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.