The Painful Realities of Socializing

'Tis the season ... for socializing, which is fine if I'm socializing with people I've socialized with before. But put me in a new setting with new people and it's like high school all over again. I'm awkward, self-conscious, anxiety-ridden and convinced my time would be better spent studying.

During the past couple years, my social life has seen relatively few new faces. My circles have stayed basically the same, and in some cases they've begun to overlap as friends from one circle get to know friends from another. There's comfort in those intersecting circles, unless things go too far and friends from those ven diagrams of my social life start getting together without me. Admit it. We all want our friends to like us more than they like any of the competition their other friends. Learning that a friend is going away for a weekend with college buddies or ditching me for someone I don't know can cause slight pangs of jealousy and concerns that I will be forgotten and left behind. It's creepy and controlling immature and silly, I know. If you're my friend I simply request that you don't put me through that. Then everything will be okay. But I've gotten off track here. We were discussing the great Dale Carnegie test of socializing with new people.

Two weekends ago, when Rob and I were in Charleston, SC, I was challenged with a scenario that I hadn't faced in years. We were spending time with Rob's fraternity brothers, two of whom threw their significant others into the mix even though I was relishing having them all to myself doing fine without them. These were women I'd never met before. I don't know about you, but it's been a very long time since I had to put on my game face and spend an evening with complete strangers. Do you know what's involved when a woman meets another woman for the first time? It's second only to prom night in terms of the stress level. All your feminist tendencies go out the window as you become ridiculously obsessed with your appearance. You want the competition her to be unattractive. Preferably with bad hair and a big butt. You want this "cheese" (fraternity-ese for "that girl is mine") to be shallow, vapid, clueless and completely without humor, wit or charm. You hope that she will be dressed inappropriately. That she didn't go to a more prestigious college than you. That whatever job she has involves no brain power whatsoever. You pray she's not one of those fitness freaks who makes you feel like a schlub. Rather than face the possibility that you won't measure up, you decide to suddenly develop chills and a fever, rendering you unable to leave your bed. Just like high school.

This coming weekend I am again faced with the opportunity to socialize with others whom I do not know well. Though I will most likely recognize many faces at this party, I will fail to remember the names of 95% of them. That's assuming we were ever introduced in the first place. While the presence of men means I won't be subject to a head-on, woman-to-woman competition, I will be even more likely to feel insecure. See, although women in the South are beautiful and have charming accents, they aren't nearly as smart and accomplished as women here in the Northeast. That's a fact. Women in my community are typically bright, cultured and excellent conversationalists. They usually dress well and have terrific figures given that 90% of them are freakin' triathletes. They make good money and/or are married to men who do quite well in their impressive careers. Most own another house somewhere in the mountains or at the beach. And should you naively believe you can hold your own with your intelligence, witty banter, basement renovations and Nordstrom Rack shoes, you'll soon learn that their kids are attending Ivy League schools on scholarship.

Besides setting women back 50 years with my gross generalizations and focus on physical appearance and income levels, what this post is really trying to say is that once you have a circle of good friends who don't cheat on you, you should show your appreciation and stop socializing.

Happy Thanksgiving to all my faithful friends!

Putting an End to the Nightmare that is Gym Class

Television, radio, websites and publications — in nearly every form of entertainment there is something that appeals to our individual interests, quirks and passions. There’s no reason to be like everyone else or even engage with anyone else when it can so easily be all about you. By immersing ourselves in that which fits our personality, IQ and emotional needs, we can be assured that no harm will come to our confidence, self-esteem or self-image.

With this in mind, three years ago in “Food for Thought,” I suggested that supermarkets designate lanes based on the kinds of food a customer buys. That way, those of us who purchase crap loaded with preservatives and artificial sweeteners won’t feel badly about ourselves when we’re in line with the organic health food buyer. I’m sorry to say that I have yet to see a grocery store implement this excellent idea. I can practically guarantee they’d enjoy an impressive customer base and strong sales.

Along those lines, today I would like to propose separate gym classes based on body type, athletic ability and basic level of fitness. And I recommend that these segmented classes begin as early as kindergarten so those of us who require remedial hand-eye coordination activities will not find ourselves ostracized during snack time. The reasons for despising gym class tend to vary from age to age and person to person, but the end result is always the same: emotional scarring, night terrors related to dodgeball and long-term aversion to anything physical.

For some, what they most loathe about the experience of phys ed is the actual performance part. Run a mile in 6:30. Finish 10 pull-ups. Catch this ball. Walk in a straight line. These requirements can be brutal and cause one to break out in tears hives at the mere mention. Others may not dread the activities so much, but find undressing in front of their peers is a fate worse than death. Are you as well “developed” as your classmates? Are you clean shaven? Did you forget today was P.E. and wear your Thomas the Train briefs? This is the stuff that keeps therapists in business. That, and our parents.

