Sympathetically Awkward

Roomie sent me this link this morning. Because she gets into work before I do and like to leave me “Happy Friday” messages.

Because she’s awesome.

Anyway, it got me thinking about things in books that make me feel the same level of awkwardness as the situations mentioned in that article.

It’s amazing really.

I’m at home. Generally alone, behind the closed door of my room, completely the opposite of the center of attention. And yet, as I read certain scenes, I find myself burrowing under my pillows to get away from the sense of severe discomfort.

I’m nervous laughing. Trying to look away, but lacking the ability.

I’ve just showed up to take a test and realized I didn’t study. Asked to take center stage, while knowing I don’t know any of the lines. Stood up to give a presentation only to find that I am completely without clothing.

Except all I’m really doing is holding a book.

The biggest culprit for evoking these feelings of overpowering awkward-osity? The public declaration of love scene.

I’ve read a lot of romance novels and at least fifty percent of them have such a grand gesture. Some setting chock full of people (and sometimes a microphone) where the hero or heroine can lay themselves bare before all within earshot. And everyone acts like it’s just so romantic.

And, yes, in certain stories it really works. But you know how some people are sympathetic criers? I feel sympathetically awkward. So, rarely do I read such a scene, no matter how well written, where I don’t have a short Robert DuVall in Newsies moment.

“Go home! Go home to your mothers and your fathers! Go home!”

*Buries face in pillow. Peeks up, sees awkwardness still waiting. Laughs uncontrollably. Goes back to reading*

Also making my list of Things That Make Me Feel Like I’m the One Being Stared At?

-          Any time a character has to take part in a performance he or she has not prepared for.

-          Any time a character is trying to act “cool.”

So, what makes you sympathetically awkward?

*Note: If you’ve found yourself in real-life awkward situations lately, I would suggest using this survival guide.

Only Reasonable Conclusion: My iPod's Watching Me

I don’t know what was going on with my iPod this morning.

I like to leave it on shuffle for the drive. I get to listen to a variety of different musical genres and without fail have one I-totally-forgot-I-had-this-album! moment.

Sometimes the iPod Shuffle gods are very good to me. Monday, for instance, started with two songs from Footloose and some Jackson 5. Tell me who wouldn’t be pumped to start the week after that?

Apparently as the week has progressed the gods have decided that they are as tired as the rest of us. In what I can only imagine is an effort to pump some new lifeblood into the week, it would appear they deemed this morning “Creeper Thursday.”

I mean, it started off fine. Just the normal mix of jazz, ‘90s pop, showtunes and oldies. Fine and dandy. Then about fifteen minutes in, things took a turn for the disturbing.

It started with the immediately recognizable opening chords of “Sunglasses at Night.” But it didn’t play the full song. I guess it didn’t download entirely into iTunes, so what I got was “I wear my sunglasses at night so I can, so I can watch you weave then breathe your story lines.” And then total silence for about five seconds.

Sweet, merciful heavens, are you watching me breathe now? Are you in the car??

After those five seconds of silence, I was rewarded with “Every Breath You Take.” Not better.

iPod, STOP WATCHING ME!

Generally speaking, I don’t find the Backstreet Boys particularly intimidating, but when “As Long As You Love Me” came on the heels of the other two songs, I couldn’t stop my brain from taking me down a dark path.

Do you really not care what I did or are you just saying that so I don’t ask you what you did? What did you do?!?!?

And then a song from my Christmas mix came on. The risk you run with the shuffle. I was coming up to a red light, so I knew I’d be able to turn it quickly (after January 2^nd and before Thanksgiving – no Christmas music!). Unfortunately, not quickly enough. Heard enough of “Baby, It’s Cold Outside” to know that the “baby” in question was soon going to be asking “What’s in this drink?”

Never a question anyone should have to ask.

But I did get to change it before the light turned green. So, problem solved. Until I realized that the song that came on next was Good Charlotte’s “My Bloody Valentine.”

Why do I even have all these songs on my iPod?!?!?

Finally, I was pulling up to the parking structure. Rolled down the window to badge in, said hello to a coworker, rolled the window back up just in time to realize that my iPod was blasting “Backdoor Lover” from Josie & The Pussycats.

