I wish age were a more accurate predictor of maturity level. This discrepancy makes things very confusing and disappointing.
I know of a thirty-something-year-old man with the maturity level of a fourteen-year-old high school student who spends most of his time engraving drawings of penises on his plastic desk in order to impress his friends. He is incapable of holding serious conversations. I’ve never heard him say anything meaningful in all of the (many) years I’ve known him.
I interact with people my age at school and work who spend their time discussing subject matter that has presumably satisfied them both intellectually and socially since they were in the early years of high school.
I never got along with any of the people my age up until very recently. I used to think my inability to make friends with people my own age was due to an unforeseen deficit on my part. This caused me a lot of grief all throughout high school. I didn’t fit in with my peers. This was certainly because there was something wrong with me. I didn’t realize this was false until recently. There wasn’t anything wrong with me at all—there was something wrong with my peers. They were idiots.
I’m finally beginning to get along with (some) of my peers. It’s very nice seeing them slowly (and some more slowly than others) grow into complete human beings. I’m excited for the time when truly meaningful conversations will be more plentiful than the banal ones. I’m only excited for this time, though, because I think it will eventually arrive—I hope this doesn’t prove to be an unreasonable expectation.
I’ve been called an “old soul” all throughout my life. I can now fully appreciate what that means. It’s just a matter of waiting for all the other souls around me to get old as well.
I went to the first day of the con with my sister and it was fun and the panels were beautiful and giant Tardis and yeah but I feel like I didn’t meet anyone and I’d love to but we’re both like painfully socially inept (yeah us and everyone else right that’s what you get in a room full of tumblr bloggers) but I’m really hopeful for day 2 so if any of you beauties want to talk or eat food and/or panel sit together or something that’d be dandy we’re not cosplaying but we’ll be the two black girls glued at the hip - hypothetically - I have an afro and my sister has galaxy pants okay plz I want to meet people but I suck yeah rant over
I hate when I see a really cute guy
and I get this funny feeling in my stomach and think, “You are too attractive to look at me. Please don’t look at me.” I start to feel so awkward and unattractive, but I can’t stop looking because I think they’re so good looking. And if they happen to look at me my stomach flips and I get so nervous my soul dies.
I was recently waiting in line at a coffee shop, completely transfixed by my phone with no regard for the real world around me, when I was approached by a man who looked like he could have been a roadie for Twisted Sister. He had a feral, raised-by-wolves sort of charm about him as he stood in front of me and pointed to himself and said, “Simon”.
Looking up from my phone and having absolutely no idea what was going on, I suddenly seemed to have lost any social skills I possessed and could think of nothing to say but, “No…” as if trying to politely refuse food from a friend’s parent, or an invitation to a child’s birthday party. A sweet, sincere, and in this case utterly confused “no”.
Now he was confused by my response and furrowed his hefty brow and repeated “…no?”
I decided to stick with it and once again said “no…” with a smile and a nod and went back to texting. He turned slowly and walked away, both of us entirely unsure of what just happened.
What can we learn from this?
A) Simon needed to step up his game. Simon: string a couple of words together and perhaps you will receive more than a monosyllabic response. In the wise words of the New Radicals, you only get what you give. Also cut your hair, are you channelling Ali MacGraw?
B) Let this be a warning that burying yourself in a blackberry can lead to social ineptitude and complete bewilderment when approached by a figure in the ‘real world’. Even Simon probably deserved a response like “Oh, I’m sorry but you scare me a little bit and I would prefer not to engage in conversation with you at this time”, rather than “no…”
Then again, I’m not a woman of many words. Maybe Simon and I had more in common than I thought.