I Hate Small Talk

I'm kinda socially retarded.  I know the term isn't politically correct and I don't mean to offend any mentally challenged people.  It's just an adjective I use...when I say "retarded" I don't literally mean someone who has an extra chromosome, aka Down's Syndrome.  Does that make sense?  Probably not.  Let me reiterate, I'm not being mean. 

Anyways, I absolutely hate being introduced to new people.  I can barely say "hello, nice to meet you".  When I'm trying to impress someone I say "I'm pleased to meet you" or "It's a pleasure to meet you".  Ugh what an idiot.  After the introductions is the absolute worst.  I feel really self conscious and I don't know what to say.  Awkward.  I just stand there like an idiot and smile, hardly saying a word.  If you ever see a blonde girl smiling away not saying anything, it's probably me.  And in the meantime, I'm trying not to look miserable, which is almost impossible for me.  A miserable, smiling, blonde girl is often synonymous for....BITCH.  And not just a bitch, a snobby, stuck up bitch.  Great.  Then I start to feel more self conscious because I know what people are thinking "ew, what's her problem." 

First of all, I don't know what to say.  I can never think of anything clever or funny.  And the more I think about what to say the worse it gets.  Then I start to panic because I'm not saying anything.  I get all nervous and panicked.  What can I say, I just feel LAME.

Example.  My ex was quite the social butterfly.  He was a CSU Chico Alumni.  Ummm Chico=Party School.  Anyways, he was part of a fraternity (seriously? barf.).  He had sooo many friends-- or "bros" whatever the fuck you want to call them.  While I'm like, uhhhh, I have exactly 5 friends.  Anyways, he had so many friends that one of them was always getting married.  So guess who got invited to all of these weddings?  Yep.  Me.  The social idiot.  And let me tell you, weddings are the absolute worst for people like me, especially when you're someone's date.  I knew exactly 1 person.  My boyfriend.  The church part was ok.  All of the weddings we attended were in church.  I hate church, but I loved how you had to sit still and be quiet.  The longer the better.  Shit, I'd love a god damn 2 hour Catholic ceremony.  I welcome it even.  It meant that I didn't have to talk to anyone.

But the dinner/reception.  Oh God.  I'd start to panic yet again.  Oh no.  Who were we sitting with?  Would they like me?  Pictures? Nooooo!!!  Here we go.

Once, we went to a wedding in Palm Desert in May.  Jesus Christ.  It was 110 degrees, seriously.  We stayed the whole weekend.  OMG what's worse than a 1 day event?  A 3 day event.  So we get to the resort and all the boyfriend's friends were---- in the pool.  I didn't know anyone.  So, bathing suit and strangers equals misery for Christy.  However, I managed to make a friend.  One of my boyfriend's friend's girlfriend.  And let me tell you that if I do happen to make friends with a stranger, they'd better watch out.  I'll be a god damn stalker and follow them around everywhere.  Ugh.  So, it was non stop misery for me.  The night we got there, there was a party--terrible, terrible.  I know I was being a fucking bitch and I didn't care.  I was irritated by all the idiot drunk people.  Girls pulling up their skirts because they were so trashed- like fucking Girls Gone Wild.  Shit.  There was also a night-before-the-wedding party.  Seriously?  I was so nervous I couldn't eat anything.  This party was a little more responsible because there were adults-- the brides parents and such.  And to put icing on the cake, I didn't bring anything appropriate to wear to a party, only the wedding.  So everyone was semi-dressed up and I was in jeans, a tank, and flip flops. Christ.  Later, my boyfriend, his friend and my "new friend" had to go to some gross Mexican restaurant so I could eat.  Shit.

Ok, so the wedding.  It was hotter than a bitch.  Let me tell you this wedding cost a shit load.  At a resort...the only thing I didn't like was the dinner.  A fucking bloody raw slab of some kind of beef and a piece of fucking salmon.  Gross.  At least have a choice of chicken assholes.  On the upside, there was (drum roll, please) an open bar.  Yep.  Open bar.  Christy's liquid courage.  Ahhh.  I could finally relax.  I don't condone drinking copious amounts of alcohol, but sometimes it's just necessary.  So, Christy+Mostly Empty Stomach+Alcohol=A Happy Girl.  Shit, I think I was even friendly.  Me.  Friendly.  Yep.  And I drank like 5 Mojitos.  And these weren't shitty bottled Mojitos.  Like real ones with muddled mint and everything and it even had a rock candy swizzle stick (cuz apparently I needed the extra sugar in addition to the sugars the alcohol was producing).

So, I was drunk.  Extra happy.  Friendly.  Dancing, dancing, dancing.  I remember getting down to Rihanna's Umbrella-- singing that shit, spinning around.  Not caring about anything.  Not caring if anyone thought I was a stuck up bitch. 

At the end of the night, they had little boxes of Krispy Creme donuts for everyone.  Yum.  We could grab our donuts and head back to the room and relax.  I would probably watch tv and not get any ("any" was absolutely the worst thing in the world anyways, so I wasn't entirely upset), because undoubtedly asshole drank too much alcohol and would be passed out in no time.  An open bar to him was pure heaven.  An excuse to act like an idiot and drink as much as his fat gut could hold.

Anyways, so he announced to me that we were going to an "after party".  Are you serious?  I've spent a total of 16 hours with your god damn friends (15 more than I would deem necessary).  And they were in people's hotel room.  My buzz was instantly gone.  Fuck that shit.  I'm absolutely NOT, I repeat NOT hanging out in stranger's hotel rooms, while they proceed to get drunk, stoned, and act like morons.  So, I pitched a fit.  I told him he could go if he wanted to, but you better know I'll be the most fucking pissed off bitch in the world if you leave me--even though I said it was ok.

Long story short, he stayed with me and blah blah, the rest of the story is boring.

So, I woke up in the morning so we could head out.  I had the worst headache in the world and I was sooo hungover.  I barfed several times.  He got into the shower.  Oooh.  I remembered we still had those Krispy Creams.  Maybe those delicious, fried dough would help my hangover.  I went over to the box... that mother fucker ate them all.  You fat fucking asshole.  Didn't even save me one.