A Socially Awkward Christmas

In the Christian preschool classroom where I "teach" (my "teaching" usually consists of telling one and two-year-olds that it's not nice to sit on their friends) there is a bulletin board arrangement of a nativity scene. It's a very nice kid-friendly bulletin board nativity scene, but the more I look at it, the more I get a little freaked out by it. It has all the characters, Mary and Joseph and Baby Jesus, the shepherds (complete with sheep), the wisemen, the angels, and even a camel and donkey for good measure. Now, every one of these characters, except for the wisemen (for some unknown reason--maybe just because they're, ya know, wise or something) have these ridiculously huge happy face smiles plastered on their faces. The shepherds and the sheep have "the smile." Mary and Joseph have "the smile." The donkey and the camel have "the smile." Even the angels and Baby Jesus have "the smile." The more I look at them, the more freaked out I get...so I just try not to look at them. Btw, Baby Jesus also has a little halo around his head, which one of my two-year-olds referred to as "Baby Jesus' hat." Cute.




My roommate has a little nativity scene. She put Christmas lights all around it, and I must admit, it looks very pretty. See:





But the more I look at this nativity scene, the more I think, "Why are Mary, Joseph, and Baby Jesus all holding their hands that way?" Are they trying to look holy (this is the most likely conclusion)? Are they extending their arms in surprise and alarm (I suppose Baby Jesus was like other babies and had the startle reflex, but that doesn't explain Mary and Joseph's behavior)? Are Mary and Joseph playing peek-a-boo with Baby Jesus (wait...that's not in the Bible!)? I'm not sure why they look that way.

Because the way I figure, most representations we have of that first Christmas are probably not very accurate. I mean, this goes beyond the simple idea that the wisemen probably didn't even come into the picture until Jesus was about 2 years old. That song "Silent Night" is beautiful, and quite frankly, I just don't feel like it's Christmas without hearing and singing it--but it's probably not a very accurate song. It probably wasn't a silent night at all.

I blame my attitudes on the fact that when I was 8 years old, I got to play Gladys Herdman in a school production of "The Best Christmas Pageant Ever" (if you haven't read the book by Barbara Robinson, you should--it's only about 100 pages and too cute!). The Herdmans were this family of scruffy kids who bullied everyone else and whom no one liked. They somehow got mixed up in the church's Christmas pageant. The oldest Herdman sister played Mary, and her brother played Joseph. They didn't act like the nativity scene Mary and Joseph. Gladys (that was me) played an angel with a crooked halo and wings (and dirty sneakers showing beneath her angel robe) who went around pushing the shepherds. While I don't think angels go around pushing people, I do think the nativity scene was pretty different from what most good little Christians seem to believe.

Joseph had this task of trying to find his pregnant wife a place to HAVE A BABY. I don't know how many places he went to look for a room. There were no nice clean hospitals with NICUs. There were no state of the art birthing centers. Shoot, Joseph couldn't even dig up a warm bed for Mary. I don't know how many innkeepers he spoke to, and I don't know how long it took him to even find one willing to offer him a stable--but I imagine all of it was fairly awkward. And so the Christ child, the Messiah, the King of Kings and Lord of Lords, God in the flesh had to be born in a barn. Joseph probably wasn't a very good midwife. Mary didn't have an epidural and probably wasn't well-practiced in lamaze. Jesus was probably covered in placenta and baby goo when Mary wrapped him in swaddling clothes and laid him in a manger. She probably breast fed him, too, since formula kinda sorta hadn't been invented yet. I don't know why, but most good little Christians would probably get a little uncomfortable about the idea of Mary breast-feeding their infant Savior.

Let's back this up about nine months. Mary was minding her own business when suddenly this angel comes and tells her she's going to have a baby--and not just any baby--the "Son of God." How awkward would it be to have to tell an angel, "Um, how can this be, because I haven't had 'relations?'"

And then after Mary starts showing, poor Joseph thinks his betrothed cheated on him. He only believes differently because an angel tells him in a dream that this child was concieved of the Holy Spirit. An angel. In a dream. Right. The only way someone wouldn't think this was a crazy story was if they had heard it all their lives--which is the case with most Christians. It's a crazy story, one which I happen to believe--because as the angel told Mary, "Nothing is impossible with God."

By the way, I don't want to get into the wisemen's part of the story too much, but they had angels talk to them in dreams, too. They also followed a star. Most of this behavior wouldn't sit too well with modern Christians.

I do want to talk about the shepherds. Shepherds, well, they took care of sheep. They probably smelled like sheep because they probably lived and slept and ate amongst their sheep. I'll bet they talked to their sheep more than they talked to other people. When they did talk to other people, it probably consisted of talking to other shepherds:

"Hey, Bob, you seen any 'bars' lately?"
"Sure, Fred, I killed me three 'bars' last week. Them be tryin' to eat my sheeps, agin."
"Good lands, Bob. Them 'bars' be a real problum. I done 'kilt' me a 'lyun' a few days ago with my new Red Rider slingyshot."
"A 'lyun', you say? Man, these here fields not be as safe as they used to be."
"Yeah, lucky I got Ol' Blue. She's got a compass in the stock."

Yeah.

Of all the socially awkward people in those times, I'm sure shepherds were near the top of the list. So imagine being a dirty shepherd out in a field, when suddenly an angel appears. Scripture says the shepherds were "sore afraid."

Um, duh.

Let me just put it out there that the images of angels we see around Christmastime (and the rest of the year, too) are probably not very accurate. They aren't scrawny kids with crooked haloes and dirty sneakers beneath their robes, but they also aren't pretty blonde ladies in white dresses with tinsel halos and real faux feather wings and body glitter, either. According to most Biblical descriptions, they were pretty scary looking. For some reason they had like 82 wings to cover various parts of their bodies, and they had a lot of eyes. So, yeah, I'd be afraid if I saw one of those, too. It would be scarier than the creepy bulletin board "smiley" nativity scene...

But the angel's message is pretty amazing. "Fear not, for I bring you good news of great joy which will be for all the people (I'm assuming that means that smelly, socially awkward shepherds are included), for today in the city of David has been born to you a Savior who is Christ the Lord."

That would have been enough to faze me, but the angel continued:

"Oh, and here's a sign. The baby is going to be wrapped in rags and lying in a manger."

"Bob, did that there angul just say that Christ is born and lying in a manger?"
"I think he did, Fred, but that be what our sheeps eat out of!"
"Well, I'll be. Why the angul be tellin' us? If I'd be an angul, I'd be tellin' kings, not shepherds."
"I dunno, but look, there's a lot more of 'em."

I picture a scene in heaven. "Aww, God, why does Gabriel get to go? Gabriel gets all the cool messenger jobs." "God, can't I go, too. I want to tell the shepherds your news." "Me, too, God!" "Please let us go!" "We want to proclaim your glory to the meek shepherds!"

And God smiled and said, "Okay. Everybody get out there and give those shepherds I chose a good show."

And so all the angels, whatever they looked like, were priviledged to tell those simple shepherds, "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to men on whom His favor rests."

