What’s That? Speak Up. I Don’t Read Smoke Signals

An admitted Social Retard, I’ve been thinking about social cues a lot lately.  Like, how we give them off, how they’re interpreted, and what to do when what you’re throwin’ out there isn’t being picked up — or worse yet, when what you’re throwin’ out there is being picked up, but is being misconstrued.

Obviously, social cues are important.  Not just learning how to read them, and give them out, but logistically speaking as well — there just aren’t enough hours in the day to verbally communicate every thought and every idea to every person we encounter, so naturally we need to rely on non-verbal forms of communication.  Okay, understand that.  But sometimes, I wish we relied on social cues a lot less, and verbally communicated with each other more.  It would make life a lot easier for socially handicapped people like myself.

I like to call myself (okay, that’s a lie,  I’ve never called myself this, I’m just making this phrase up right now, but I’m going to start calling myself this from now on) a high functioning socially retarded person.  Outwardly, if you met me, you’d think that I’m just as capable of social interaction as the next guy, but actually, I’m really kind of hella awkward.  That is to say, if you like me, it takes me a really long time to pick up on it; if you don’t like me, it takes me a really long time to pick up on it.  Meanwhile, you might assume that I dislike you, even if I really haven’t made up my mind either way. And, if I do actually like you, you might never pick up on it.

Sound confusing? It is.  And, you know why? Because, like any symbolic form of communication, social cues are rife for misinterpretation.  So, that girl you saw outside the club? The one you smiled at because you saw her slip, and you wanted to let her know hey, these things happen, don’t be embarrassed? Yeah, well she’s acting all suspicious of you, whispering a warning to all her girl friends, because she thinks your smile means you’re trying to figure out what she’d look like without her clothes on.  You’re not meaning to hit on her, but she misread your social cue.  Now you don’t have a chance with any of her friends.  Or, what about that guy you’re crushing on? Remember him? He’s the one who’s phone calls you never answer right away (even though you really, really want to) because you don’t want to seem “too available” (i.e. desperate)? Yeah, well, he’s not calling you anymore because he thinks you never answer your phone when he calls because you don’t like him.  What’s to blame here? Really? Do I have to type it out here, for you? Miss-communicated social signals, duh.

And you know what? Fuck that.  I’m tired of all this social confusion.  Can I make a request here? Can I request that we stop being so lazy, and kind of talk to each other more? I know it’s easier, more comfortable, and less time consuming to let your actions reflect your thoughts, but actually,  it’s really pretty annoying when someone misreads your actions.  Let’s cut down on the suspicion/confusion/anxiousness/false hope here, and just talk to one another.  Mystery dramas are fun for entertainment purposes, but suck in real life.  Like, sure Ghost Writer was a really fun show, but wouldn’t you get sick of having a friend who insists on communicating by throwing random letters and words together in the hopes that you can figure out what  he means? Wouldn’t you be like, fuck you, Ghost Writer, who’s the dbag committing all the annoying pranks on the Lenni music video set?  You know the answer, why can’t you just tell me? Admit it, you would say that.  That’s how I feel about social cues.  And now, I’ll end with a poem:

So, tell me what you want, what you really, really, want/

I’ll tell you what I want, what I really, really want/*

*Answer: A zig-a-zig-ahhhh

I Hear the Chicken Wings at Hooters are Phenom

Now that the OBG temp job is over, I’m trying to figure out how to spend my days until I find employment again.  Here’s what I’ve brainstormed so far:

• Move to Eastern Europe and finally join that traveling Gypsy band that I’ve been talking about for years.  And when I say Gypsy Band, I mean a literal band.  Like, with instruments, and singing and shit.  I think I’ll play the tambourine.  Or, if that’s taken, the mandolin.  But only if I can’t play the tambourine.
• Marry Macauley Culkin.
• Buy a Snuggie.
• Get into Polygamy
• Finally learn how to skateboard <– This one’s actually tops on my list.
• Donate my eggs.
• Watch every Kevin Costner movie ever made, starting with Water World.
• Start reading the Twighlight series just so I can learn what these dang kids are so crazy about.
• Lunches at Hooters
• Adopt an African baby
• Learn the choreography from “Everybody (Backstreet’s Back)” by the Backstreet Boys
• Buy a pair of these shoes in three different colors
• Threesomes

This is an open list, meaning I’m open to suggestions.  Got any? I’ve got lots of time to hear them…

A Potentially Dangerous Experiment

Today my friend Andrea had an unfun discussion with her doctor:

Andrea: “uh, just got your test results back from last week, and you are allergic to MILK, EGGS, AND WHEAT”. BALLLLS!

Yeah, that sucks. Considering our diet consists mostly of cheese, omelets and pasta. And, um, of course with veggies, yeah.

So why do I want to go vegan (other than to support Adnrea?) One of my co-workers is vegan and I’ve considered becoming a vegan for a while since it’s a healthy diet and I really should not be eating as much of the crap I eat anyway. However, I’ve only been thinking about it because I mean, really, ACTUALLY doing it is really hard! (Also, I shouldn’t be eating dairy anyway since I’m lactose intolerant, but whatever. Details.)

So now, with Andrea’s actual inability to eat these “bad” things, I’ve decided to try it with her–kind of. She can eat meat and I can eat bread. We’re going to cheer each other on/complain to each other a lot while seeing how long it takes either one of us to crack and eat either a piece of cheese or scoop of ice cream. I’ll try to document it here, but not like this crazy chick on self.com–no one wants to see that. Wish us luck!

It’s Like a Race, Except Wearing Costumes…and Drunk

While trying to come up with costume ideas for San Francisco’s annual race across the city/excuse to drink before noon, Bay to Breakers, I found two awesome websites. The first, got me really excited for the event:

This is the one day every year that apparently it is socially acceptable to get drunk before noon, and wear little to no clothing. Most groups come dressed in a theme of some sort, and many of them push “floats” that go along with their costumes, but are really just creative ways to bring a keg along. 

 

The second is a website for “naturalists” called ThingstoDoNude.com (NSFW). Yup.

In any case, if you have any ideas on what I should do for Bay to Breakers, let me know, I’m stumped.  And no, “naked” is (probably) not gonna happen.