Meeting Anxiety

Remember how I applied to that women's group a while ago? (No? Just go with it.) Turns out my application was accepted, leading me to conclude that apparently they'll let anyone join. Tomorrow evening the group is hosting a happy hour near my office, and I will therefore be introducing myself to 20-30 women from the Dallas area.

This is where I mention that 1) I'm not the most social person, and 2) I don't think I make a very good first impression. Especially with women. Monk and I were watching a movie earlier in the week (Shopgirl- highly recommend it by the way) and there's a scene in which (I don't think I'm ruining the film by describing this, but if you're some kind of a purist who needs to be surprised by every second of a film, you may want to skip ahead. And also, steer clear of any movie with Ryan Reynolds, just a heads-up) the girl says to the guy "Are you the kind of person that takes time to get to know, and then once you get to know them... they're fabulous?"

That would be me. Once you get to know me, I can be a pretty cool person. Until then? Totally painful to be in the same room with me. So. These women are in for a real treat tomorrow!

The two aforementioned issues tend to produce a cloud of Meeting Anxiety that settles over me for several days before any meet-a-bunch-of-strangers event. And while I know all the stress is completely pointless, since these things usually turn out okay (and sometimes better than okay), it happens every time. But still I (sporadically) force myself to participate in the social side of life because I know it is Good For Me. And I'm hoping if I cast my net wide enough, I'm bound to trick at least a couple of people into liking me enough to hang out a few times a year. And that would be good because I think Monk would like some peace and quiet every now and then. Hence meeting strangers for happy hour.

So naturally I was more freaked out than I should have been when the trim I was getting from Sister last night turned into a massacre. It's mostly my bangs. My bangs, they are ridiculous. I'd always wondered if I could pull fringe like this off; now I know definitively that I cannot. Normally this wouldn't be a big deal- hair grows, life goes on and all that. But the timing could have been better. The hair will not be helping the first impression tomorrow night. The hair, in fact, will probably run in ahead of me, arms a-flappin', and announce to the group that I am a dickweed.

It's going to be great.

3 comment:

Blogger Becky said...

I feel your pain.

6:59 PM  
Blogger Kelley said...

I loved Shopgirl. I remember thinking about that little snippet of dialogue and wondering whether I'm one of those people, too. I don't know; I think I come off as a little too totally boringly pleasant on first impression. Either too boring, or too awkward.

But I am hellafun to get drunk with.

12:17 PM  
Blogger Lisa said...

You're so funny. (That dickweed comment made me laugh out loud.) They will love you.

8:47 PM  

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