There comes a wondrous time in a woman’s life, a time where age, experience and a plethora—yes, a plethora!– of high-octane hormones merge together to wreak havoc upon the general population. Our loved ones, who once found us so endearing, begin to white-knuckle their chair arms in our presence, dreading what we might say or do next. They wince. They cringe. They roll their eyes. At least my loved ones do.
I can’t help it, I really can’t. It’s as though I’ve contracted some sort of menopause-induced Tourette’s syndrome.
I’ve always been genuinely fascinated by my fellow and fellowette human beings— my heart wants to learn about their lives and world views, who they are deep inside. Almost every job I’ve had has required me to conduct interviews. My conversational style is often a series of probing questions, geared toward scratching beneath the surface and really getting to know someone. I’m a failure at chit-chat, at air-kissy social stuff, and this deficiency has worsened with age.
My daughter recently explained my personality defect to one of her friends. I’d asked him some blunt question that I’ve since forgotten, but I remember that he stammered for a moment, a little taken aback by my query. “Sorry,” I said. “I no longer have an on/off switch in my brain.”
“She’s got one,” my daughter corrected. “It’s just stuck on ‘on.’”
It’s liberating in a way. For most of my life, I’ve been anxious and shy, worried about saying or doing the wrong thing, reluctant to express my opinions for fear of hurting someone’s feelings. Over time, these concerns have been replaced by some sort of raging bull-in-a-china-shop mentality. Words fly out of my mouth like corn from a popper—my inner-censor seems to have found a more lucrative position in someone else’s head. At the same time, I’m more comfortable in my skin than I’ve ever been, and happier than ever to be me.
I know some of you are nodding while reading this. I know some of you are nodding off while reading this. But a lot of women have told me that the same thing has happened to them. “Isn’t it fantastic?” they say. “Isn’t it freeing?” Well, yes and no. It’s freeing in much the same way that a lot of us feel at eighteen, after moving out of our parents’ house for the first time. It’s a period of self-discovery, of figuring out who you really are. You’re learning a lot about the world and experiencing fantastic new things, but you’re also making mistakes– horrible mistakes. You delight in your newfound independence, but it’s mixed with the horror of knowing that last night, you did thirteen Jell—O shots and took off your bra in the middle of TGI Friday’s. It’s a mixed bag of kittens.
Fast forward a few decades, and it’s happening all over again. Without the Jell-O shots maybe, but it’s happening. You’re changing, discovering yourself and screwing up all over again. Worst of all, this metamorphosis is beyond your control. The hormones are driving the bus, baby, and they’re reckless.
*****
About a week and-a-half ago, I gave a presentation on blogging, entitled, “The Personal Blog: That Most Glorious, Miraculous, Transformative, Healing, Connective, Emotionally Powerful Medium in All the History of Humankind” – or something like that. It was part of a three-day event, and I was as thrilled about attending as I was about speaking. There were pre-parties and post-parties and a day packed with information sessions. I was looking forward to it for a lot of reasons: It was a chance to discuss a subject that I’m passionate about. I’d get to meet a lot of new people, promote my work and learn more about the technical aspects of WordPress. It was also an opportunity to improve my social media skills, which currently are on par with my two-year-old granddaughter’s. Seriously, yesterday, I caught her tweeting, “At Mimi’s house—wish she’d quit bitching about my lack of potty training. BOR-ing!”
In the weeks preceding all of this, Amadeus, my knight in breathable cotton armor, endured my angst as I prepared my presentation. Watch me refrain from tangenting about how I’m married to the most patient, supportive man on the planet– perhaps on any planet. I always have this feeling that, with Amadeus, all things are possible. I’m a braver person because of him. He makes me want to step up my game.
It was in this spirit of bravery and step-uppedness that I got ready for the opening night kickoff parties. I was excited. Prior to all of this, I’d developed some weird, stress-induced rash on my hands, about which I eventually consulted a doctor. I picked my way through my closet with steroid cream-covered hands, trying to decide what to wear. Eventually, I settled on a little thrift store sun dress, one that buttoned up the front and tied down the back and was sprinkled with tiny little flowers. A happy, friendly dress that nicely matched the creepy red welts that covered my fingers.
*****
Deep down, I’m a shy person (Myers-Briggs: INFP), but my busted on/off switch, paired with a compulsive desire to please and put others at ease makes me behave completely counter to my nature. When I yearn to climb into my shell like frightened taco meat, I become perversely outgoing. I disobey my mother and talk to strangers. If they offer candy, I take it. Often, this tactic works, sometimes it doesn’t, but if gold stars were awarded for effort, I’d have my own personal galaxy.
