Socially Awkwardly Speaking

27 03 2014


I read this today, Socially Awkward isn’t an excuse. Go read it, it’s a good article.

It’s awesome. And I’m saying that as someone who is, in fact, socially awkward.

My entire adolescence, counting the beginning of my college career, I was really socially awkward.

Not to put too fine a point on it, there were a lot of times I came off as creepy.

And as the article points out, people who are actually socially awkward? Care that they don’t know where the lines are. I had no idea, I only knew when I had crossed the line. When I had upset someone. When I’d got it wrong. And it upset me every time.

It took a lot of therapy and people pushing me away for me to learn. Even now, it’s not innate. I have to be aware of what I say and how I say it, how I carry myself. I know where the lines are, for the most part. And I’m a woman; I come off as less creepy by default. But all the same, sometimes I was really creepy, and I know I upset people. I’m sorry for that.

I could say that I had issues. I did, and pretty serious ones. I still do. But it’s not an excuse. I can’t apologize for my behavior, I’m pretty sure the person in question never wants to hear from me again. All I can say is that I had no ill intent. Not once.

Creepers? The ones who know where the boundaries are, and don’t care? They should stop making excuses that make people with real social problems look worse than they already do, and get over themselves. As someone who is socially awkward and reformed from creepy behavior, I ask them to cut it out.


I have been trying not to say or use the word ‘retarded’. It’s ableist, and I don’t want to be that. Or hurt anyone’s feelings. (I mean, I would never use it to refer to someone with a mental disability.) But sometimes I just use it casually, like ‘Oh, that’s retarded.’ And I’m not saying everyone has to stop using it, or that I’ve stopped doing it entirely, ’cause I haven’t. But everyone, just try to be aware. I think we’d be better off.


Magpie and I are still together and happy. It’ll be a year this summer. We’re so comfortable together.

It’s not that I don’t have issues with our relationship. I mean, we have a little friction here and there, but that’s not what I’m talking about.

I hate my past sometimes. It interferes.

Sometimes when he’s holding me I want to squirm away from him. But it’s not really him I want to get away from. I have nightmares more often now. I don’t sleep as well when he’s next to me, even though I love when he’s there.

And as much as he proves every day that he’s in love with me and cares for me, that he wouldn’t change me…something in the back of my head tells me, every day:

Be careful. He could hurt you. He might change. He might pin you down and take everything from you.

This isn’t something you want lurking in your mind, about your boyfriend. About anyone.

I’ve told him about this.

And you know what?

He still wants to be with me. He loves me enough to work with me.

Aren’t I lucky?

For the first time in my life, I really think I am.

Sincerely yours,



Lousy Lousy Day

4 12 2012

Got very little sleep. Woke up with a headache, shrugged it off. Went to work.


Two hours into work I’m dizzy, with a headache, and feeling feverish and queasy. I keep going until I start coughing like I’m dying. Then my boss is like ‘Go home and get your germs off everything.’ I get on the train and go home. Then I forget my bag on the train, which means I lost my new work shirt, my work tie, my name tag, two bags of snacks, and my uneaten lunch, which means I lost the two containers it was in. Crap crap crap.

Now I’m in bed typing, because I’m not sleepy but I’m tired and the pinky on my left hand is twitching for some reason, it looks weird. I’m supposed to take the dog out and I can’t summon the energy and BLAH. I hate today.

On the plus side,  everyone at work was nice to me and said they hoped I felt better. It’s always nice when people are kind to you.


On another note, I am a silly romantic young woman. I get happy whenever British Boy e-mails me, even though I know there can’t be anything between us. We only met once, for goodness’ sake! Not to mention the whole ‘Atlantic Ocean in the way’ part. But it doesn’t change that I wish…I don’t know. I’m being silly. People don’t meet once and suddenly decide that they like each other. That’s only in the movies. All the same, I get sad when he doesn’t e-mail me back, and I’m happy when he e-mails me…which he does every morning, it seems like.

He wanted the e-mail to this. I said no, of course, because imagine if he saw this? He’d think I’m a freak or a stalker or something. …Am I? I don’t think so, it’s not like I’m stalking him or thinking we’re going to get married or…I don’t know, going to England to look him up and proclaiming my undying love for him. Because that would be beyond creepy. It’s just a crush, a stupid crush. I haven’t had a proper one in ages, and I like it-something beyond the whole ‘sex with strangers who I haven’t had a conversation with’ thing. British Boy and I may have ‘hooked up’ the night we met, but we actually talked and laughed together. That was something. Maybe I’m so screwed up that I take the tiniest connection as a potential relationship. That’s probably true. I know he doesn’t think anything like that about me.


