Monday, June 25, 2012

Chronic "That Girl" Syndrome

In every great story or event, somewhere on the periphery lurks "That Girl". She's awkward, bordering on socially incompetent, and everyone involved is really happy they aren't her. Perhaps the story is about her dancing to Maroon 5's Payphone so hard she dislocated her shoulder (she's not a good dancer. Not ever.) Perhaps she's merely tertiary to the story, the lone voice laughing in the audience when everyone else is settled down, eventually causing a ruckus when she falls down from her giggle fit. Whatever the case, no great story exists without her.

Hello. My name is The Hopeless Writer Chick. And I am "That Girl". You're welcome.

I'd like to refer you to the story about my inner weirdo so that you'll understand that my innate shyness (shut up ArchaeoloChick if you're reading this, I AM shy) contributes to my varied instances of "That Girl" ness in ways that make total sense when you read them from "That Girl"'s perspective. And really, perspective is what it's all about.

For instance, during the times that my peers were snorting cocaine off of toilet seats and letting it fuel massive orgies (this is a typical high school experience, right? I'm just spitballing here.), what was I doing? Rereading the Brothers Grimm and borrowing DVDs from other members of my Japanese Culture Club (because I was cool in high school, is why).  Now, logically, there were boys somewhere in that mix. But if they wanted to date me or I them, well, that went uncommunicated. Awkward people cannot teach other awkward people how to not be awkward. That would be like me trying to teach someone Calculus (I don't know from calculus. I'm not even sure if it's supposed to be capitalized. So one of each. Because I'm thoughtful.)

Hence, when someone is flirting with me, I tend to not notice. Actually, I tend to need a third party who possesses no tact to slap me in the face and say "That man is interested in you! And also, you're dumb." Case in point, when I was twenty-two, I went to a My Chemical Romance concert with Blanche. We were in front of a cluster of teenagers. We were chatting with them because we were gonna be in line for about 4 hours so we figured we should make friends. One of the guys asked what we did for a living, and at the time I taught preschool, so I told him so. The conversation went as follows:

Random Kid: What do preschool teachers teach?

THWC: Oh, color recognition, numbers, handwriting, letters, shapes, songs, characteristics of pets and farm animals, so on.

Random Kid: Damn (Note: he said it more like "Da-yum" and it's worth mentioning that I'm not a person who is typically on the receiving end of two-syllable "Damn"s) Wish you'd been my preschool teacher.

THWC: (utterly bewildered) Why? What did your teacher teach you?

Random Kid: (suddenly embarrassed) The same things....




THWC: Oh. Oh. Ohhhhhhhhh. You're hitting on me.

Random Kid: Um, yeah

THWC:, well, thank you (He was still in high school, what was I supposed to say? Seriously, what was I supposed to say? Because I think that embarrassed him even more. He disappeared after that. He went further down the line for a concert that was standing room only, first come first serve, seriously, what was I supposed to say?)

I should also point out that me realizing that flirting was happening without somebody else telling me so is personal growth.

I am also unable to flirt with anyone who catches my fancy (that's up to date terminology, right?). I usually end up drinking until I'm in love with anyone and everyone around and hope that does the trick.  In other news, I've been single for 3 years .

Even worse is when I accidentally flirt with someone without realizing it. Today a security guard came in to the store I work at to pass along some new codes and phone numbers, and while he was talking to my boss, he gave me a truly bugged-out look. I turned to her when he left to ask her a) if she'd seen that and b) What. The. Fuck? She informed me that while he was in the store I'd been gazing at him with naked, glassy-eyed adoration and she'd been about to pass me a napkin to wipe up the drool. Apparently, that freaked him out, because evidently he scares easy, hence the bugged-out look.

Take a moment to absorb that, people. I can't control my own face. I can't. Control. My. Own. Face. I have no idea how often I've stared at total strangers like they were Neil Patrick Harris on a unicorn, but I'm willing to bet this wasn't the first time.

Lest anyone be led to believe that I'm only awkward when dating is involved, I went to the bar with Dragon Queen on Saturday. I pounded 5 Vodka Collins in fifteen minutes, which left me a little tipsy. Dragon Queen brought up a conversation we'd had at work earlier that day, which I evidently felt like re-hashing. I am a loud person in general. Drinking exacerbates it. So the whole bar heard me announce  that my stubborn Irish hymen won't leave despite the fact that I've done virtually everything short of give birth to get rid of it.

My stubborn Irish hymen.

I can't make this shit up.

Except I did make that shit up. But no one was listening but Dragon Queen the first time I said it. So obviously I had to remedy that by yelling it in a bar.

I should point out that in both instances Dragon Queen initiated the hymen conversations, so the whole "That Girl" thing is not entirely my fault.

Also, my hymen is Irish because I'm Irish. I don't think that my hymen has a different nationality. I mean, I'm Irish-American, but that sounds clunky, so I usually just use Irish to describe myself. And my hymen.

Also, I didn't ask anyone else about their hymens. And I'm pretty sure that I didn't spin it into a whole conversation, just one awkward announcement. Sadly, that again is personal growth.

So the next time you dance when like no one is watching but it turns out a whole lot of people are, remember me. Remember that I discussed my hymen in a crowded bar. Remember that even though you're now "That Girl" to whomever is watching, I'm still "That Girl" to you.

You win.

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