Whenever I read this Bible verse in Luke 2, I always get angry with myself because I opted to take Spanish in college instead of Greek. I can't remember much Spanish beyond "Donde esta bano," so that was a waste (no pun intended), but I also don't know enough Greek to translate the phrase "on earth peace to men on whom His favor rests." Does that mean there's peace on earth for those whom God finds favor with, or does that mean there's peace on earth to men because God's favor is with them? Various translations and commentaries offer various insight into this passage--but really, I've come to the conclusion that as far as I'm concerned, it doesn't greatly matter.

Because God came down to make peace with us, and we can have that peace if we choose it. That's the point of Christmas. We try to clean it up with all our happy and holy nativity scenes. We try to pretty it up by making it seem that Baby Jesus never cried or spit up or had a poopy diaper. But Baby Jesus was probably just like any other baby because God came down in the form of a human--he knew flesh just like the rest of us (even if he never sinned). Jesus had body odor. Jesus probably had diarrhea. Jesus felt pain and joy, and Jesus lived and died. Death just couldn't hold him, because nothing is impossible with God. All things are impossible for us--that's why God had to intervene and make peace with those who had rebelled against him. That's the point of Christmas.

And the first people who got to experience this gift of peace were those dirty, awkward shepherds. And the first resting place for the King was a feeding trough. God has always been in the business of choosing the weak and foolish to shame the strong and wise. That's why I'm able to say, as I did when I was 8 years old with my crooked halo to a packed audience (making my mother cry):

HEY! UNTO YOU A CHILD IS BORN!

SAA Episode 9: Door Issues

Anyone who knows me well at all will be able to tell you that I have Door Issues. Like most socially awkward encounters, the whole socially awkward thing can be completely avoided if I am the only one using a door. I mean, there's no one to be socially awkward with if I'm the only one there. Sometimes I'm socially awkward with myself, but that's because I'm a writer and probably have multiple personalities, but these situations seldom rise when I'm using doors. ANYWAY, the door isn't about to start speaking to me, and if it does, I'm going to have even MORE Door Issues. So if I'm the only one using the door, there's pretty much only one way to use it. I have to open it myself and walk through it. Now wasn't that easy?

The problem arises when there is another person or other people utilizing the same door. I think someone needs to write a Door Utilization Rule Book. I think that person might have to end up being me. Because I'd like to know the proper procedure for using a door in a variety of social situations.

I live in the south now(and am from the semi-south state of Kentucky--it's not really "The South" but that's a whole other story). Most guys down here consider it their manly duty to never let a lady touch a door handle. I'm not a feminist, but really, this is one of the major causes of my door-related anxiety. I don't MIND if a guy opens a door for me. That's really nice for him to do that (Although I have to say that it's also nice when another lady opens a door for me. I think it's odd that it's considered "chivalry" for a man to open a door and only "common courtesy" for a woman to open a door--just throwing that out there. Men have plenty of opportunities to be chivalric these days (like when they change my car's tire for me or buy me a milkshake when I'm feeling blue)...I'm just not sure that rescuing a damsel in distress from a door handle really counts as chivalry.)

What I mind is when I'm clearly going to reach the door first and the guy decides to race me for it. What am I supposed to do then? Am I supposed to slow down or stop until he gets to the door first? Am I supposed to pretend to race him for the door so he can get an ego boost when he beats me? I must say, even though it's slightly awkward, I appreciate it more when a guy does race me for the door.

What's even worse is when I realize that I'm going to get to the door at the same as a guy, and he makes no indication of what he wants to do. Is he going to open the door for me? Am I supposed to wait? Am I supposed to just grab the door and walk through it and catch it so he doesn't get it slammed in his face? I don't know what the proper procedure for this is. Because either way, I stand a chance of offending the guy using the door. If I open the door before he gets to it and he was planning on opening it for me, then I've insulted him by not letting him hold the door for me (some guys take this door thing WAY too seriously--but I'm one to talk). If I wait for him to open the door and he wasn't planning on opening it for me, then he might be offended, too--"What do I look like, an automatic door opener?" Now, I've never had anyone say something like that to me, but there's a first time for everything.

And how long am I supposed to wait holding the door if there is someone behind me? When someone is five feet away from me? Ten? Twenty? Is it acceptable for me to hold a door for a man if I get to it first? If not, then why not? Is it acceptable for me to hold a door for a man who is carrying a heavy load or walking on crutches? If not, then why not?

Honestly, the noblest guys I know are the ones who just don't make a big deal out of the "door issue." If we're walking together or meet at the door, they usually do open it and I walk through and thank them. And if I happen to get to the door first, I catch it for them until they can get it, and they thank me. Those are door situations under the best possible conditions.

But in 30 years of living, I've experienced many door situations that were not under good conditions. I've been yelled at--yes yelled at--for holding doors for guys. I've had doors slammed in my face and I've run into people because of "door usage confusion." Seriously...I need to write a Door Utilization Rule Book.

Would you buy it?

Public Service Announcement: The "A Little Bit Off" Child and You

We interrupt this socially awkward blog to bring you a public service announcement.

Warning: This might actually be a serious blog.

As a socially awkward grown-up type childcare professional (hmm, yes...that sounds marginally better than glorified babysitter), and as a formerly socially awkward child, I am able to fairly quickly pick out the kids that are just, well, "a little bit off." These are the kids that lick the playhouse and put Lincoln Logs in their noses...repeatedly. These are the kids about whom, upon first viewing their vast array of colorful bumps and bruises, you want to call child services, but then you realize they're just EXTREMELY accident prone and frequently run into inanimate objects. These are the kids who say things like, "My favorite color is power rangers" or "I eated Nemo for dinner last night" or "Mommy says I'm not allowed to put playdough in my pants anymore" or who don't say anything at all and just sit in the corner as if they're afraid the other children are out to get them. The few. The awkward. The "a little bit off" children.

(Sidenote: This is NOT one of those "lets dress all our little boys in pink" blogs. I don't have any problems with little boys who wear pink, but the purpose of this post is not to explore the possibilty of gender confusion in young childhood or how people perceive the possibility of gender confusion in young childhood or how we should be proud of the possibility of gender confusion in young childhood...etc.etc.etc. I'm just talking about kids who are "a little bit off" as I once was...and still am.)

Let's face it, the "a little bit off kids" usually KNOW that they're "a little bit off." They might be right at the threshhold of being "a LOT off," but as long as they are aware enough to know that they're "a little bit off," then they aren't yet "a LOT off." ...if you could follow any of that.

I remember being one of THOSE kids. Autism is in my family (my younger brother was diagnosed with high-functioning autism), and I'm pretty sure I got some of the "a little bit off" genes, too. I remember trying to play with other kids, but they all seemed to be talking in some kind of "code" I didn't understand. I could almost get it, but not enough to be like them. They knew I was weird. The vast majority of them were mean to me. That's just how it was.

And I see the socially awkward kids now, and I observe how other kids treat them. More than that, though, I see the way grown-ups treat them. Sometimes, it makes me really mad. Now, most of what grown-ups do and say is well-intended. I think the main problem I have is when an adult who is not all that socially awkward is trying to cope with their own socially awkward child. They just can't understand because they've probably never been there.