So there we were, partying, getting our geek on. I was awestruck, being in the midst of so many social media wizards, techno-brainiacs and web deities. It was really swell. Amadeus sat completely at ease at a table and played Jewels Legend on his phone. I nervously stuffed a couple of southwest eggrolls into my mouth, then proceeded to mix and mingle. Fearlessly, I walked up to tables of strangers and chit-chatted, handed out my business cards and tried to keep the eggrolls down.
Everyone was so kind—some were outgoing and receptive, some seemed a little taken aback by my forwardness, but I’ve learned to honor my inner misfit and not let the reactions of others negatively impact me. In the end, I gotta be me. It’s always lovely when people “get me,” but I’m okay when they don’t.
I was loosening up, feeling happy and bubbly and social butterfly-ish, when suddenly, Amadeus grabbed my arm and said, “Let’s go.”
“But wait,” I said, pulling back. “I’m not ready…”
“Let’s GO,” he repeated, and dragged me out of there. I was hurt—he hadn’t been that gruff with me since I broke the lid of the toilet tank a couple of years ago.
We walked out into the lobby, and he turned and said, “The front of your dress is completely unbuttoned.” Sure enough, my belly, as white as a fish fillet, was exposed for all the world to see.* No wonder people were staring—I’d been flashing them for over an hour. Smooth, huh?
I have so much more to tell you, but this has already gotten way too long, so I’ll continue later. Fortunately for you, my laptop’s on/off switch is working just fine. Besides, my hands are itching.
*I am fifty-one. I have had two children. This was not sexy.
Ha! Excellent!
I’m glad it made you ha.
Can’t wait to hear the next installment!!
Coming soon, Expat, I promise. Unless of course, I get all ADD and get completely sidetracked.
Oh, fark, Moon! Thank goodness he was there to let you know. I hear you about idle chit chat. Not big on that. In person I am very blunt and to the point. Never out to hurt feelings or make anyone uncomfortable.
But I do wish I could write as easily as you. To just throw in all the things that make people actually want to read what I am writing!
That’s so cool about your presentation! Can’t wait to hear what you have to share about it! Way to go!
I love blunt, Beadie. I love real.
(((Beadie))) I never know if what I’m writing will make people want to read or not. 1200 words about me. Ugh. But, since I tend to write about my life and my weird thoughts, it’s hard to leave myself out of the story. Thank you for reading and for being there. Weird fact: you and your hubby were in my thoughts this morning. My very pleasant thoughts.
At least you weren’t on the bar braless. I’m surprised some woman (and usually there is one who will have your back….and your front) didn’t just give you a little whisper that your dress was unbuttoned. I mean usually us woman watch out for one another whether we’re friends or not. Ok, so now you’re topic of dinner conversation at some one’s house if not Thanksgiving dinner. You made an impression alright!
I’m usually more chatty after a couple drinks, like maybe 4 of them. I’m socially awkward. I’m a Leo and suppose to be the center of attention. I command attention. Not so much. I don’t do well at gatherings. It takes about 2 hours before I’ll even talk to someone. I hate them. It can be the same social gathering every year (my friend’s 4th of July party) and I’ll hole up in the kitchen by myself helping out preparing the food. I envy these woman that attend these blogging seminars. Meeting total strangers. I think I would throw up the entire trip there in total fear.
(((Irene))), your comments always make me laugh. I never said that I wasn’t on the bar braless. Okay, I wasn’t on the bar braless, but looking back, I should have flashed my tatas as often as possible, while they were still perky.
I’ve always made it a point to quietly tell someone if they’re having a clothing malfunction. There’s nothing worse than going home from an evening out and realizing that you have toilet paper stuck to your shoe. The weekend after the aforementioned party, I attended another function, and met a woman whose collar was stuck inside her shirt. I obsessively fixed it, though she couldn’t have cared less. I just think it’s a sisterly thing to do.
I understand about the social awkwardness. I’m always socially awkward, but at the same time, I absolutely love meeting new people. I probably come across as being a complete nutjob, but there’s almost always at least one magical moment that I take home from social functions– you know, that one person whom I bond with, or the amazing story that someone shares. And usually, the entire event is a story of its own. So, to me, it’s worth it, but yeah, it’s not easy. I envy those who always seem to be at ease.
