Social Awkwardness or Potentially Falling?

Whether nature, or nurture, or a diplomatic mixture of both, I'll never know. Whatever the cause I've found that in terms of conversation and small talk with mild acquaintances, I cannot be any less interested. Yet when it comes to eavesdropping on complete strangers I am fascinated to the point of falling out of my chair straining to hear. The result is social awkwardness during the former, and potential physical injury on the latter, dependant on the height of the chair and my ability to get my arms and hands in the appropriate position to break my fall.


I'll never cease to be amazed by some of my socially-talented friends, who I can leave alone after introducing them to someone with whom nothing perceptible might be had in common, only to return ten minutes later and find them slapping one another on the back like old friends and rounding out the interaction with an inside joke I'm not even aware of.

I've stared long and hard at many strangers in vain attempts to figure out the secret of common ground and have found, time and time again, that none is to be found.

I'll admit the blame lies solely on my shoulders. I don't have much interest in many of the subjects serving as a launching pad for successful small talk. No major fascination with professional sports (although I'll never not watch men's soccer, can I get an Amen?) I don't watch a lot of popular television shows, which tends to make people uncomfortable. I assure you I'm not taking some sort of stand against anything. I just never watch television. I've come to understand the characters on Jersey Shore are endlessly entertaining, and a certain television star drops himself in the middle of nowhere and drinks his own urine until he can find a way out of abominable terrain, but every time I fist pump at parties people look at me as though I'm missing the point. Trying to discuss the nutritional merit of drinking ones own urine also results in suspicious glances.

I'm looking forward to World Cup soccer, but everyone hates soccer, except every other country other than the United States, where I happen to reside. Perhaps I would really shine in conversations held with British people. We might have everything in the world in common. I could say things like “I love soccer and fish and chips and Winston Churchill!” and we would all have a smashing good time. The group of them would compliment me on my strapping good looks, cutting wit, and snappy dress. I would tell them that in America, I am very popular and am good at talking to people. They would believe my unabashed lies with trusting adoration. I would make comparisons concerning British vs. American culture and we would have a good laugh about how everything they do is silly and about how everything Americans do is right. Then they would emulate me in an attempt to be more American. I would explain to them that the only annoying thing about living in America is our governments obstinate refusal to allow the general public to own machine guns and everyone has to just make do with the wimpy little revolvers and automatic rifles placed in our hands at birth. They would all agree, and try to figure out how to change the laws in Britain so everyone there can own machine guns too, even their pets. I’ll explain that American citizens are the type of people who train killer whales to allow us to stand on their noses and are shocked when the whale tries to eat us. Despite how well we are getting along I can’t help but sabotage myself eventually. I’d first rouse the groups anger by mentioning Big Ben’s inability to compare to many U.S. landmarks.

“In the U.S.A. we don’t need a clock. We tell everyone what time it is.”

The Brits might let this one slide, and blame it on the booze, but an off-color remark about the Queen would surely have me thrown bodily from the premise. Even in my own fantasy scenario’s I find a way to make social interaction awkward.

I've found that social encounters boil down to three steps.

Step 1: What kind of shit do you like?

Step 2: This is the kind of shit that I like.

Step 3: Does any of this shit have anything in common?

If you check yes at the step 3 box congratulations! You've made a new friend. If no, run! Because they will want to start talking to you about politics, religion, or the space program.

~

      Are you curious about the title? It's called a tilde.
The tilde is describing how I feel right now. Alright, so I know no one reads this,
but I still feel a weird connection to this blog. It was my first, and sort of important.
I'm not gonna leave FOREVER or anything, but there's a new blog I've opened that's COMPLETELY
anonymous, and I feel like I could better express myself there.
      Actually, I've changed my mind. (We mortals are fickle things)
So, this blog is gonna be for when I have an actual point. Like, 'the Panopticon' or 'The R-Word'. The other blog is gonna be things that are more personal. Not so personal that I wouldn't post them on the internet, but personal enough that I don't want people to read them. Those will be my stories, and Thoughts At Knight, and revelations.
        So, yeah... See you next time I need to argue a point.