I have NO problem with parents trying to teach their children good manners and encouraging socialization. We all need to learn how to get along with one another, and childhood is the best time for that. But it really bothers me when parents try to FORCE socialization. Honestly, it doesn't bother me when I say "hi" to a kid and they proceed to hide behind their mom's knee instead of replying. It doesn't bother me when a kid refuses to join in with the other kids and instead opts to sit in the corner and read a book or hop on his foot until he falls over (repeatedly) for no apparent reason. It does bother me when parents or other childcare workers try to make "a little bit off" kids act like all the other kids. They aren't like all the other kids. And, personally, I am glad they're not.

Sure, it's a pain to sanitize the playhouse every five minutes because little Timmy won't stop licking it. It's rough to have to explain to little Sally (for the thirtieth time) that I don't want to have to call her mom because she has a Lincoln Log stuck in her nose. It's vicariously embarassing to watch little Angie trip over her own feet AGAIN. It's especially hard to see these wonderful little people get picked on by the other children. It's even harder to see them get picked on by their own parents.

I was them once. I don't remember everything from my childhood, but I remember a few things. I remember the grown-ups that looked down on me. I remember the ones who were constantly frustrated with me because my mind just didn't work the way other kids' minds worked. But, I also remember the grown-ups who smiled and/or laughed with glee whenever I said something completely ridiculous. I remember the teachers who encouraged my overactive imagination. I remember the camp counselors and youth workers at church who just seemed to understand that I didn't really get much out of the games the other kids were playing. I remember the ways some grown-ups just seemed to "get me," who didn't deny my "a little bit offness," but they were also not ashamed. They celebrated my "a little bit offness."

One of the things I kind of like about the fact that I'm so socially awkward is that it tends to make me a more compassionate person. Kids were often mean to me, so I know what it's like to be mistreated/bullied/shunned, etc. I have a feeling that the grown-ups who encouraged me in my "a little bit off" childhood were probably once children who were "a little bit off" themselves. They grew up to be compassionate, encouraging adults. And I have a feeling that it's my turn to be that compassionate, encouraging adult now.

Seriously, my *coughfavoritecough* kids are usually the ones that are just "a little bit off." Sometimes these kids are the most challenging kids to work with because sometimes they just don't "get it" enough to know how to behave. Their own little world is too important to them to try to adhere to the rules we set for them, even if those rules are for their own well-being (almost all rules are). So it takes a lot of work and repetition and PATIENCE and LOVE, but these wonderful kids are SO worth it. I'm grateful for the opportunity to get to spend time with them, even if they're driving me batty (it doesn't take much to drive me batty, btw--I'm already "a little bit off").

See, I have this theory that the oddest children are going to be the ones who will to grow up and do the most amazing things. And it hurts me when well-meaning grown-ups try to stifle that. So if you have a "little bit off" child in your life, I encourage you to encourage them to just be themselves. I'm not saying you should let them lick the playhouse or put Lincoln Logs in their noses. I'm not even saying you shouldn't correct them when they forget their manners. I'm just saying that a little bit of compassion and patience goes a long way.

Because maybe someday that "little bit off" child is going to grow up to be a writer or a rocket scientist or a teacher who will change the world in some small or huge way--and maybe in the meantime they're just really great kids who are a heck of a lot of fun to be around if we stop trying to change them.

I'm grateful for the many parents I know that do "get" their children. I think the number of parents who "get" their children vastly outnumbers the number of parents who don't "get" their children. I just think it's a good reminder for all of us.

We now return to our normally scheduled socially awkward blog, which is already in progress.

Socially Awkward Girl: THE VIDEO ADVENTURES

A year or so ago, I toyed with the idea of doing a Socially Awkward Girl video series, but due to the fact that I have a ridiculously old digital camera that only takes 1 minute vidoes and since I have no recording skills, this is all I ever made. Quite honestly, if you consider the oldness and patheticness of the recording technology I have at my disposal, this video is freakin' brilliant. And yes, I did write and perform the theme song all by myself because I rock, thank you very much.

So for your awkward enjoyment, an exceedingly awkward video of Socially Awkward Girl and her awkwardly epic battle against the box of Swiss Cake Rolls.

Just Sayin' Episode #3: The More the Awkwarder

I have recently learned that a socially awkward person will become MUCH more socially awkward in the presence of a person who is even the slightlest bit more socially awkward than he/she already is.

Just sayin'.

SAA Ep. #8: Customer Service Representatives are Standing By

I don't like making phone calls to people I don't know about "grown up stuff." I've heard people talk about their negative views of the future: "One day, everything a human can do will be done by a machine!" I don't think that's a plesant thing, either, but I must say that when it comes to telephones, I'd RATHER talk to a machine than to a human. I'd rather deal with all the "Enter your account #. You entered blahblahblah. Press one if this is correct. Press two if this is INcorrect" nonsense before talking to an actual human being. I'm not really sure why. I haven't recently had any huge unpleasantness with the person on the other end of the phone. They're usually very helpful and can solve my problem more quickly than the automated "press 1 if correct" silliness.

BUT...I just don't like talking to them. My social awkwardness/anxiety kicks in full gear just THINKING about calling an unknown person on the phone. I even have issues calling to order pizza. It's pretty much ridiculous, but I don't know how to make it stop.

A few weeks ago, I was trying to pay one of my bills online. It's one of those great places where you type in your username/password, you click two buttons, and you're done. No 3 gazbillion security questions. So I typed in my username. I typed in my password. It didn't accept my password. No big deal. I have about half a dozen passwords I use for different things. I typed in another password. Didn't take that either. Still no big deal. I tried a variation on another password. Didn't take that. The little voice in the back of my head that I really should listen to more often said, "Ruth, just click "I forgot my password" and let them email it to you." I said, "No little voice in the back of my head that I really should listen to more often, NO! I will not be defeated by my poor memorization skills! I will remember this password!" So I tried another password. No access. Again, the little voice in the back of my head that I really should listen to more often said, "Um, Ruth, I think you really should just ask them to send you your password." But no! It had become a game. I was competing against myself, trying to guess the password I had used. I kept typing passwords and variations of passwords.

And then it happened, as the little voice in the back of my head that I really should listen to more often had tried to warn me. Up pops the security screen. "You have exceeded the number of login attempts and your account has been frozen. Please call 1800-SERIOUSLYYOUCANTREMEMBERYOUROWNPASSWORDJERKFACE? in order to speak to one of our Customer Service Representatives."

I broke out in a cold sweat. Few things terrify me more than the words "Customer Service Representative." I turned off my computer and doused it in holy water. Ok, so I didn't. But only because it was my roommate's computer...and I didn't happen to have any holy water handy.

The little voice in the back of my head that I really should listen to more often said, "Ruth, you need to call so you can pay your bill." I knew the little voice in the back of my head that I really should listen to more often was absolutely right, but so great was my fear that I knew I would wait until the last possible moment. For the next few weeks, the reality of having to eventually call the Customer Service Representative hung over me like a death sentence. I know I should have just made the call and gotten it over with, but apparently I am a pansy.

