Handle Me With Care

They had worked in a Megachurch together and I was on a date with both of them. This was a shock. I thought I was going out with a cute woman from an app who liked music- great! and had my same hair cut- even better. I knew there were a few couple photos on her profile, but nothing indicating her man would be present. I figured it was an open couple on their way out of being together after two years of realizing they were each other’s worst nightmare.

Two folks assessing me romantically, proved to be more than I can handle. Frenzied, I spewed jokes at them while desperately fiending for more wine, but they had told the waiter that we wouldn’t be ordering anything else. They were gorgeous and fruitarian, meaning they only ate fruit and had made an exception for one glass of wine with me. I wondered why on earth, we were at a French place offering boundless bread and charcuterie. I already felt controlled, tempted, and tested by these former zealots who I should say were very kind. The cherry on the casserole was that I had over-napped, prior to meeting them so I was still rubbing dream dust from my eyes when they both sat down. Are they extraterrestrials? Where am I…

Fortunately, I have an emergency charm machine that revs up in these scenarios. My authenticity continues napping on my friends couch, and the charm, pleaser is happy to converse with whoever is in front of them. What canned stories do you tell a new person? The stories that you believe conveys who you are in a simple, succinct way. The stories that you can almost trick yourself believing in- yes! I really am THAT self-explanatory.

I am this career. This: Moroccan rug from etsy. This: partner to someone dope and worthy. This: TV show obsession. This: impressive life experience. This: I *actually* love cilantro.  This: coffee addict. This: victimy, bad boy. This: Ram Dass- know it all.  This: totally figured out person who married their high school sweetheart and never misses an opportunity to fill a silence with “So, how is that job going? That sounds very good!!” Translation: “My brain cant stop, please help me.”

My personal pattern is I tend to tout creative projects or go into deep analysis of a person or character I really know very little about, but can somehow pull off expounding about, and in doing so I only share a mirror of what I think of myself and my beliefs. “Oh her? I feel like her eyes tell a different story than her voice, do you know what I mean?” This is because I believe my worth lies in sharing creatively. That is because I still am understanding that I don’t need to prove my worth. Why I feel like I need to prove myself constantly is a question I have no answer to. Perhaps the willingness to extrapolate like this comes from a doubt of my own realness. I have to share whats real to me to prove it’s real. Self analysis at this level is dumb. It’s like working under the hood of a car the size of a grain of sand and trying to tinker with the engine.

The couple seemed to like my stories. It somehow had turned into a pitch meeting of sorts and finding the balance of eye contact engagement with two people was challenging. I guess I’ll look at the man more because he seems to be steering this.  Shit, now I feel her being bored and judging my pants that I agree aren’t quite right.  Long story short, I didn’t get the job.

It’s a recipe for a self-fulfilling prophecy, to project onto the world all the Knick Knacks and Paddywacks that have gotten lost up inside you, but in my brief dips of dating during this time, these are the useless objects we offer up to each other first. We think were playing it cool, but the mask is the most revealing part of ourselves. One time, I thought I was scoring points with a boyfriends parents at a wedding. I was articulate and telling a funny story. Afterwards, I was informed that my tit had been out the entire time, staring at his parents like a scared potato. That is my cross. I overexpose.

If there is anything I’m bringing with me into this year, its compassion for these defunct parts of myself that were recalled back in 2007, but haven’t yet been replaced. While the world rut we’re in seems to be lowering us further into the subconscious, it seems like a glorious time to be identifying less and less with any thing outside. I am this: a scared, tit potato.