♥

 You know what today is. I don't think I need to explain the videos below with anything more than, the videos are for those who are skeptical about Valentine's Day. Really listen to the lyrics if you wanna get it. The songs are both molto bene!

Never Trust Men Who Wear Ankle Socks.

[Edit: I wrote this last summer, and now I'm posting it to hold on to the memory of sunshine and humidity. It's 15 degrees outside now. Since when did the South become Antarctica?]

       I went to the gym today. Sigh. I don't really know why. I s'pose I'm quite a slovenly person really. The peak of my exercise is walking from my house to the car and from the car to the school. That's as far as it goes for me. I'm not really bothered. I'm not really obese or anything...It just sometimes hurts to move.
       So I basically thought: Enough's enough. I'm gonna be a gym person. I'm gonna be one of those people who go to the gym and always look healthy and...and crimson cheeked, and it's gonna be brilliant! My heart's gonna love it.
        But as you can imagine it didn't go to plan. Firstly, people who look like me do not look good in sportswear. Y'know, that's a given. I look good in skinny jeans and tight T-shirts. Sportswear does me no justice at all. I look short and stumpy, and I just look out of place. And as soon as I break into any kind of movement my hair just...Just turns into this horrible horrible afro. I just... I didn't look right! I wasn't feeling it.
        I started off on the running machines, and I thought I was really cool. I was loving it. I was feeling the burn. I was pumping iron, and I was effing loving it. The pounds were dripping off me! I could feel it! Might've been sweat, but whatever. I was... I was brilliant.
        But then, I caught a glimpse of myself in the huge wall covering mirrors they have in the gym. Why have mirrors in the gym? That's the LAST place I'd want to see myself. In the gym, when I'm all sweaty faced, hunched over a running machine in the middle of a heart attack. I don't wanna see a reflection of myself in the gym! I don't know why they'd put mirrors in the gym. Just put me off, that did. So I was all self-conscious.
        So I decided the running machine wasn't for me. I wanted to do something a little less strenuous. I thought I'd go build these bad boys up *flexes nonexistent biceps* on the weight machine. Naturally, I was attracted to the most complex and fun-looking of the machines. It was the one where you had to sort of sit up on the high thing and hoist yourself up. I didn't have a clue what I was doing on it. I was just sort of tinkering around clattering, and this man came over! I remember him specifically, because he had long fingernails. Y'know he worked there, fair enough, but he had long fingernails! You never trust a man with long fingernails. That's a little bit of advice I'll give to you. There's something about it. Something quite calculated about people with long fingernails. I dunno, they've just got a touch of evil about them, I think. But, no, I just can't trust men with long fingernails. Get 'em cut! Have a bit of pride in your appearance. It's just ugh *shudders*. It's weird. It's not right.
         Long fingernails and men who wear ankle socks. I don't want my ankles exposed if I'm wearing socks! I like them covered up in my socks! I don't see the need to show off your ankles when you're wearing sneakers and jeans. I don't know. Maybe I'm just to sensitive to things like that.
           Long story short, I ended up sort of breaking the machine, and walking out in shame. *shakes head* I don't know how I'm able to embarrass my self in the most ordinary of situations. But I won't be going to the gym again. Put it like that. Maybe I should start kickboxing.

A little trick though, if you do like going to the gym: If you're on the weight machine and you're quite weak like myself; put it on the lightest setting while you're using it, and as you leave just knock the pin down to the highest weight. So whoever goes on there after you thinks you're some kind of Incredible Hulk. :)

# of times the word 'fingernails' was used: six.
    

The R-Word

“They say the Devil’s water, it ain’t so sweet. You don’t have to drink right now, but you can dip your feet every once and a while…”

“You play forgiveness. Watch it now! Here he comes…He doesn’t look a thing like Jesus!”