To quote Don Lockwood, “Dignity. Always dignity.”

On the plus side, I was very happy to get to work. So, I guess the shuffle gods did their job after all. Next time though, let’s just stick with fun and peppy in the morning, shall we?

A Second Look is Always Warranted

As I inch closer and closer (at what sometimes seems like a glacial pace) to finishing the first draft of my current work-in-progress, I’m starting to get excited about editing.

I love the revision process. No blank pages. Things I forgot I wrote that I really like. Things I remember writing, but can’t remember why I every thought they worked. It’s fun.

And something I really should do more in my day to day activities -- The whole giving things a second (or seventh or eighth) look.

Not all that long ago I wanted to pump the Roomie up for a game she was about to play. Unfortunately, the message I sent her was, “Kiss ass at soccer!”

The sentiment was just not quite the same. And as much as I wish I could blame auto-correct, that mistake was all me.

Also, I don’t know about you, but my emails to my friends lack a certain, shall we say, formality. Basically, I say stupid things and try out silly nicknames for both them and myself. Good clean fun. Each one of them is as big a weirdo as I am (hence the continued friendships) that it’s never embarrassing. You know, except in the rare incidences when I forget to double check the “To” line and accidentally include my internship supervisor rather than my friend of the same name.

And talk about how I’ve been procrastinating all my school work.

And sign it “K.J. izzle”.

And have a friend reply-all with this advice:

K Jizzle - I recommend red bull followed by a chaser of 5 hour energy.

Side effects include - heart stopping/mild death from all the caffeine; good grades from staying up all night; uncontrollable desire to mutilate house pets....

*Cue me racing awkward turtles to burrow under an island of awkward palm trees.*

Thankfully, I’m not alone in these little uncomfortable moments.

A friend was applying to a job that required a writing sample to be attached to her resume. Rather than send them the very appropriate writing sample that she intended, she had a momentary lapse of attention and sent them her anthropology paper on Incan sex positions.

She was not thrilled when she realized the mistake.

She did, however, get the job. And gave the rest of us quite a giggle. Silver linings all over the place.

But, my recommendation? Save yourself those red-faced moments of horror and live your lives as editors. Of course, if you choose to disregard this advice, please share your slip ups. We could all use the laughs.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to keep plugging away at this story so that I can finally get to the whole editing part.

I Laugh, I Cry, I Do Things To Embarrass Myself....

I’m a very emotive person when I read. I laugh, I cry, I yell and throw things (generally not in anyone’s directions, but I’d be lying if I said that there had never been any slip-ups). Many books have left me feeling happy or angry or just plain confused, but this week is about the first book that pops into my head when I think of a particular emotion.

Continuing this theme, here is the next batch of book moods:

• Hysterical: Let’s Pretend This Never Happened: (A Mostly True Memoir) (Jenny Lawson)
• I should have been more prepared given the regularity with which I follow the Bloggess, but, not thinking things through, I started reading this book when I was in public. Had to put it down after awhile because the people around me seemed nervous about my manic laughter.
• Frustrated: A Sliver of Shadow (Allison Pang)
• When I finished this book, I just stared at it for a few seconds, thinking, WHAT HAPPENS NEXT?!?!?!?
• Sad: First They Killed My Father: A Daughter of Cambodia Remembers (Loung Ung)
• There really are no words.
• Confident: Animorphs #12: The Reaction (K. A. Applegate)
• Sixth grade. My parents wanted me to go to the school roller skating party. I wanted to stay home and read. As a compromise, I went with my book hidden in my jacket, found an empty table and spent the night reading. Was not at all worried about kids making fun of me. Why? Because no one looks cooler than a kid reading Animorphs. No. One.
• Embarrassed: Midnight Sun (Stephanie Meyer)
• I’m not embarrassed that I read the Twilight series. That I went on Stephanie Meyer’s website and read the unfinished version of the story from Edward’s point of view? A little uncomfortable. That when I was asked by someone else how long it was, I didn’t say “around 250 pages,” but instead the unfortunately specific, “you know, just like 264 pages”? Horrifying.
• Happy: The Autobiography of Santa Claus (Jeff Guinn)
• I’ve read this book every year since I first got it in 2007. The first sentence of the Foreword was more than enough to suck me in: “You’re right to believe in me.” I always think, Damn straight, and happily settle in with my hot chocolate and the promise of magic.

