Solo Flights

I drive a car with a manual transmission, what's commonly referred to as a "stick shift" or "stick." The first car I learned to drive (mom's car) was a stick; and except for the temporary use of rental cars over the past 12 years, I've needed both of my feet to drive. I will admit that I feel this makes me a more skilled driver than drivers whose cars basically drive themselves. I have a feeling I'm not the only stick driver with a sense of superiority in that I can drive both, while most automatic "drivers" can only operate one. So I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm no stranger to doing things that would make others uncomfortable.

I was reminded of this last night when I walked into a hookah lounge, a cozy little venue where my first speed dating event was taking place. I was so nervous and almost chickened out as I approached the place. I was self-conscious of the usual girlie things I guess, my hair not being cute enough, or my outfit not looking as great as it looked when I first tried it on. I was also by myself, which didn't help me calm my butterflies. I assumed there would be others who had come solo as well. Wrong. Some ladies brought male friends with them (so they wouldn't look desperate, and no matter what have someone to walk out of there with, I suppose); other ladies brought their girlfriends (you're coming to hopefully meet a guy, why do you need your girls there); and the guys brought buddies and went straight for the bar (so, um, did you come to meet a woman, or stare at your buddy over beers). There they all sat, laughing and mingling with their own friends, while I sat alone. I suppose I could have blended in more if I headed to the bar to fill my system with the nectar of fermented grapes, but I didn't want to. I felt like the only one there who truly embodied what this little get together was all about. Meeting new people. If they just wanted to mingle with friends and have drinks, why even bother registering and paying $30. Because I feel I have a deeper level of understanding of human nature than most, I quickly surmised these people were afraid of striking out on their own; unwilling to be vulnerable and out of their element without the company of familiar faces. In turn, this made me feel uncomfortable because I felt like an oddball sitting there alone in what I assumed would be a room of single people, who, like me, were brave enough to do something different. I didn't need a security blanket to get me through, but after awhile I wished I had one. The event was a bust for me. So at 30 minutes past the start time, with no direction or even a "sorry guys, just a few more moments, thanks for waiting" from the hosts (reps from Professionals in the City) who were sitting around tweeting or whatever else gadget addicts do to busy themselves; and with the attendees having a good time with their security blankets, making it very awkward for me to strike up a conversation with anyone, I left. I'm sure I wasn't missed, there were about 13 lovely ladies for the mere five or so guys to choose from.

I feel like they took the easy way out, and part of me wished I could have too. No one likes to feel out of their comfort zone, but since I had to, I wanted to see others making the same sacrifice.

[Note] While typing this, I realized that just like them, I didn't want to be alone either. Meaning, instead of wanting my girlfriends or a "just in case" guy friend with me, I wanted to be in the company of others who were alone and a little nervous too. Interesting.[/Note]

Moving on. People in my life know that I'm currently devoid of a love life. I get so many suggestions like "just go out and mingle," "get a sexy outfit and go sit at a bar," "go hangout, you'll meet people there." I smile and nod as if I haven't tried those things before, but I can't help but think these same people wouldn't venture out to take their own advice, at least not by themselves. Not a lot of people are willing to go out alone to "try to meet people," but are quick to suggest others do it. The way I see it, if you're not willing to do something, don't suggest I do it. I feel like sarcastically replying "Great idea! Hey, why don't you ditch your girlfriends, your cousin, your best friend, or your best buddy, and go sit at a bar/nightclub/restaurant for a couple hours by yourself and tell me how fun it is!" People who've never been forced to be independent have no idea of the courage it takes to do the things I do in my quest to find friends in this place. Just like buying my first car by myself; buying my first house and dealing with the headache of home maintenance by myself; getting out in the community by myself to volunteer; traveling by myself; dating online because I don't have family and friends who can introduce me to "so and so," I do things that take a sense of courage and independence that most people I encounter simply do not have. But for some reason I often feel intimidated by these people who seemingly can only socialize if surrounded by comfort; can only do things that require minimal amounts of appearing friend-less. They wouldn't last a week in my shoes. And they'd definitely have a hard time getting my car out of first gear. *sigh* Yet I envy them nonetheless.

This post is another one of my freestyles, so I'm not sure how much sense it makes. That's all I got for now. Thanks for reading.

I’m So Special: The Narcissist’s Anthem

I’m so special
I’m so special, so special, so special

This is the addictive chant of a popular dancehall song, which, not surprisingly, is titled “I’m So Special.” The artist’s name is Movado, in case you want to hear it for yourself.

While many people aren’t as bold to make such a proclamation, the evidence of a majority of the population’s sense of “specialness” can be found on blogs, social networking profiles, and just about any other medium accessed by other humans.

Look how special I am everyone, they flaunt.
Read my opinion of politics, the deterioration of the family structure, rude people, interracial relationships, sex, they beg.
Look at how adventurous I am, I’m in a raft; I’m climbing a mountain, look at me, they show off.
Listen to my cover of this Otis Redding song, don’t I sound just like him? Give me a record deal, they bay.

I’m so special, they appeal to the masses.

And yes readers, so am I. My confession for today is that the older I get, the more fascinated with myself I become. I enjoy the way I talk and laugh, the way I think, my bizarre and dark sense of humor, my personality, how quickly my nails grow, how goofy I dance, just about everything about me is special.

I’ve often wished that I could clone myself so that I could hang out with someone just like me. I’ve also wished I could have neighbors just like me (to ensure decency), coworkers as considerate as me, customer service people who were as professional and kind as me. I’ve even expressed to my mother what a wonderful child I was, and that I would consider myself extremely lucky to be blessed with children who behave in the same manner.

So, much like those people, I regularly venture online to tell the world how I’m feeling, what I want out of life, what I think about life, what I’ve analyzed about my behavior. Perhaps I’m under the delusion that the world cares. Or perhaps I’m sitting here giggling in delight at the cleverness of my own thoughts and how happy I am to write all of this just for me.

Whatever it is, I’m here to report that it has spread to my offline life. I’ve started a “Facebook” page at the entrance of my cubicle, to notify coworkers of my daily thoughts. I call it Penny For My Thoughts. It’s a sheet of paper with a real penny taped on it and filled with my “postings.” I don’t get much foot traffic, so I doubt more than two people even realize what’s written on those papers stuck to the outside of Jennifer’s cube. But it’s there, folks. From my dreams of homeownership, to how I can be found at home on Friday nights while other D.C. singles are out on dates.

What would possess me to do such a thing? I’m so special. I’m so special, so special, so special.