I had the strange suspicion that my boyfriend’s friends thought I was a complete bore. I never go to their drinking reunions. If I go to one of their parties, I tend to stare at a picture on a wall, or stand aimlessly by the chips and salsa (which they store buy and not make from scratch, sigh), and normally when trying to find some dirt about me or my boo I tend to pretend I can’t hear what they are saying?
Why is this?
Blog Land, I’ve been traumatized. In my prior failed attempts to maintain a relationship I have found myself divulging too much information. Creating spectacles out of simplicity and thus complicating what little joy I have in life by … how should I put it, allowing too many chef’s in the kitchen. And so it comes with no surprise to my partner that I become anti-me at these social gatherings. I keep to myself. I keep my mouth shut (because I do tend to overshare about the following: farts, vaginas, and favorite pig out spots — in no particular order).
But something happened to me, Blog Land, something absolutely wonderful this past Saturday.
I was witnessing yet another cousin of mine celebrate his birthday, his sixth birthday when I realized that I had held him in my arms. That I was once as trusting and vulnerable and silly as he was. That between those doughy arms, there is in fact a large beating heart. He smiled over his birthday cake and I said to myself, MY GOD, he’s beautiful.
So absolutely trusting that no one will push his head in the cake. Smiling and hugging his friends and thinking solely about the beautiful fluffy cake that will be joining the other food in his belly.
That evening, as my partner and I drove to his friend’s party — I found myself feeling tired, out of it, and absolutely goofy. I was, as some of you may relate to this, delirious. This is a regular occurrence when I force myself to get up from a comfortable position. Also when I get up seconds before my body is ready to take a nap.
I stand at this bar, in what seems to be a self forming semi-circle, and listen in on my boyfriend’s friends talk about a guy named Vince. He was (is?) an absolute creepazoid thirty something year old man whom they all knew throughout their teens. He would play video games with them. Vince also, apparently, looks as if he hasn’t aged since they all last hung out (over a decade ago). He can be seen through the streets of their neighborhood wearing a backpack.
In a matter of seconds everyone in the semi circle had questions. Who was this guy, what did he say, were parents at all creeped out by him? Etc. etc. etc. Then we talked about furniture and homes, then babies and parents, then space travel, then track and martinis, then we tasted each other’s drinks and toasted to nothing while we avoided eye contact.
And I found myself having fun, Blog Land. I let go of this uptight –” I am not of your social status, so I cannot possibly have anything in common with you” mentality for the night and just let myself be who I am in front of these 30-something year old teenagers.
I let myself go, and opened up a door to many possibilities. The possibility to meet new people, to have access to some cool characters in a stories, and to shed some knowledge about my own love-friendship-love story about how and my partner really met.
I guess what I am trying to say is, it was nice to lighten up and to be delirious. My mind opened up to endless ways I could converse and find common ground with a group of people I would normally call uncommon in my circle of friends. The martini and beer helped a lot too, but really it was mostly the fun conversations.
Plus, now I can start finding more information about Vince.