I think we have acknowledged our joint INFP status before this. I wonder if I drank, if I would be better at schmoozing. (Can’t drink because of migraines.) I’m not finding that ON switch any more now than ever; but good for you, good for Amadeus, and I’m laughing with pleasure at this story.
I get the feeling that you were born without an off switch, and I dearly love that about you.
I didn’t drink at all at the pre-parties. These things are often just my usual state of the union. I’m surprised I didn’t catch my hair on fire, or have spinach between my teeth. Graceful and smooth, like a platypus at Sardi’s.
Forty-three hugs, Kendall. Big ones.
Teeheehee! I’d love to meet you in person. I find that the extremely outgoing way of coping with panic is a common trait among some introverts. Especially when fuelled by champagne
Ooooh, Dorothy– wouldn’t it be fun to have a Socially Awkward Blogger’s Convention? Lots of champagne, lots of fun!!!
This makes me laugh every time I think about it, yuh no, that little injection of glee you get from someone else’s misfortune. I was twice surprised at the ending because, for a second, I thought Amadeus was going a couple of shades of gray on you….heyhey. (ok, I had just finished the book)…..I wish I could write like you, but my inner extrovert, buried so long in that other place, has been reborn in Austin! I feel anxiety just writing this..oh well, sending anywaz…
Really, Lauren? Really? You get glee from my misfortune? Sigh…what I’mma gonna do with you? SOOOOO happy for you and your new Austin life!! For years, it’s been on my “Places I Definitely Have to Visit Before I Croak” list. I hope to one day take you up on your earlier invite.
(Amadeus was more like fifty shades of red. After he read this post, he said, “Actually, it was sexy– just not the kind of sexy you wanted to be at that place.” It took “social networking” to a whole new level.)
Well I don’t get why you needed to LEAVE. I mean think of all the men who you’ve seen unzipped, and then they notice and zip up and go on talking…
But where do I sign up for the Socially Awkward Bloggers Convention? I definitely think we should ALL arrive unbuttoned, to–you know– show solidarity.
Linnie, the more we talk about the Socially Awkward Bloggers Convention, the more I want to do it!! Can’t you picture all of us arriving, spinach between our teeth, in various states of disheveled-ness, dancing like rhythm-less nursing home residents? Sigh…I love this idea.
We were slowly meandering toward the door when Amadeus noticed the dress. There were other parties to attend, so he just scooted us out of there more quickly than we’d ordinarily have left. Usain Bolt quickly.
Loved this post. I only wish I could have attended that event and heard your presentation. It’s comforting to know our plain-speaking Moonbeam is out there representing us awkward bloggers, fish filet belly and all. Kudos to Amadeus for Discreet Rescue.
You broke the toilet tank cover? I believe that in Pastafarian pantheon that is the one unforgivable sin …
Hey! I’m an INFP also. A high-functioning one at that. Really. <3
I love the term “high-functioning INFP!” That nails it. And you know, I embrace my inner “I,” as whacked as she is.
Yes, I broke that damned tank cover, and I did it before Amadeus loved me, which means I had to drive all over creation to find a replacement. It was an ancient one too. The guy who sold me the replacement lid put the odds of finding one at 1 in a million. Fortunately, I was forgiven. We were flush, so to speak.
I tried to represent, I really did. And the presentation went well. I’ll tell you about it soon.
Love this post! For myself, having already passed through the exit line of the menopause roller coaster, the worst was the crying. For a few years there I was boo hooing if a stranger looked at me. Or didn’t look at me. Or the dog sneezed. I’m looking forward to part two of this story.
Oh, the tears are the worst!!! A squirrel on a fence post can send me off on a major boohoo jag– that bushy, s-shaped tail! The way his tiny squirrel hands are so innocently holding that big acorn…wahhhhhhhhhhh! When it comes to our marriage, I know that Amadeus is committed because he has’t had me committed.
Great post this one of yours!
Love the way you write, first of all. Love your spirit, your on-switch. (I also have one of those and know exactly how it works when we spent too many time using only the off-switch… Then, once ON… disaster after disaster, we’ll get the rhythm of the thing). Love your sense of humour!