My bill was due today. I had the morning off. I spent my time getting up, praying to be spared from the torture of having to make the phone call. I watched some tv, did some knitting. I even cleaned out the dishwasher to avoid making that call. But eventually the little voice in the back of my head that I really should listen to more often finally won out.

I dialed the number, and was relieved to hear an automatic voice. Maybe I was saved. Maybe I could just do this account unfreezing thing automatically. Automatic man listed off my options: "Press 1 if your service has been disconnected. Press 2 if you have inquiries about your bill or if you would like to make an automated payment. Press 3 if you enjoy long walks on the beach, pina coladas, and polka music." Automatic man needs to get out more. I pressed 2.

Automatic man continued. "Please enter your account number."

D'OH. I don't have my account number. Access to my account number is neatly frozen up in my frozen account. Then Automatic Man said: "Press 0 at any time to speak to one of our Customer Service Representatives."

I nearly hung up. Okay. So I did hang up. After all, I didn't NEED to pay that bill. What if they disconnected my service? I don't need all my utilities, do I?

Yeah.

I had to give myself a pep talk before I could call again. This time, I ignored Automatic Man's suggestion that I press "dos para espanol," and with fear and trembling, I pressed the dreaded 0 key.

After Automatic Man advised me that my call might be recorded for the purpose of giving all the employees of the company something to laugh at during their Christmas party, I was put through to a nice lady named Victoria. Now, my mom's name is Victoria. It's a nice name, but at the time, all I could think of was Twilight Victoria. She was going to come through the phone and drink my blood. I just knew it.

Instead, she asked me some security questions. I stuttered through them. I gave her the wrong phone number. I couldn't spell my own email address. She didn't seem fazed by this. Apparently I'm not the only socially awkward caller they get around there. She unfroze my account and sent me my shiny new password so I could continue using the happy Customer Service Representative free online bill payment. The whole process was over in about 2 minutes. She was very pleasant and helpful, and I had suffered weeks of anxiety for nothing. But the call wasn't quite over yet...

As the conversation ended, she said, "Thank you for calling."

"You too," I said cheerfully.

I think I heard her laugh at me right before I hung up the phone.

Embarablast From the Past Episode #4: The Rejection

So usually my embarablasts are about things that I've done to embarass myself. Today's episode is about someone else's embarassment. Well, actually, I can't say whether the other individual was embarassed or not, but he should have been. In fact, he should have been downright ashamed.

Let me start out by saying that I'm pretty slow when it comes to guys "hitting on" me. Blame it on the fact that I was wearing coke bottle glasses from the age of six all the way up into my teenage years, or it could have been that even in childhood my hair was known to be unruly enough to eat small children (poor Timmy), or that I liked Star Trek instead of Beverly Hills 90210. Until I got contacts and learned the mystical secrets of hair gel (never did stop watching Star Trek--I'm awesome!), I was pretty much shunned by all members of the male species.

I had no concept of what it was like to be "hit on." In fact, even in college, one of my guy friends eventually had to clue me into the fact that someone was expressing interest in me. It wasn't someone I was interested in, so it didn't really matter. I just thought it was interesting that I was that oblivious. I just have little experience with getting "hit on," and it takes something BIG for me to "get it."

So a couple of years ago, the little girl I nannied for was still in preschool. I had to go pick her up in the afternoons. The preschool teacher was the sort who would keep her door closed and not open it until she was ready to let the kids out. So all the parents (and the socially awkward nanny) would stand outside the door waiting for the class to end.

I'd developed a routine of arriving a few minutes before the class was over. Some of the parents would stand around in the hallway and chat. Others, like me, were antisocial. We'd stand around staring at the random kid art on the walls. I must have looked at that same piece of macaroni art 200 times. I'm still not sure what it was supposed to be...

But for those of us who did not want to talk, we'd established an unspoken rule that we would continue not to speak to each other. We would not make eye contact. We would stay three to five feet away from each other's personal bubbles. That was the way things were.

Then came the day when I met Lack of Personal Boundaries Man. He came into the preschool hallway unobtrusively. In fact, I didn't even notice LoPB Man until I got the vibe that he was "checking me out." As I noted before, I'm really pretty oblivious to guys paying attention to me, so it had to be fairly overt for me to pick up on it.

Still, I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, so I continued to stare at the macaroni art. It was then that LoPB Man proceeded to enter my personal bubble. He took one of those awkward side steps towards me and pretended to look at the macaroni art, as well.

According to the Unwritten Rules of Socially Awkward Ettiquette, when a person gets too close to my personal bubble, the correct procedure is to casually take a step away from the offender. I did this. I stepped casually away from LoPB Man and turned my attention to a kid drawing that looked like one of those aliens from Close Encounters of the Third Kind. I think it was supposed to be a cat.

Almost as soon as I had moved away from LoPB Man, LoPB Man decided to follow my lead. He stepped closer. I thought this must have been some kind of coincidence. LoPB Man was not following me. He just had a burning curiosity about cats that look like aliens. So, I decided I needed to take ANOTHER casual step away.

LoPB Man followed again.

I considered taking another causual step away, but I feared it would lead to a bizarre "casual step dance" around the preschool hallway. I'm a bad dancer. It would not have been pretty.

So I stood my ground, focusing my attention on a flyer that had been taped to the wall. I can't tell you what it said, because I wasn't really reading it. I was looking out of the corner of my eye towards LoPB Man. He was still standing way too close to me.

Then, inevitably, LoPB Man tapped me on the shoulder. I forced a smile and looked at him. "Excuse me," he said nervously. "I can't seem to remember the names of the preschool teachers in this class. Do you know what they are?"

I have a couple of reasons to believe that he was just trying to make conversation with me. He was making bad, incredibly awkward conversation, but it was conversation nonetheless. The first reason I believe he just wanted to talk to me was that there were SEVERAL other people standing around in that hallway he could have asked, if indeed he was actually trying to find out the names of the preschool teachers.

But the other reason I believe he was just trying to talk to me was because in BIG bold "Helen Keller could see them blindfolded" letters on the preschool door were the words, "Welcome to Miss Sue and Miss Jane's 4 Yr. Old Class."

"Their names are on the door," I pointed out. "Miss Sue and Miss Jane." I used a tone that indicated I really didn't want to talk to him...because I really DIDN'T want to talk to him.

"Oh," he said. "Sorry." He didn't look/sound embarassed. He looked/sounded dejected. He looked/sounded as though I'd just shot him down. And it had to be pretty clear for me to pick up on it, because I usually just don't get it when guys are interested.

Anyway, about that time, the door to the classroom opened and a little girl ran into LoPB Man's arms exclaiming, "DADDY!" And I just happened to look down at that point and notice that LoPB Man AKA DADDY! was definitely wearing a wedding band.

It amazes me that people like this can find other people who are willing to breed with them. He must have attracted MOMMY! with his wily awkward casual step dances and witty remarks. Hmm.

