Being Social is Hard

I must be out of practice talking to other adults in public conversations. This assessment is based on my performance last night after four tequila-laden margaritas. I must have let my guard slip and shown what I kept hidden under the facade. Oh no.

I have always had a problem controlling what comes out of my mouth. I received some “learning annex-esque” training on how to place the filter over my mouth during the years I spent in church in Virginia. However, since then, I have moved away and left the church. And clearly, the filter has gone into disrepair and fallen away.

I Feel So Social

I joined this student group on campus, which is for veterans, so at least all the members are not straight out of high school. Granted, I am WAY older than 89% of the veteran population that I deal with here at this college; however, I have a deceptively young appearance, and often it can get me by somewhere in the low 30’s, instead of the reality that I am quickly encroaching upon 40.

Initially, I joined so that I could have some semblance of a social life outside of my apartment, albeit in a controlled environment. I also joined because it is not in my nature not to get involved in something, so being in this organization is a natural fit. What is not a natural fit is me going to sports bars (or any bar in general) and hanging out with people.

The group has these gatherings at least once a week. It used to be once a month, but due to popular demand, the frequency stepped up. I have avoided going, and at first, I thought it was because I was tired, or busy (taking summer classes and having homework), or broke. But after last night, I am convinced that I’ve been subconsciously avoiding them because I am highly uncomfortable in public for obvious reasons.

Apparently, my discomfort overrode my common sense and self-control because I sucked down four margaritas in rapid succession and then discovered that my mind had lost the grip of control over what was coming out of my mouth.

At which point, I did the unthinkable and began to actually include tidbits about myself in the conversation. Why did I do that?  I spoke on the subject of mr horrible, I berated one of the guys there with the jaded and idiotic notion that men had no business wanting children, I pounded my fist on the table when making a point, I was loud and probably really obnoxious.

It was like watching a train wreck, albeit one happening to me, but I couldn’t seem to rein in the random ass crap that was coming out of my mouth. I felt at the time that I was having a good time.

However, much later, after the group dispersed and I had sobered up and driven home, I slowly began to feel the creep of shame and regret wash over me. Why did I say those things? What was I thinking (I wasn’t?) and why the fuck did I drink all that fucking tequila?

In the harsh light of morning, and under the microscope of my introspection, I am duly horrified.

If being adept in social environments is a skill rather than a talent, I will need more practice. Lots and lots of practice and less contact with tequila. I am simultaneously freaking out and determined to succeed at this endeavor. What a quandary.