I am not the most social person, not by any stretch of the imagination. You’ve heard of Myers Briggs? I didn’t have to take it – the test took one look at me and said, “Yep. Introvert.”
Most of the time, I’m fine with this. I’m a homebody and my preferred form of entertainment is television, all kinds (well, not so much history or science shows, which pains my husband greatly, but come on, it’s a little too high school educational video for me). Of course, this here internet is a fabulous invention for folks like me, affording me information, amusement and contact without having to leave my house or put on makeup. Fantastic.
So it might come as a surprise, most of all to myself, that I was quite the social butterfly this weekend, heading out for a girls night on Saturday and book club on Sunday.
Back to this internet business for a moment. I met all of the women with whom I butterflied through this glorious means in some fashion, which makes me even more grateful for its existence. I’ve long lamented the lack of in person friends I have locally, pretty much since college, and that’s all I’ve really done. I can’t quite bring myself to walk into to group and figure out how to meet people. Surely this is out of fear, but I can’t pinpoint just one; it’s probably a combination of fears about people finding me silly or irritating or generally not worth their time; feeling horribly inadequate in the presence of much smarter people; and a complete breakdown in communication and interpersonal skills that are sketchy to begin with, ending with me embarrassing myself in new and creative ways. So when a well meaning family member tells me to just go to the meeting or just walk up to someone and start a conversation, I can feel my throat dry up and my pulse quicken. I just can’t handle the cold call.
But this here computer led me to Jennie, who in turn led me to Kristie and Erica and Natalie and so on and so forth that, all of the sudden, I had some real, flesh and blood friends. I am a lucky girl. These people accepted me into their circle despite my awkwardness and abundant flaws, which apparently include telling the same story over and over again (yes, I guess I’m That Girl, and I am so sorry). And they don’t treat me like I’m elderly, which, compared to them, I am. Thank you for that, Ladies.
So Saturday, I headed out to meet up with Jennie, Kristie, and Erica for a much deserved night of food, festivity, booze and conversation. I arrived at Jennie’s house, the designated meeting spot, and knocked on the door. Nothing. I knocked again. Nothing for the longest time. And then Jennie’s poor husband popped his head outside, looking for all the world like I’d woken him from a nap and very confused to have a random woman standing on his porch. The crazy in my head made me at first worried that I’d finally been seen as the nutter I am. And then, after acquiring directions to the restaurant where the girls already were, I took off on foot, hoping I’d actually make it there (my directional ineptitude is legendary) and muttering about being early and late at the same time. See, crazy.
But everything ended well, oh so well, and we had a great time. I didn’t want it to end. I haven’t laughed so much in a long time, and not only because Erica almost drove us all down a pedestrian staircase. I can’t wait to do it again as soon as possible. Really, can we get together tomorrow?
Sunday brought my second book club meeting with these lovely ladies and more. We met at a gem of a restaurant that’s close enough to home to threaten my waistline with repeated visits, chatted about a book that left most of us on the fence, and chatted even more about anything and everything else. It’s such a great experience because it’s about the book and not about the book at the same time. Ultimately, it’s about a group of women getting to know each other, challenging each other, and enjoying each other. I’m already knee deep in next month’s book, wondering what everyone will have to say about it, and planning to bring my lemon bars to the party it surely will be.
At the risk of repeating myself, which is something I seem to do with alarming frequency, I CAN’T WAIT.