Wow, I got morose all of a sudden. Maybe I’m just lonely. I would date more, except I’m picky, and don’t mesh well with people, and all the people who message me on OkCupid are sketchy black guys. Seriously, the last one had a match percent of 19 and had a weird beard, smokes and drinks…just no.

Where are you, my somewhat dorky, sweet, understanding beloved?

Sincerely yours,


Working is Hard To Do, Part 2

2 12 2012

My. Feet. Hurt.

And today was a short day! I mean, it was pretty crowded (and Katie Holmes was there, looking normal, with Suri, who is actually cute), but I got ‘service support’ or something as an assignment, so I was going to be floating. (Which means I wouldn’t be in one sport, not that I’m not doing anything.) But then I sort of get roped into the kitchen, which I hate, and then the girl who is supposed to be in the kitchen is almost entirely useless.

She said that she had gotten her appendix taken out, so she couldn’t lift anything heavy. (Why she didn’t just call out, I have no idea.) So I agreed I’d do that, which is a lot of the kitchen job. But then I heard her talking to someone else, and I think she actually had an abortion. Again, why didn’t she call out? Anyway, she couldn’t lift anything, so I got stuck with that, and then she hardly did anything. She carried a few trays and helped me plate desserts and pass out plates, but that was about it. I kept wondering where she was-she’d see me working and just stand there. Talk about frustrating.

And work is wrecking havoc on my Points Plus, because I have to come up with lunch every day, and all the options are crap, and I’m drinking sugary drinks. I don’t think I’m gaining because I’m not sitting down all day anymore, but still. Oh, and I have to reactivate my Weight Watchers account, so I’m tracking on paper, and I have no idea how many weekly points I have. Oy oy oy.

I walked around, looked at the store windows…it was nice, but hard to enjoy with really achy feet…except for one thing.

British Boy and I are still e-mailing every day. It’s little things, and silly things, and flirty things-and yet I still get stupidly happy when he e-mails me. I know I’m being silly about it-we only met once. (It was a good once.) Yet I can’t help it. If only he fancied me too…sigh. (My theme song right now is Merry Christmas, Darling.)

Tomorrow, I plan to make gingerbread cookies! I will take pictures and post them. If I remember to do so, because I am an airhead and I have to get up at 6:30 AM again on Tuesday. Maybe I’ll bring cookies to work if they turn out well, and win some points. I get the feeling sometimes my co workers aren’t too thrilled with me. I will try not to get bogged down, and save more for school. (Money…it just goes places. Name that play!)

Sincerely yours,


Working is Hard to Do

26 11 2012

I spend my days with water, lemonade, soda, champagne, and who knows what else everywhere, get splashed with backwash, carrying heavy things, sweeping the floor, and plating desserts. It is hard work. I don’t get paid much; well, maybe somewhere else, if I was someone else, who had cheaper taste, who wasn’t exposed to better and more expensive things.

The worst part? I’m not really at all mentally stimulated, I’m prideful enough to feel above it, and have just a hard enough time to feel stupid. Also, I feel like I’m being constantly corrected or watched, which is  making me paranoid. In short, I am not having happy fun times. If anything was incentive to get a real job and finish my degree, it would be this. I need to make a budget and save for school. Quickly.


Today I spent a sizable chunk  of money on…LUSH STUFF! YAY! God, that stuff is not cheap. But the Buffy Bar  (exfoliating and moisturizing) made me feel soft and smell good, and there was a green bath bomb that fizzed in the water that made all my aches go away. I felt completely pampered, and that was totally worth it. Also, I got a giant ginger snap cookie. Mm, chewy and spice.

I have to get back on plan tomorrow. I haven’t tracked since Thanksgiving, I’ve been eating all kinds of stuff. Back on track tomorrow. I can’t believe how easy it was to get off track! I thought it was just going to be for Thanksgiving, and now it’s three days later and I’m all ‘Yay chocolates and cookies and sweet potato casserole’. I probably gained weight, but I’m not going to stress about it. Back on plan tomorrow.


British Boy and I are penfriends now, and we e-mail every day at least a couple times. Of course I want him to be my long distance boyfriend, but I’m pretty sure that he’s not interested in that. Which is just frustrating, because he’s sweet, and flirty, and cute, and makes me smile. I am crushing so hard. But c’est la vie. No, no c’est la vie. I want him to be my boyfriend, and I’m only sex and penfriend material. Man, between this and my job my self esteem is taking a beating! …I wish I was Stephen King. …except not. I just want to be able to pay for myself my way, in a way that I don’t find beneath me. (Wow, that was arrogant.) But, I’ll be honest, I think I’m too smart for the job I have. Like the rest of my generation. Oy vey. Okay, time for sleep.


Sincerely yours,