Oh, gosh! When I first started to read your “adventure” I thought you were about 65 or so, due to the way you referred to yourself… But I liked it… However I kept on imagining an older lady… And I quote you: “It was also an opportunity to improve my social media skills, which currently are on par with my two-year-old granddaughter’s. Seriously, yesterday, I caught her tweeting, “At Mimi’s house—wish she’d quit bitching about my lack of potty training. BOR-ing!” ”
Sorry…
I loved every detail of your description. Even about the supportive “Amadeus” “of yours”, the way you dressed for the party, everything.
I absolutely loved the way you moved around, talking to people and trying to get to know them, defying your own hidden shyness. That’s so highly important!
I didn’t like the ending, however. (As if my opinion on your ending counted here!)
You shouldn’t have left the place. You and your husband should have laughed yourselves silly about it all (nothing else could be done and something like that can happen to anyone, except to one who doesn’t wear a dress or one with buttons on… Your husband overreacted!). You should have buttoned your dress again and both of you should have relaxed for a while, having a drink or / and taking some fresh air… After that… Amadeus should have left his cell phone game (what was that all about?!) and give you his arm to give you confidence and do his part and you both should go back to the “chit-chatting”. You could even introduce him to some people you had met before.
You could even laugh about what had just happened to you (with other people- laughing about ourselves is just fine) and I’m sure you wouldn’t certainly be the laughing stock of the party, but the brave woman with guts.
And, dear, quoting you: ” *I am fifty-one. I have had two children. This was not sexy.” Who said that? You? At 51? I know plenty of women at 51 quite sexy. I know sexy women at 60. Let men be your judges. They are the best, trust me.
I’m a woman, but not a common one. Not one of those who envies other women. Not one of those who tells you “this dress really suits you when it doesn’t”.
I’m a woman, single, 43, no kids, no boyfriend. And I’m not lesbian. And I’m not homophobic.
And I have nothing against “accidents” in parties. Your dress gets dirty? Your kid vomited on your shoulder? You have parsley on your front tooth? You broke your shoe-heel while dancing? You fell down the stairs because of your dress tail? A bird “released” itself on your hair while flying over you at your garden’s party? Your boyfriend gets so drunk that he forgets your presence? These things happen. To anyone. At least to me they do, and to all the others like me.
Thanks for sharing your “miseries”.
xxx
Celeste
Ha! (((Celeste))), I love your comments! You thought I was 65? Must…write…younger…
I’m sorry that you didn’t like the ending. I probably should have clarified: I was moving toward the exit anyway, in a slow and chit-chatty way. I never would have left because of an unbuttoned dress, but we had two other functions to attend. Amadeus was just speeding up the process. After we left, he drove me to a store, where I bought a bunch of safety pins. When we went to the next party, I immediately headed for the bathroom, took off the dress and strategically pinned every buttonhole. The rest of the evening went a lot more smoothly. Believe me, we did laugh about the entire incident.
As for the cell phone– well, I just let Amadeus be Amadeus and he lets me be me. He has no interest in these things, he just goes to support me, and I really don’t care if he sits in a corner and plays solitaire, if it makes him happy. We refer to each other as The Mutual Admiration Society. He’s a fan of my writing, I’m a fan of his music. I often go with him when his band plays, not because I haven’t heard the songs, but because I just enjoy being with him. Plus, it often provides ideas for stories. Sometimes, I pull out my cell phone and write while I’m sitting there (“there’s an app for that”). See how odd we are?
You sound like such a fun, interesting person! I wish you could have come along!
Definitely you’re not odd at all. You’re just perfect for each other.
The whole misunderstanding was all mine. Maybe there were some pieces missing for the puzzle I was trying to build…
Maybe it’s my fault. I always tend to add something to other people’s stories or to interrupt them, asking too many questions… Just like kids do… The same happens with jokes…
I am the “whys” woman.
And I’m very glad I’ve “found” you.
Oh! I’m odd enough! Don’t you worry! Mad, mad, mad! In fact I’m fed up with “normal” people! Boring… They can’t even smile, nor laugh, nor…
I’m funny, indeed. And I’ve learnt to make fun out of myself. It had to be. However, only a few people seem to understand my sense of humour around here. But.. who cares? I don’t! At least, no longer! Even humour needs to be smart and intelligent and I am far too demanding!…
xxx
C.
All of us are odd, Celeste, which makes none of us odd.
I love it that you question everything. I do too.
Have you seen the film “Under the Tuscan Sun?” You remind me of the character Katherine, an amazing woman who lived her life like an actress in a Fellini film. There’s something wonderfully warm and larger-than-life about you. I promise, I mean that as a huge compliment.