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!

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.

When the Bad Guys Move In

A friend of mine is living in a neighborhood that's "going to pot." Literally. Last week she learned that drug deals have been taking place in a house just around the corner. In fact, this past spring a SWAT team busted down the door, momentarily inconveniencing the entrepreneur(s) who spent no time in jail and apparently are now back in business.

You may think my friend must live in a rough neighborhood. On the contrary. She lives in a perfectly nice neighborhood in one of the best school districts in the Delaware Valley. The folks in this neighborhood are middle upper class and diverse in age and ethnicity. There are many families with young children. Some empty nesters. Several retired folks. They have block parties and a book club. And now they have a drug dealer.

Residents in this neighborhood have called the police to alert them to this renewed activity, but you have to wonder what will be done to get rid of the problem once and for all. Since the perps are white, they are less likely to go to jail than if they were minorities who have disproportionate numbers being imprisoned. Having the distinction of incarcerating its citizens at the highest rate of any nation, U.S. prisons are already bursting at their seams*. When looked at from afar it's fairly easy to say we need to reconsider whom we're imprisoning (based on the crime and the individual's history) and do a better job of addressing rates of recidivism. We might even say that a non-violent individual selling drugs out of their home (or their grandfather's home in this particular case) isn't someone we should spend taxpayer dollars on to put away for awhile. And if you want to be all compassionate and Christian-like about it, doesn't everyone deserve a second chance? But the key word in this paragraph is "afar." Tunes change when the criminal activity is taking place in your own backyard.

I imagine even the most liberal, criminal justice policy wonk wouldn't want a drug dealer living next door. It's amazing how your perspective shifts when an issue begins to affect you personally. I'm not sure what the answer is in this case:

• Sell your house and move out before the neighborhood gets a bad reputation
• Turn a blind eye and hope for the best
• Hound the police until something is done
• Take matters into your hands? (My dad would put up his deer hunting tree stand and sit up there with a BB gun.) 
• Ask the dealers if they're looking for a business partner or will offer you commission on customer referrals? 

What are your thoughts on the matter?

*My information comes from Ministry with Prisoners & Families: The Way Forward by Wilson Goode Sr. (yes, that Wilson Goode), Charles Lewis, and Harold Dean Trulear. Judson Press published their book earlier this year.

Hiddy Ho There, Neighbor!

In honor of what would have been Mister Rogers 83-5/6th birthday, I want to ask, "Who are the people in your neighborhood?"

Last night I drove through a neighborhood in my community that I particularly like. It has neatly and closely arranged Cape Cods made of brick or stone, and the yards are full of tall trees and children's toys. There's something about this neighborhood that says "We're friendly and down to earth here. You would like us."

Like many suburban areas, my township is made up of different neighborhoods, including:

• The "It" neighborhood where people with status (and money) live
• The country club neighborhood where the rest of the money lives
• The party neighborhood where beer drinkers feel most at home
• The helpful neighbors neighborhood where everyone pitches in to shovel snow, rake leaves, etc. I believe there's a fair amount of drinking taking place here as well.
• The mandatory "sketchy" neighborhood where you can probably get your bike stolen

Mine could best be defined as "closest to a major highway neighborhood." It's a commuter's dream. It's also a circle which means the borders of our neighborhood are extremely well-defined.

I like my circle and don't even notice the highway noise anymore. I like that:

• There are lots of kids, including a few who are the same age as mine
• Most of these children leave me alone
• The one who did cause trouble seems to have outgrown his criminal phase. We think.
• The ladies have a book club
• My neighbors are cool enough to invite to our annual bonfire. This keeps them from reporting us to the authorities.
• It's diverse.

Now that last bullet point may surprise some of you who probably assumed I live in lily white suburbia with all middle class families. In reality, my circle may be one of the most diverse neighborhoods in our township. For example, we have:

• Chinese immigrants
• A mini United Nations family with an Italian husband by way of South America and an Indian wife. Their beautiful baby girl is a stunning combination of the two.
• Required crabby old lady
• Single mom with an adopted biracial daughter.
• African American families
• Families that can't be bothered with anyone else (a.k.a. "family with really high hedges")
• The 20-something grandson living with his grandmother, having a BBQ with friends, drinking beer, and playing wiffle ball about every other weekend (My invite has apparently been lost in the mail)
• A Jewish family
• A three-legged dog
• A guy who rides a noisy motorcycle
• A first generation Irish girl married to an Irish boy
• A man who runs constantly. Seriously. Always. Running.

We used to have a bitter old German lady when we first moved in, but she moved back to Germany because she didn't like where we stored our trash cans. 

If this sounds like a neighborhood you would enjoy living in, you're in luck! Four houses on the circle are currently for sale. I'm not sure if that means there's a radon problem or if folks are fed up with GPS burglaries, but really, it's a great place to live. And the realtors haven't even sponsored this post.

If you're interested in seeing my neighborhood, give a shout. I'd love to show you the three-legged dog!