“So I ran with the devil, left a trail of excuses…”

“He’s stuck on his mom, because that bitch keeps tryna make him pray…”

         Religion. It’s dictionary definition is “belief in divinity” or “system of beliefs”.  Mayhaps it’s not obvious through my blog, but I am somewhat religious. The only reason I say ‘somewhat’ is that nowadays calling yourself religious means you’re some sort of Old World freak who wears long skirts, has a purity ring, and goes to Bible Study on Friday night with Bingo afterwards. *sigh* In case you’re wondering, I do not partake in any of these activities. But I do have a religion!

      I’m an Eastern Orthodoxian (is that a word?). To be specific, Ethiopian Orthodox. Because, y’know, I’m…Ethiopian. Yeah.

Anyhow, let me clear some things up to those who’ve never heard of this religion.

ç  We’re Orthodox; but not Jewish.

ç  We’re Evangelical; but not Protestant.

ç  We’re Catholic; but not Roman.

       I believe in my religion, but I’m not some sort of uber-Christian. I eff up a lot. Saying ‘eff’  BTW is probably wrong as well.  Some Christians I know are actually…quite horrid people.  My basic strategy for adhering to my religion and doing what I believe God thinks is right and what I believe is right is simple. ‘Do unto others as you would have done unto yourself.’ Flawless rule!

        It’s sort of drilled into my mind now. Whenever I say something or do something or think something there’s a little part of my brain (kind of like the angel and devil that stand on your shoulders in cartoons) that asks me “Well, ____, how would you feel if ___ did this to you? Hmm?”. So, I behave. Most of the time.

         Misconceptions that need to be cleared up about Orthodox Christians:

Q: Don’t you guys have to, like, dress modestly and stuff? Like, long skirt and plain hair and stuff?

A: Nope. I mean, don’t get me wrong some people choose to! Personally, I don’t think God cares about what I wear in the slightest. It’s not what you are, it’s what you do. ß Wow, check out my wisdom! w00t!

Q: If there’s a God, explain murders and death and rapes and wars.

A: Okay, first off, DEATH. Would you really want to live forever? Go through the mundane motions everyday with no end, knowing that you’d do the same thing over and over? That’d be dull. Secondly, murders/rapes/wars. God is powerful and everything…But he gave us free will. You. Are. Free. To do whatever the H-E-Double Hockey Sticks you want! God didn’t murder, or rape, or declare the wars. People did all that. And, how would you feel about Him taking away your free will to make everything all peaceful and whatnot?

Q: But then why are Christians all holier than thou?

A: Ugh. Personally, I absolutely loathe those types of Christians. It’s not my place to judge, but it seems all wrong. I’m a quiet believer, myself.  Sure, I wear a cross all the time, and one of those bracelets on occasion, but I don’t go around saying “Do you know the reason for the season? It’s JEE-SUHS, CHILD!”

I’m not even kidding though. This lady at the bank was ranting about that for a while. It got irritating to be honest.

Anyway, for anyone out there who would like to learn about Christianity, but doesn’t really wanna read the Bih-blay, I suggest The Year of Living Biblically by A.J. Jacobs.

It’s not a self-help book or anything. Just a tale of “One Man’s Humble Quest to Follow the Bible as Literally as Possible”. Bam.

Alright, gotta go.

I’m watching Doctor Who. J

[Edit: The quotes in the beginning are all from songs by The Killers...The first two are 'When You Were Young' the third is 'Bling (Confessions of a King)' and the last one is from 'This River Is Wild' That's what I was listening to while writing. And happy Super Bowl win Saints!]

The H-Word

Hiatus.

*sigh*

I'm taking an (unwilling) break from blogging for a bit.

My hiatus will DEFINITELY be shorter than Fall Out Boy's, 

but still...

The cause of this hiatus shall remain undisclosed.

Womp.

Until next time...

Like The Disease!

Alright, so a Mexican pig, a monkey, and a duck walk into a bar...Haha. Check it out!