Note to potential suitors: If you DON'T want me to reject you, here's some helpful hints:

1. Don't follow me around hallways.
2. Come up with better pick up lines than "Can you tell me the names of my kid's preschool teachers?" or other things that make you sound like a lame parent/complete moron.
3. Don't be married.
4. Make sure I understand that you're actually interested, because chances are, I won't get it.
5. Be Scottish. It's not a requirement, but it definitely wouldn't hurt.

Just Sayin' Ep. 2: You Look Tired

People tell me that I look tired a lot.

I could actually be tired, or I could be wide awake and jumping through the peonies--not that I do that often. It doesn't seem to matter. I just have random people tell me "You look tired" all the time, no matter how I'm feeling. Yeah. Apparently, that's just how I look.

In case you didn't know, it's not a nice thing to tell someone, even if it's true. Your commenting on someone's look of tiredness isn't going to miraculously make them not look tired. You should keep that kind of comment to yourself. Basic manners, 101. I'm socially awkward, and even I know that.

Just sayin'

SAA Ep. #7: The Thrift Store (NOW WITH PICTURES)

I had an unpleasant realization today.

I also embarked on a quest--well, it was actually a few quests rolled into one. The main quest was for a brown winter jacket. My old winter jacket is actually more of a fall weight jacket, and it is also quite threadbare. Not only that, but it's kind of ginormous on me now. Earlier this year, I lost 40 pounds. Don't congratulate me yet. I've gained five of those pounds back and I could still stand to lose 15-20 pounds. Also, right before I posted this, I proceeded to eat almost an entire bag of Turtle Chex Mix. Yeah...New Year's Resolutions are right around the corner... Unfortunately before I round that corner, I'll probably round my middle a little more with Thanksgiving and Christmas.

Anyway, so I went to the mall, hoping to find a decently priced jacket. "Decently priced" is a relative term, so keep in mind that I work with kids. In fact, just forget I said "decently priced" and pretend I said "cheap," because that's what I meant.

The mall is not typically a cheap place. I meandered around a few stores, carefully avoiding the sales clerks before they could ask me "Can I help you find something?" I always get the feeling those people are really asking me something else, like, "Did you look in the mirror before you left your house this morning?" or "Have you ever been inside an actual department store, sweetheart?" or "What can I prevent you from shoplifting today?"

And stores at the malls--particularly clothing stores--just freak me out. I walked into one and realized it was WAY too classy for me. So I made a lap around one of the mannequins and immediately exited the store. Even the mannequins in those places seem condescending. I could feel their soulless eyes staring at me, daring me to deem myself awesome enough to enter their store. But then, I hate mannequins. Did anyone see that Olivia Newton John Christmas movie where she was a mannequin that came to life and became this kid's mom? Weird. Way to spread Christmas cheer--creepy mannequins that wanna get physical, physical...

Anyway, I found nothing "cheap" enough for my budget. So--I went to the thrift store. And here is where I had my unpleasant realization. I was standing amongst the aisles of grandma clothes (they looked like grandma clothes AND smelled like grandma clothes), hoping to find something that was made in this century. I overheard this lady talking to no one. And I thought to myself, "This is a crazy person. I'm listening to a legitimately crazy person. This is where crazy people shop for clothes." That was NOT my unpleasant realization.

I'll get to the unpleasant realization in a moment. First, I want to take this opportunity to comment on the difference between the extremely poor and the extremely rich. The extremely poor are often crazy people who walk around talking to themselves. The extremely rich are often people who buy expensive gadgets like invisible blue tooth headsets that enable them to walk around and look exactly like they're talking to themselves. Hmm.

Back to the unpleasant realization.

See, I have known for a long time that crazy people shop at the thrift stores. There are people who come to the thrift store every day just to stand amongst the antiquated clothing just so they can have conversations with themselves in public. They might even get paid for it--their presence provides such rich and entertaining atmosphere to my bargain bin shopping experience.

I know there are crazy people in thrift stores. What I didn't realize is that I'm FAR more comfortable shopping where the crazy people shop than I am shopping at the mall.

To make matters worse, I did not find a jacket, even among the crazy people. However, I did find several nice sweaters. I also found a canister that matches my old discontinued Corelle pattern (Blue Hearts. I found out it was made exclusively for Walmart--go figure. Blue Hearts: The Official Corelle Pattern of People Who Shop Where Crazy People Shop!!).

This is not the actual container. This is a similar container I also got at a thrift store.

The actual container is now soaking in bleach & awaiting a couple trips thru the dishwasher.

The canister rattled a little (it wasn't broken), and the lid was taped down, so I couldn't see what was inside it. I mean, I could have taken off the tape, but that would have ruined the surprise. I mean, it was like a thrift store happy meal with a surprise inside. What could it be? Another smaller canister? An extra lid? A dead rat? A live rat? A human tooth? The possibilities were practically endless!!

I brought it home and opened it up. What was inside? I'm still not sure. Maybe you can tell me.

I think I might have preferred a human tooth.

Embarassing Confession #2: I am a Sucker

It's true. I'm a sucker. I am the sort of person who cannot walk by the Salvation Army bell ringers without either putting something in their little bucket, or feeling incredibly guilty for pretty much the rest of all eternity. It's not so much that I'm generous as much as it is that I'm stupid.

The other day a stranger came up to me and said, "Do you have a couple dollars I could use to get air in my tires? I'm completely broke and can't get my bike home." I was like, "Sure, here you go." Dude proceeded to walk away, pick up his bike, and ride away. I am a sucker.

And I've learned that non-suckers are born with an innate knowledge of how to work suckers. I've noticed that whenever they have people selling stuff outside of Wally World on the weekends, they always get the cutest, sweetest child with the widest eyes in the world to be the ones to ask for money. "Miss, could you please donate your hard-earned money to our stuffed puppy club?" I know that a stuffed puppy club is not a worthy cause, but when I look into those eyes, my hand reaches for my wallet against my volition.

Maybe you can relate...

You see, there is some hope for the suckers of this world. There are ways of avoid um, suckerage. Getting suckerized? Whatever you call it, here are some useful tips:

1. Recognize the signs. People who ask for money usually stand in doorways or other heavily trafficked areas where they can more conveniently suckerize suckers. They often hold jars or other containers used to hold their money. Often these jars are decorated with eye catching cutesy labels that are cleverly designed to make suckers feel guilty. Another clue is if you actually witness another poor sucker giving them money. If you see any of these signs, try to avoid the suckerizer if at all possible.

2. DO NOT make eye-contact. If you see someone who appears to be asking other people for money, ESPECIALLY if the money asker is a cute wide-eyed child, do not, I repeat DO NOT make eye-contact. Suckerizers know that if they make eye-contact with a sucker, they have already won the battle. Pick something like a cloud in the sky or a freckle on your arm to stare at so that you will not have to make eye-contact.

3. Walk in large groups of people. If you are the only one there, then wide-eyed suckerizing child WILL suckerize you. They will make it impossible for you ignore them with their precious wide-eyedness. They will pull you away from the cloud or freckle and by the sheer power of their awesome adorableness will FORCE you to make eye-contact with them. As you know from reading the previous tip, after you have made eye-contact, all hope is lost. You have been suckerized. If you walk in large groups of people, there is less chance that the suckerizer will focus their mad skills of suckerization on you. If there is no large group of people, just wait a few minutes. Large groups of people seem to be everywhere (as every socially awkward person can tell you), so if there isn't a large group of people readily available, one will probably be arriving shortly.