Personally, I still have nightmares about the choosing of teams in gym class. Who in the world thought it was a good idea to put a couple of kids (usually insensitive bastards athletes) in charge of picking teams? While you can try to blend in with a group of fellow gym class haters for the activities themselves, or disappear in a toilet stall to avoid comparing bra sizes, when you’re lined up against the wall for team selection there’s absolutely nowhere to hide. As each captain starts calling names and the wallflower lineup gets shorter and shorter, it’s basically the equivalent of someone shouting, “We don’t want Shimer! She’s the worst athlete ever!” I was usually chosen second to last, saved only by the significantly overweight kid or the one on crutches.  Good memories.

My simple solution, separating kids into appropriate groups, has the potential to be life-changing. Imagine no more…
• mysterious illnesses on gym class days
• terror at the prospect of playing dodge ball with the football players in your class
• standing alone against the wall like the girl who never gets asked to dance
• shame at wearing granny panties
• fear of ridicule when you fall over your own two feet at the starting line
• hyperventilating when you run out of air during those aptly named “suicides”
• concern that you’re overweight, underweight, undersized or oversized
• costly long-term therapy to address issues of self-esteem

With separate gym classes all kids can feel comfortable in their own skin. There will be no pressure to improve skills, get in shape, lose weight or talk mom into buying you appropriate underwear. Simply put, gym class, high school, and the world in general will be a kinder, gentler place. Now that's something worth cheering for!

This was a Job for the Sociable Spouse

You knew this was coming when you read on Facebook that my son had offered our home as last Friday's pre-Frosh (freshman/sophomore dance) gathering spot for picture taking. I believe my status update ended with *+%#@!%&!. I was at work on Thursday when he asked if it was okay, so I had nonchalantly said yes without asking for details. Important details like, "How many people are coming," and "What's required of me beyond snapping a picture?" At 9:00 p.m. that evening I learned he was estimating about 30 people. Oh, and could I maybe provide some food? Hence the *+%#@!%&!

Much like everything these days (from Sweet 16 parties to senior prom invites), the pre-dance gathering has become a bit excessive. I guess I shouldn't say "has become" because actually I have no idea what they were like "back in the day." I don't recall ever gathering at anyone's house before a prom. The guy just came over to pick me up, my parents took some pictures and we were on our way. But then again I wasn't one of the popular kids and didn't exactly have a "group" of friends. Maybe the cliques got together and maybe their parents came too, and maybe the hosts provided food and drink and turned it into a brief, but well prepared party. That's what it's like now, anyway.

Thankfully I had some idea of what I was in for needed to do after experiencing one of these little gatherings last year. Before the 8th grade dance, we all converged on the home of one of the young ladies in Ian's circle of friends. There, I was shocked to discover a whole spread of food and soft drinks for the kids, and beer and wine for the adults.It was a more impressive soiree than I put on when I'm having a "real" party.

In addition to the woefully inadequate amount of time I had to prepare (damn my full time job!), to add to the pressure was the painful realization my understanding that the kids coming to my house that evening were not any old upper middle class kids. These were Silvertones (members of a select singing group at our high school). And Silvertones is code for "Swarthmoreans." I believe Ian is the token Wallingford kid. The director must have had a quota to fill. If you're not familiar with Swarthmore, which is part of our school district, it's home to the brightest of bright, most artistically talented, and all around green-living, peace-loving and healthy-eating Democrats. Home to the #1 ranked liberal arts college in the country, the borough attracts brilliant Swarthmore College professors who often are married to equally brilliant professors who work at Penn. I'm not positive, but I believe each home in Swarthmore is required to have at least one professor, one medical doctor, or an artist, writer or musician. Basically, compared to people in Swarthmore, I'm a hillbilly with a 6th grade education.

Clean cut, albeit clumped together

Although Swarthmoreans are not exactly unfriendly, I sense they're more comfortable with their own kind. Therefore, I was not looking forward to entertaining these folks and dealing with my petty insecurities. And then there's the fact that I can't remember any of their names when I see them. Clearly this was a job for Rob. And he was in Clearwater, Florida, hard at work taking clients to Spring Training baseball games, expensive meals and golfing. Talk about shitty jobs. Anyway, the point is, Rob was not home.

Rob is a much better entertainer / socializer / networker than I am. (Hence, his job.) He knows which cheeses, crackers and dips to buy, and he always buys enough. (I'm getting better at that.) He knows which wine to pull out of the cellar (No, we don't have a wine cellar. Just a cellar). And somehow he seems to know twice as many people living in our school district as I do. Did I mention Rob wasn't home for this grand affair that I was blowing completely out of proportion?

The older woman...

I'm sure you're anxious to know how it went. The good news is that the kids were pretty decent. One of them in particular, I think they call him D.G., was just about the nicest, most genuinely friendly kid I've ever met. Maybe he's not from Swarthmore. Clearly his parents have done an excellent job raising him. Another good thing about Swarthmore kids is that they tend to not offend my delicate sensibilities, a.k.a. prudishness. No skanky tarts panty-high mini skirts, bared midriffs, or plunging necklines in the bunch. Ian's date was a perfectly dressed, pretty young lady.

