life right now, and then Berkeley rejected me from law school.

I’ve written about getting my shit together before as if it would be some kind of impetus to do so. That’s obviously panning out. I’m pretty sure I’m headed right down the track of wearing the same sweatpants for two weeks straight until I die alone and the neighborhood cats gnaw on my body until the smell reaches the neighbors. They say when you get down you should rely on good friends to pull you on up by your bootstraps, so, naturally, I took out my mental health common cold on some of my closest confidants, getting angry with them for their lack of validation and then storming off (uh, signing off the internet… like I have friends in real life) (also, sorry Ali…Tyler…Hayes…Molly…Jen…okay, stopping).

Fine, I’m going to law school next year. Fine, on Thursday I also went to a board meeting as the Director of Marketing for a non-profit. Fine, I have a few friends in real life. Fine, I have had marginally successful romantic relationships. Fine, I’ve said a hundred times that I want to be single right now. Fine, sometimes people think I’m funny. Fine. Fine. Fine. Sometimes a girl’s gotta wallow in her despair, okay? I mean, we’ve all got baggage; what differs is how we carry it (like my roommate Paige, who probably has a matching suitcase set whereas I’ve got a taped-together trash bag).

The thing is, in some ways, I can’t wait to be a real adult, waking up in my home with a mortgage, making coffee, feeding the dog, organizing the mail, going to work, making a bunch of deals, speaking at a benefit, coming home, having a glass of wine, reading in bed next to my husband, and then going to sleep only to start over again the next day… But then what? Barring the fact that that scene actually sounds marginally horrifying, the scarier thing is the idea of not having any problems to solve.

Sometimes I forget that everyone my age is trying to figure their shit out right now. Everyone wishes they were making more money or spending more time making an impact or connecting with someone on an intense level or not getting tired when they run. As life goes on, if we’re patient, we’re probably either going to figure those things out or (if we’re not patient) settle, but it’s never going to be like it is right now again. Quite frankly, it’s this process that makes us cool humans (yeah, I went there, you can thank my high school guidance counselor and 1 semester of college psych).

So, yeah, do I wish that underneath the surface I was just as shiny as I am when I’m presenting in front of real adults or charming someone on an epic date or talking about my hopes and dreams in a law school essay? Sure. But then I’d be a plastic politician. Doesn’t mean I’m not gonna wallow, but I’m also going to take Jerry-Springer-trainwreck-like solace in the fact that even if you’ve got a piece of the puzzle in place, you’re occasionally wallowing over something, too.  Let’s hug and talk about how failure is beautiful.

Few things stress me out more than an aggressive acquaintance bent on scheduling some obscure hour of my week for an obligatory catch-up coffee or drink. Don’t get me wrong here. Remarkably awkward though I admittedly can be, I like to be around most people, and a lot of those people seem to at least moderately enjoy being around me. But even with those people, I suck at structured social interaction, preferring things to happen “organically” (ie, instantly when it’s convenient for both of us). When we’re talking about a person whose presence causes me mild anxiety, I find myself expending all kinds of energy to politely avoid setting a date.

These things usually start innocently and remain easily avoidable. My favorite half-hearted attempts at getting back in touch are things like Facebook wall posts: “Hey, Laura! Long time, no talk! We should get together!” This is perfect. I’ll post something like, “Totally! Let me know when you have free time!” Then we can look at each others’ profiles and satiate that socially-required tradition of keeping in touch without ever having to meet face-to-face. Social networking. So efficient.

Phone calls are great, too, because I can let them go to voicemail. Those of you who know me well are now probably pretty concerned about your status as my friend because I let all my calls go to voicemail. A lot of you have gone so far as to ask why I even own a phone or if I’d like help in understanding how to use it. I’m sorry. The phone stresses me out even if you’re my best friend. Seriously. Ask those friends; they know exactly how much I like them, and they can’t get a hold of me either.

When someone I don’t want to talk to calls, however, I play a genius game of phone tag: I let them leave a message, and then I call back when I’m 95% sure that they’re not going to be able to answer to leave THEM a message, thus returning the ball to their court. This game can go on indefinitely until they finally give up, resorting to a Facebook message. Victory.

Less fun for me are things like text messages and emails. These require response, and are usually more direct than the impersonal wall post. These usually ask me for information on my life, which is completely fine. I’m happy to wax poetic about my life in writing any old day of the week (no, really, Laura? Do go on). The problem comes when they then try to pin me down to a date. Sometimes I’ll get nervous and accept in this format. Sometimes I’ll follow through. Sometimes I’ll make an excuse 24 hours in advance.

The absolute worst of all, though, is the face-to-face encounter. With all of the above methods of communication, the person in question is often an old friend, so even if they stress me out, somewhere, deep down, I probably kind of want to see them. The face-to-face encounter expands the types of people that can attempt to monopolize my time, and thus the layers of awkwardness that can ensue.

The politics of refusing face-to-face are harder because the other person can see your body language and hear your tone of voice. So while an email I may have sent would strike the appropriate casual tone while subtly hinting a real-life meeting is not in the cards, face time makes that balance harder to achieve. I always end up way too enthusiastic, and, then, an unwilling participant in a future scheduled event, or way too unenthusiastic, eliminating my chance of ever hanging out with that person (which is probably fine) but also looking like a d-bag.

“We should get together!”

“We TOTALLY should! What a great idea! I love getting together!”

“Uh, how about next Friday?”

“Uhhhh, yeah! Uh, let me check my calendar. Oh, look at that, free and clear. I guess we’re getting together next Friday! Great! Next Friday will be SO MUCH FUN!”

or

“We should get together!”

“… Should we?”

Moral of the story: there’s a reason why Facebook is taking over the world, and I think I’m okay with that. Oh, you forward-thinking internet geeks. Your social-avoidance topics are going mainstream.