4. Pretend to talk on your cell phone. Okay, so this trick is EXTREMELY juvenille and practically ANY suckerizer can see through it in a heartbeat, BUT it seems to work in 99.9% of potentially dangerous situations. When walking by wide-eyed suckerizers, just lift your cell phone to your ear and pretend to carry on a conversation. For added protection, you might want to loudly tell the pretend person you're pretending to talk to that you are very broke and hate wide-eyed children who try to collect hard-earned money in cutely decorated jars.

5. Just don't carry cash. This doesn't exactly kill the guilt factor in me, but at least it keeps me from getting suckerized. If you don't have cash to give, you cannot give cash away. Debit cards are incredible inventions. Of course, this is only going to be useful until the time when the suckerizers wise up and start carrying portable debit card scanners. It's only a matter of time.

If you're a sucker, hopefully these helpful tips will be...helpful.

SAA Ep. #6: OFF DA HOOK!!!

Sometimes, one of the greatest adventures a socially awkward person can have is to vicariously experience someone else's socially awkward adventure. Today, this happened to me. It was wonderful.

I went to the library, which is usually a pretty low-key adventure. This has not always been the case. Depending on the size and unfamiliarity of the library, I can have TONS of socially awkward and even socially frightening experiences in a library. Those librarians are terrifying. My local library, however, is small and fairly non-scary. Plus, thanks to the wonders of technology, I can have a full library-going experience without ever having to speak to an actual human being. I can reserve the books I want online, then they give me an automated call to let me know the books are ready. I go in, pick them up, use self-check out...badda bing badda boom, I have my books without having to socially interact with anyone. Plus, I get to hear the uber non-soothing sounds of the book checking out machine "SCAN YOUR CARD" BEEP! "PLEASE WAIT" "SCAN FIRST BOOK" BEEP! "PLEASE WAIT" "SCAN NEXT BOOK OR PRESS FINISHED, IF DONE" BEEP "PLEASE WAIT" ahh. It's like a heavenly choir of obnoxious robotic music.

Anyway, today I went in and picked up some books that I'd reserved. I actually had to speak to the lady at the desk because I had a 20 cent fine because their computers said I had turned in a book two days late, when I had actually turned it in two days early. *Shrug* Whatev. After talking to the nice non-scary librarian lady, who didn't even ask me the obvious question "Why in the name of King Arthur are you checking out eight reference books about knights and chivalry?" I almost offered her an answer anyway, but I figured she didn't care. The answer, of course, to "Why in the name of King Arthur am I checking out eight reference books about knights and chivalry?" is "Because I am writing a book."

"Because I'm writing a book" is the answer to about 83.4% of the questions I get asked these days.

"Why are you making a list of potential names for horses?"
--Because I'm writing a book.
"Are you getting enough sleep? Why are you so cranky?"
--Because I'm writing a book.
"Why did you just maliciously giggle for no apparent reason?"
--Because I'm writing a book.
"What's your name?"
--Because I'm writing a book.

You get the idea.

Anyway, after checking out my books and proceeding to leave the library, I came across an interesting scene in the library foyer. All right, so "foyer" is a generous term in this case. My local library is small. Between the outer doors and the actual library is a really small area about ten feet long and four feet wide that contains some free reading material and such. As I walked through the door, I noticed it also contained a trash can and two elderly ladies who were leaning over said trash can, listening. I could hear what they heard. It was a high pitched BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP.

One of the ladies looked at me seriously. "We think there may be a bomb in the trash can."

I leaned closer to the trash can. "It doesn't sound like a bomb," I said (because I'm obviously an expert on what bombs sound like). "It sounds like a telephone is off the hook."

The two ladies exchanged looks of utter horror. "Oh no!" one of the ladies said. "Someone has accidently thrown away their cellular phone!" Seriously, they both seemed more upset about the idea that someone had lost their phone than the idea of someone putting a bomb in the trashcan of a small local library.

I leaned closer to the trashcan. "I don't think the sound is coming from the trash can," I said. I looked up, and on the wall was a telephone. I walked up to the phone. With one finger, I pressed the phone back to the receiver, from which it had become slightly dislodged. The beeping abruptly stopped.

One of the ladies exclaimed to the other, "Well, I've never seen a telephone do that before, have you?"

"I've never even had a telephone," the other lady replied.

Yeah.

I took my books and returned to my car, grateful for the adventure I'd just had. It's not every day I get to rescue two old ladies from a bomb...or a telephone.

I'm Socially Awkward Girl: Saving the world, one socially awkward adventure at a time!

Embarablast From the Past Episode #3: Vampires Don't Give Blood

Before I say anything else, let me inform readers of the fact that I am about as pale as a human being can get without being an albino. We're talkin' Edward Cullen would KILL (hopefully not literally) for my fair complexion (I even sparkle when I wear body glitter--or don't shave my legs). If you connected all my freckles with a brown magic marker (which, by the way, are not all that magical when you really think about it--false advertisement???), I might actually look like I have a tan of some sort. But my freckles aren't connected; consequently, I look like Casper the Ghost's big sister.

My nickname in middle school was actually "Casper legs." And people wonder why I'm socially awkward...

So about ten years ago or so, I went to a blood drive. I don't particularly LIKE giving blood or anything, but it seems like a nice thing to do since I seem to react pretty well to the blood donor process. I've never passed out or gotten dizzy or anything. I don't have any iron deficiencies. I mean, it kind of sucks (literally and figuratively) when they jab that needle in your arm (all the while telling you that it won't hurt a bit--which isn't entirely or really at all true), but at least you get free Swiss Cake Rolls at the end. All in all, it's not the worst way to spend a half hour.

Only this particular blood drive lasted longer than half an hour. I was in college, living with my parents and commuting two blocks to school--kind of convenient. The blood drive was near the campus, so I figured I could go to class, give blood, and come home. Only there was this ridiculously long line. I waited. I waited some more. When I was the very next person in line, my dad showed up and said, "Um, we're kind of waiting dinner on you, so if you could just hurry home as soon as you get done, that would be great!" I said they could start without me (knowing they wouldn't), because honestly, I was in this whole, "Gee can ya'll stop acting like I'm a member of the family now? I'm a college student!" Now that I'm living on my own, I'd really like someone else to cook for me, but yeah--hindsight is 20-20 and other various cliches.

So I finally get what I've waited over an hour for--that two foot long needle jabbed in my arm by someone who has only had about ten minutes experience finding arteries. I survived the giving of blood. I got a free tshirt or something cool like that. I don't really remember.

What I do remember was sitting down in front of a Sweet Gray Haired Volunteer Lady who handed me that Swiss Cake Roll I'd been waiting for. I ate it hurriedly so I could continue on home to eat dinner with my (as I thought at the time) lame parents. I got up to leave when the Sweet Gray Haired Volunteer Lady (or SGHVL--pronounced "Si-hiv-ul"--the G is totally silent) reached out and grabbed my arm with far more force than believable or necessary.