The bad news is, as anticipated, I couldn't remember the names of any of them -- kids or parents. And the living room was crowded and clumped with no good setting for a group picture. Then there's the fact that no one ate. I spent $50 on food and I think the only thing that was touched was the watermelon on the fruit platter. By the way, I have to give a big shout out to Freakin' Angel Cathie who made a BJ's appetizer run for me while I was at work.

Now, lest I leave you on a sour note, I should mention that I will have an opportunity to learn the names of all the Silvertones when we spend ten days together in Italy, beginning next Thursday, March 21. I'm chaperoning the group's biennial singing tour of what I have heard is a beautiful country with wine that's less expensive than soda. While I've never been there, I believe all the Swarthmorean kids have already traveled the world. I should be in good hands.

The Popularity Factor

Relationships are tricky terrain. Of course, it's also "Tricky to rock a rhyme, to rock a rhyme that's right on time." (A little something for you Run DMC fans.) There are many fine lines that exist to keep relationships in balance and when one of them is crossed, the results can range from discomfort to outright chaos. While the lines differ in each marriage, I believe most of us can agree on the importance of maintaining balance in the areas of:

• Love - seems obvious, but should one partner feel they love the other more than they are loved in return, things can go downhill very quickly
• Intelligence - while Rob likes to think he's smarter than me (and nearly everyone else), I know this is untrue and therefore equilibrium is maintained
• Need - this is a tough one. Depending on the state of your mental and emotional health, the level of neediness can swing wildly. While I find I appreciate Rob more when I'm needy, should my neediness last too long, I begin to feel pathetic and balance is affected in a negative way.
• Contributions - this is not financially-based for me, but rather pertains to what's being shared in the way of responsibilities on the home front. As evidenced by my recent post "A Love Story," an uptick on the husband's side can reap bountiful rewards. But, even here, should he start contributing too much, I feel guilt and discomfort. (With time, however, I believe I could adjust.)

I was originally going to include Attractiveness in this list, but if you look at some couples, you can see that the balance is way outta whack. Personally, I'm not sure whether I'd rather be married to the sad or scary looking dude, or the head turning hunk (and vice versa for you men). Once again, I prefer a reasonable balance. I think couples should be within 2 points of each other on the completely objective 1-10 attractiveness scale. But really, this could be the subject of its own post.

What I actually want to address today is the issue of Popularity. For the past fifteen years, Rob's connection to the Phillies has provided him with a ridiculous slight advantage where popularity is concerned. Recently, however, I have begun to think that perhaps his popularity is a result of his personality. The evidence lies in the number of social get-togethers Rob is invited to "with the boys," not all of whom can be Phils fans, right? There's the Pinocchio's Beer Garden Gang, Select Company Cool Kid Dads, Heatherwold Heathens (they are not all heathens, but I like the alliteration), Client Comrades, Home Base Buddies, and heck, he even has a Men's Bible Study Group at the church. I believe Rob could go out for a beer with any one (or more) of these groups any night of the week.

When I compare Rob's popularity to my own (and comparing oneself is always an excellent idea), I'm considerably bummed out slightly concerned. The honest truth is that I am not half as popular.  I have one primary group of girlfriends and the Freakin' Angels are freakin' difficult to engage socially. In fact, I'm usually the organizer of any social get-togethers. Perhaps they're getting together without me? I'm basically tethered to my other friends through Rob and rarely receive an invitation to socialize outside of the couple-context. In a divorce, I'm pretty sure they'd pick him.

My phone's not ringing, the texts aren't coming, and my inbox offers nothing but spam and prayer concerns. It's bleak, readers, bleak.

Since my school days, I have never been one of the popular girls and frankly it's never bothered me until now. I think it's because now my popularity, or lack thereof, affects not only me, but my husband and my kids. How many dinners, parties, BBQs, getaways, game nights, social events, etc. are we not being invited to because of my clearly lacking/irritating/self-absorbed/woe's me/snarky personality? And how much does my lack of fashion sense, including knowledge of the latest jewelry designs and stylish footware impact my popularity rating?

I figure I have three options here:

1. I can sit around and blog/obsess about it.
2. I can work on my personality and my wardrobe so the cool kids will like me.
3. I can forget those snotty bitches women who don't recognize how adorable, charming, witty, intelligent, and of course, humble I am, and stick with my hard-to-get-out-of-the-house Angels and other equally wonderful, though few in number, women friends.

I bet you know which way I'm leaning.

To end on a positive note (hey, it's a new year; I'm trying new things), I don't think Rob has any friends calling him who are 15+ years younger or 40+ years older. Today I had lunch with a certain seminarian who actually made it a point to get together with little old me before she returns to school this weekend. I'm feeling pretty damn special. And on the other end of the friend age spectrum, I may be the only person you know who has maintained a friendship with a woman I met when I was in my teens. She's now a lovely 88-year-old widow.

Yes, Monty Hall, I think I'll go with what's behind Door #3!