I'm Not A Heathen

I’m not good with striking up a conversation with someone I don’t know. I can be quite shy. I wish I could walk up to any group and start talking. But no.

My friend Amanda invited me to a neighborhood BBQ and at first I was hesitant. Neighborhood BBQ=conversing with people that I didn’t know. Still. I was an adult. I had to get used to this sort of thing. Especially if Tom moves up in the ranks. If he gets really important, he has to start showing up at more events and this means I have to go too. Crap, this means I need to start walking in heels better….going careening into walls would NOT look good. And suppose I do get a book published? I might have to go to book signings. So yes, I went.

At the BBQ (in sneakers), I made myself say hello. I flashed a smile and hoped that I didn’t have chips stuck between my teeth. Many times after I said hello I found people asked, “What church do you go to?”

Um.

I blinked at them. “I don’t go to church,” I admitted.

“Heathen!” one lady shouted.

Well. Not really.

I spoke briefly to another couple. They were Mormon. I immediately thought of Big Love.

Another lady couldn’t believe I was still here when I said my husband was in Korea.

“Why are you here then?” she asked.

“Well, one night, long ago my parents—”

“No, I mean, why did you stay? Why didn’t you go live with your parents?”

Ahh. The famous question. I always have to bite my tongue to keep from saying, “Because I’m 28.” That could be construed as rude though. It would mean that I looked down on those who do go home. And I don’t. It’s just not for me. I figure I can handle things on my own just fine.

And also, I like my space.

“I like my space,” I informed the woman.

She said that she couldn’t have stayed and done it on her own.

“It hasn’t been so bad. It gives me a lot of blog fodder,” I said.

It was like I had just flashed my bra at her. The look she gave me was like, “What is this blog that you speak of? And am I going to be IN it.” (As it turns out, yes.)

I need to go to a blog conference where people know all about fodder. Granted, this would mean I’d have to face my fears and talk to people I don’t know.

I figure if Charlie Sheen can do it, I can do it.

Then again, he did get booed during a show.

Still. I’d like to consider myself saner than Charlie Sheen.

Somewhat.