She looked at me with deathly serious eyes. "You can't leave yet."

It was like an episode of the Twilight Zone. Was she some kind of SGHVL vampire in disguise? Had she lured me there with Swiss Cake Rolls so that she could feast on some of my A positive juice?

"Excuse me?" I asked innocently, because honestly, I had no clue what SGHVL's problem was.

"You can't leave yet," she repeated. "You need to eat something."

"Oh," I said, wondering if SGHVL was suffering from dimentia and had already forgotten that I had JUST scarfed down a Swiss Cake Roll. "I ate enough. I'm good to go."

"No," SGHVL said, increasing the pressure of her grasp. I think it hurt worse than the needle they used to siphon my blood. "You don't look well. You need to eat something else. Sit down and eat."

"I feel fine," I protested, wondering if I had suddenly just broken out in hives or something. "I've given blood a few times before, and I've always been fine afterwards. I don't feel dizzy or anything."

"You don't look well," she repeated. "Eat something."

"I have somewhere I'm supposed to be," I said. "I really need to get going, so if you'll be a nice SGHVL and let go of my arm...."

"You're too pale," she said.

Then I understood. Of course! She didn't understand that I had a severe lack of melanin. I laughed. "Oh, I'm fine. I'm ALWAYS this pale."

She shook her head. "No, dear. No one could POSSIBLY be that pale and still be healthy. You are going to rest here and eat some more until your color returns."

"If we're going to wait until my color returns, we're going to be waiting a while. I never HAD any color."

I kept arguing, but SGHVL would not believe me. She was adamant to keep me there until either my color or Jesus returned.

So I sat down and asked for another Swiss Cake Roll. SGHVL smiled with satsifaction, released my arm, and leaned down to get me another prepackaged chocolate coated sugar rush. As soon as she wasn't looking, I bolted for the door.

It took her a few seconds to realize what was happening. She chased me, but luckily for me, I was 20 and she was probably close to 80. Plus, I had a head start. As I escaped into the parking lot in all of my pale non-dizzy glory, I could hear SGHVL's shrill voice calling out to me in the night, "COME BACK! COME BAAAAAACK!!!"

For all I know, SGHVL could be sitting in a nursing home muttering to herself about the "Pale One Who Got Away."

POWGA!

Pronounced "Powa!" The G is still totally silent.

"Just Sayin'" Episode #1: Ignorance is Bliss??

What's more awkward than a socially awkward person?

A socially awkward person who doesn't even realize that he or she is socially awkward.

I'm just sayin'.

SAA Ep. 5: Adventures in Pizza Delivery!!!

Between college and seminary, I had a short gig as a pizza delivery girl. As if that's not embarassing enough, I was a pizza delivery girl who wasn't very good at her job.

On one instance I went to the wrong house. No big deal (because honestly, that happened to me a LOT). Except for it just so happened to be New Year's Eve, and I am pretty sure I interrupted a married couple in the middle of their...shall we say..."celebrations." Yeah...

On another instance, I delivered pizzas to a college dorm. Now, I used to go to this particular college, but it was years prior to my pizza delivery experience (I went to two undergrad schools--the college in question was a school I hadn't been to in about six years). This college was a Christian school with fairly strict rules about keeping girls out of boys dorms and vice versa. But I knew from my previous experience that the dorm I was delivering the pizzas to was, in fact, a girls' dorm. So I walked into the dorm and proceeded to deliver the pizza to the correct dorm room. I was not quite at my destination before two things happened. One, a nice security man came chasing me down the hallway. Two, I turned around and saw a guy walking down the hallway in a towel. I was able put two and two together fairly quickly, and I realized that this dorm had, in fact, at some point in the past six years been changed into a guys' dorm. I wasn't supposed to be there. The security guy wasn't angry--but he made fun of me a lot.

On a lighter note, the guy in the towel looked *slightly* more embarassed than I did.

Embarablast from the Past #2: The Man Upstairs

My roommate and I have a neighbor who lives in the apartment directly above us. He is a very nice elderly gentelman who just happens to only have one arm. He lost one of his arms as a teenager in some kind of farming accident. Sometimes my roommate and I jokingly call him "The Man Upstairs."

One day "The Man Upstairs" was outside carrying things from his van to the front door of my building. He was struggling somewhat with all the things he was carrying, mainly because he only had one arm with which to carry it. I was getting out of my car and I thought he might need some help.

There were many things I could have said to express my desire to help this elderly, one-armed gentleman. The thing that I said was probably the worst possible thing I could have said to express my desire to help this elderly, one-armed gentleman.

Loudly, I exclaimed, "Sir, do you need a HAND!?"

As the last word came out of my mouth, the horror of what I had said rushed over me. I'm only completely sure the realization of what I said was apparent from the expression on my face. "The Man Upstairs" smiled at me and politely declined my help. I entered my apartment as quickly as I could and wallowed in my utter embarassment.

SAA Episode Four: Air Travel!

So I traveled this weekend to visit family. I'm no stranger to air travel, but it's been a couple of years since I've flown. I pretty much went into this thing knowing that somewhere along the way I'd find myself in some kind of amazing social awkwardness.

It wasn't as bad as I thought. In fact, I can't remember a single truly embarassing incident from the first day of my travel. I would like to mention that I saw a nun with a much nicer cell phone than mine--something about nuns and cell phones just made me inwardly giggle. I don't know why.

Anyway, on the trip back, there were a few minor incidents. I tried to go through the metal detector before the man said I could. Then when I backed up I bumped into this other airport employee guy. Both of them were really sweet about it, and I've learned over the years how to play off my social awkwardness. Apologize and smile. If you smile the right way, and the other people aren't just total ogres, they'll realize you're just socially awkward and laugh pleasantly at you. And you know, if you make a person smile, even if it's because they're politely making fun of you, it's still kind of nice to have brightened their day. And at 6 in the morning, everyone's a little socially awkward anyway.

Ok. So the really fun part was when I finally boarded the first plane I was on today. It's still prior to 7 a.m. at this point, so everyone is tired and cranky (you know...like total ogres *see above*). I'm in like row 15 near the back of the plane. I get on the plane with my two massive carry on bags. I make it to my seat. I'm against the window and there are these two dudes between me and my seat. They start to stand up while I try to find a place for one of my carry ons. There's no where available. The two dudes grumble at me like two total ogres and sit back down. The flight attendant is like, "Take your bag to the front of the plane." The One problem. There's still like thirty people coming down the narrow aisle trying to get to their seats, and I'm trying to go the other direction. And those aisles are not made for two way traffic. So I bump into people and get a lot of grumpy total ogre faces.

I finally get past all the people, and one of the flight attendants cheerfully announces, "So everyone, we have on board a couple of our country's service men. Stand up if you're in our armed forces so we can recognize you. So these army guys stand up and everyone applauds, and I'm still standing in the aisle like a fool trying to make it to the front of the aircraft. There's no where I can duck down to sit. I just have to stand and pretend no one can see me, because dude, I'm DEFINITELY not a soldier of any kind.

