How to Get Ready for a Party

As of last night, I have finished all but the afterthought heel of the second Halloween sock. That means I am just a few minutes away from a completed pair of socks, days ahead of schedule! I don't know how the second sock knitted up so quickly, but I made sure to check that sock #2 was the same size as sock #1 before I grafted the toe.

Now that the socks are very nearly done, I have plenty of time to complete my party-preparation ritual. This is a finely honed system for getting myself ready to cope with group activities and social situations. The only times I can avoid using this system is when I plan the party, because then I control the party, I know what is expected of me, and I feel safe. I'm also okay if the party is with my close friends, people I know actually like me and really want me to come to their party.

Yes, you get to know the system. Of course. I mean, one of you might relate! Probably not, but still.

Step One (several weeks before party): Set a highly ambitious goal for party or event. Plan to purchase a new outfit made up of hard-to-find pieces, decide to knit a new sweater or learn to sew in order to make a dress, look for a dress or skirt which is long enough, decide on a piece of clothing that is unflattering and become devastated when this is discovered.

Step Two (approximately one week prior to party): Burst into tears. Crying can be caused by a variety of factors, but the primary reason is that parties are, for the most part, unstructured and lack of structure means lack of control. Ugly cry. Blame childhood for lack of social skills. 

Step Three (week of the party): Change entire outfit (or costume) idea. Do so while crying and feeling wholly unattractive. 

Step Four (several days before party): Go back to original idea because knitting was somehow finished on time, crafting was completed ahead of schedule, or missing article of clothing was discovered by some miracle at T.J. Maxx or Target. 

Step Five (day before party): Realize that no matter what is worn to the party, it will be worn by you, and you cannot do parties because you are a neurotic basket-case. (For proof of neurosis, see steps one through four.)  

Step Six (day before party): Ugly cry some more. 

Step Seven (night before party): Resignation. You must go to the party. You are going to the party. You will bring a book and hope no one notices you. 

Step Eight (night before party): Lie in bed all night, awake, waiting for party. Insert panic attack or crying spell here. 

Step Nine (hour before the party): Cry a lot or have a panic attack before walking out the door of the house. 

Step Ten (approximately 30 minutes before party): Arrive at party location 30 minutes early due to fear of tardiness. Due to fear of earliness, remain in car with book and waves of terror. Hope no one notices you in the car and discovers how early you have arrived, come up with various explanations for earliness that do not include evidence of mental illness. Realize that there is no way that you can deny that you have serious problems with social interaction. Decide that covering up problem with humor is the way to go.

Now you understand why people shouldn't invite me to parties (also you understand why I am still single and likely to remain so). I mean, I want to go. I have fun when I get there. But I'd rather not know that a party is going to happen until someone picks me up in their car and tells me that the party is where we're going.

Sometimes a nunnery sounds like a super-cool place to live. Except that other people would live there, so that would be awkward. Let's face it, I'm probably going to become a recluse like Howard Hughes, only without the hygiene issues, because I can't stand to go more than one day without washing my hair.

This blog is cheaper than therapy.

Another Run: In Which I Suck at Preparation

Today I went for my FIFTH run. This is probably the longest I've stuck with any running program. So, gold star for me.

I went to the trail I like best, but this time I was by myself, so I repeated my earlier warning to The Brother. If I don't come home in about an hour, I've been murdered and call the police. It's a good general rule.

As I ran down the trail, wishing I were dead (this is normal for me while running, I think "Thank God I'm still alive!" during the walking sections), I suddenly saw movement. This thing flew (or was thrown?) over my head, and then it hit a tree next to my face. I turned quickly to look at the tree. And it was a hawk, which had just missed grabbing a very lucky squirrel. The hawk was trying to remain aloft while making desperate grasps at the squirrel, which was rapidly shuffling along the side of the tree to avoid the hawk.

"RUN, SQUIRREL!!!" I shouted. (Really.)

Except there was a man on a bicycle behind me, who had not seen the hawk/squirrel drama unfold, so he thought I was a special kind of crazy.

He terrified me, because I was generally shocked at that moment, pretty much because a hawk had flown inches in front of my face moments before.

"Did you see a deer?" He was a really friendly guy. Probably mid-sixties, and he seemed like he could tell I was about to have my heart explode from my chest. Maybe he had a daughter that was high-strung, and he knew the look.

"No," I replied. "It was a hawk, and it was trying to grab a squirrel."

(That was when my grasp of reality went away a little more than normal. That should have been enough. But my internal narrator is wordy, and it wants all the observers of my life to be aware of exactly what each moment really was like, so they will fully understand me.)

"It was like real-live National Geographic. I hope the squirrel got away. I told it to run. I hope it listened. I have never had a bird of prey fly so close to me before, and I've never seen one grab at prey when I was close enough to HEAR it. I hope the squirrel is okay."

All this happened as the poor man tried to keep his bicycle from going too far forward so he could hear me without actually stopping it and causing it to fall down. It was a fancy bike, you see. With clips. The Yarn Harlot taught me about clips. You clip in, you ride. You have to unclip in order to put your feet on the ground. If you fail to unclip properly, you fall down and bleed at the side of the road/trail.

I think he said something innocuous, like "Wow," or "Really?"

And then I said something like, "That's the great outdoors!" And then he kept riding and I went back to running, trying to put as much distance between myself and the Animal Planet special going on around me.

Also I forgot to bring water on this run. And I forgot to fill my car up with enough gas to get home after driving to the trailhead, so I had to go back to my car post-run, drive into town, get gas, and then buy water. I did all of this while red-faced and dripping with sweat. I was quite alluring. It's shocking that I didn't get any marriage proposals on my walk from the car to the gas station attendant's booth.

To make matters more awkward, I felt it necessary to tell the gas station attendant all about the hawk and the squirrel and the forgotten water. She was patient with me in the same way I am patient with overly-talkative and exceedingly boring patrons at work.

I really shouldn't be allowed to talk to people anymore.