I finally make it to the front of the plane and three flight attendants have to help me find a place to store my bag. Meanwhile ALL the other passengers--I'm guesstimating about 120 (20 rows of 6 seats)--have already taken their seats and are waiting on ME to get my stuff together and take my seat. It wasn't too much longer before the flight attendants found a place for my bag (which, I might add, was not any bigger than most of the other bags--I was just in the last boarding group and didn't get first dibs on storage), and I was able to take my seat (you know, after getting the two total ogre dudes to stand up for me again so I could huddle against my window and cower in my social awkwardness). The flight took off and arrived. All was cool.

My reward for all of this social awkwardness? The total ogre dude sitting next to me fell asleep and was apparently having some kind of really cool dream. He kept moving his legs like he was running--like a dog having a dream. I thought it was awesome. I would have told him so, except that would have been awkward.

Yeah.

Air Travel. It's always an adventure!

Embarablast From the Past #1: I Fell For Him...Literally

So when I was 18 years old, I had this MAJOR crush on this guy. I went to a Christian college where we had assemblies twice a week called "Convocations." One day, this famous professional athelete of some sort came to speak, and so the entire gymnasium was PACKED. There was no room left on the bleachers, so I had to sit on the floor.

I didn't mind so much, because the man of my 18-yr-old dreams was sitting on the floor nearby. Well, the speaker started speaking, so I tried to listen. He spoke for a very long time. I was only somewhat aware of the fact that both of my legs were falling asleep.

When the man finally got done speaking, he wanted us to all stand up and pray with him. So everyone stood up. I stood up. Only my legs were both COMPLETELY numb, so they wouldn't support me. I started flailing LOUDLY while everyone else in the gym was growing quiet and serious for prayer time. I somehow managed to spastically lower myself to the floor, but it was already too late.

In slow motion, I could see every eye of every person in the entire gymnasium--practically the entire school--turning their eyes towards me. The man of my 18-yr-old dreams looked at me like I was the craziest person he had ever seen in his life.

I tried to play it off like I was just full of the Spirit, but I don't think anyone really believed me.

The end.

Embarrassing Confession #1: Toilet Tarantula

When I was a kid, I used to be afraid to use the bathroom because I imagined there was a "Toilet Tarantula" that ate all my pee and poop. I was afraid that if I didn't hurry up, finish my business, and flush, it would climb up the hole and bite my bum.

Sometimes I still think about the Toilet Tarantula, and I don't linger in the bathroom.

SAA# 3: Be Careful What You Wish For

I went on another quest today. It's actually a quest I've been on for a few months. I'm questing for a Dragon.

I'm completely serious.

I want a Dragon figure/toy of some sort. I don't know what sort. I'll know it when I see it. That's why I'm questing.

I did not find said Dragon. The quest continues.

Yet, while I was walking back to my car, my quest yet unfulfilled, I started thinking. And this was my thought:

"Why is it that it's so hard to find a Dragon, anyway?"

At that precise moment, I was attacked by a dragonfly. I spazzed a little. I'm sure it was fun for any innocent bystanders who happened to be watching.

Be careful what you wish for.

Socially Awkward Adventure #2: Questing Burns Calories

The Princess (one of the girls I take care of) is turning six. When I asked The Princess what The Princess wanted for her birthday, The Princess requested a "Webkinz that looks like a horse."

Today, I embarked on a quest for a "Webkinz that looks like a horse."

The mall was my first stop. The mall is a great source of socially awkard adventure opportunities. I remember one happy occurrance a year or two ago when one of the kiosk dudes (who seemed quite adamant that I couldn't live another day without a hair straightener) FOLLOWED ME through the mall. Social Awkwardness ensued! So I knew that going to the mall today was going to be an exciting experience, no matter what.

I went to the mall because I knew of a toy store at the mall that might have a Webkinz--perhaps even a "Webkinz that looks like a horse." I went after church. The mall stores don't open until 12, and it wasn't 12 yet. So I wandered aimlessly through the mall. It was then I discovered that my destination, said toy store, no longer existed. One of those weird athletic logo stores had taken its place. Needless to say, this store did not have any "Webkinz that look like a horse" or any other type of Webkinz.

After doing some more aimless wandering through a few mall stores (I think Mall Security thought I was up to something), I realized that none of the stores had any "Webkinz that look like a horse." It is strange that whenever I'm NOT looking for Webkinz, they seem to be everywhere; when I AM looking for Webkinz, they are elusive. I think Webkinz must be magical and evil and tricksy.

So I abandoned my search in the mall and drove around to about three or four other potential locations. One had Webkinz, but none that looked like horses. Another was closed. Another was supposed to be open, but they were closed just especially for today so they could do inventory. QUESTING THWARTED! DENIED! REJECTED!

Sooooo....I came home without fulfilling my quest, but I feel as though I burned plenty of calories in my endeavors. I'm sure that counts for something. I'll try questing again later. I will try to capture the evasive "Webkinz that looks like a horse," but I fear my ventures will prove useless. The Princess might not get a "Webkinz that looks like a horse."

I'm sure it will scar her for life.

Socially Awkward Adventure #1

Just in case you were wondering if a typical shelf in a typical used bookstore could support the weight of a typical 135 lb. socially awkward woman who happened to lean against it...

...the answer is NO.

Every Day is An Adventure

My name is Ruth. Ruth is not that common of a name among people my age. I am not an old lady. Contrary to popular belief, people named Ruth are not always old ladies. One day, if I live long enough, I will be an old lady, and my name will still be Ruth. Maybe then all people named Ruth will be old ladies, but right now it is not the case.

...however, I do knit.

I'm thirty years old. I haven't always been thirty years old. Once I was a kid. I was an awkward kid. I was the kid who licked the monkey bars. I don't know why, so don't ask. I grew into an awkward preteen who couldn't ride a bike and couldn't do a cartwheel. Heck, I could barely tie my shoes. I grew into an awkward teenager who sat on the bleachers during gym class writing emo poetry before emo poetry was cool. Actually, at that point, I don't even think emo had been invented yet.

Well, the awkward teenager grew into an awkward grown up who still feels like a monkey bar licking kid sometimes. I'm thirty years old. I've had thirty years of awkwardness, thirty years of uncomfortable social situations, thirty years of embarrassment.

After thirty years, something really remarkable has happened: I've gotten used to it. Not only that, but I've learned to value my social awkwardness. I used to see it as an inconvenience; now I see it as a gift. I mean, anyone can go to the post office to get stamps, or anyone can go to McDonalds to get a value meal, or anyone can drive to the airport to pick up a friend. It takes the truly socially inept to make an adventure out of any situation.

I've been through so many embarrassing situations that I'm practically immune to embarrassment now. And with all the social awkwardness in my life, I've decided I needed a place to record my adventures. I hope you enjoy reading about the awkward things that happen to me. Maybe you can relate, or maybe you'll just feel a lot more normal after reading the things that happen to me. I dare say there are fellow adventurers out there!

And it's okay. I know that I'm a weak fool. The thing is, God uses the weak and foolish to shame the strong and wise (1 Cor. 1:27). There's hope for all the social awkward adventurers. So happy reading, and happy adventuring!