·         Mischievous: The Wraith Squadron (Aaron Allston)

o       The number of pranks that these characters pull on each other always makes me want to play a trick on the Roomie. Or really, whoever I happen to be reading around. But mostly the Roomie.

·         Disgusted: The Spitting Image: Myth, Memory, and the Legacy of Vietname (Jerry Lembcke)

o       I had to read this book for a history class in college. The author starts off by condemning all those who traffic in rampant generalizations and then continued to do just that throughout the rest of his book. I might have been able to accept that if he said he was writing an opinion piece, but more than once he discussed the objectivity of his study. Roomie had to listen to a lot of yelling while I was reading this one.

Now, let’s hear what you’ve got.

Patience may be a virtue, but I'd place Listening Carefully higher on the list...

Patience is a virtue. Keep it if you can. Seldom in a woman, never in a man.

I don’t know where I heard that when I was kid, but someone must have said it around me because it not only was something I liked to say, but it was something I liked to say wrong. You see, the first time I heard it, what I heard was this:

Patience is a virtue. Keep it if you can. Sell them in a woman, never in a man.

So, I knew patience was a virtue, but I was also pretty sure it was a commodity. Couldn’t entirely figure out how to profit off of this, but I was determined that I would get to the bottom of it. I also wanted to find someone who could tell me why it was a bad idea to trade with men.

At the same time, I was listening to lots of oldies. My parents were big fans, so it was the go-to radio station in the car. I learned at a young age to croon along with the classics. Whenever Lulu came on, I’d belt out my promise “to serve, with love”* and with The Delfonics, I would proclaim “your best friend Robin told me” with great emotion.** And the list went on and on.

And, you know what’s always awesome? That moment when you realize your mistake. Because, much like mispronounced words, you never just figure it out on your own. No such luck.

It always starts out innocently. You say/sing something wrong and the person you’re with asks you to repeat it. But not in a, I’m sorry I couldn’t quite hear you sort of way. It’s more of a I’ll be mocking you in a moment vibe. And you feel it in your gut. What you just said – what you’ve said a bunch of times before – isn’t right. But what part of it? You don’t want to repeat it, but at this point this person’s already going to laugh at you, so you might as well figure out what’s wrong so you can avoid it the next time around.

So, you repeat.

And they laugh.

A lot.

Until you finally threaten them with a serious shin-kicking (of course, this could just be me) and they tell you what the words really are. On the plus side, they’re now burned into your brain, so you’ll never say them wrong again. Of course, the person currently laughing at you will probably tell everyone you know, so your ability to now quote it correctly will not be nearly as useful.

My best advice is to get a whole new set of friends and start over. Or just learn to laugh about your mistake.

One of the two.

*Correct lyrics: “To sir, with love”

**Correct lyrics: “Your best friend wrote and told me”

Not-So-Guilty Pleasures

Guilty pleasures. Everyone’s got some.

Those things that you absolutely love, but are fairly embarrassed by. When someone else finds out about your overwhelming affection, you’re quick to make a self-deprecating joke about it. ‘Cause then you’re in on the laughter.

But after all the poking fun is over, you wonder, Is this going to be my identifier now?

We all know this happens. You’re being introduced to someone new and the person doing the introducing is trying to be thoughtful. So, he throws in some inane fact about you, generally one that you would not have chosen.

I have a friend who does this with the absolute best intentions. Multiple times she has introduced me in the following manner: “This is my friend, Kelly. She really loves Star Wars.”

Now, this is a fact. I do really love Star Wars. No guilty-pleasure-ness about it. Just full on SW love. But the fact this is my friend’s only go-to fact – despite knowing me for going on nine years, during which time we have never even watched the movies together – shows that it’s hard for people to let go of specific interests.

So, all your friends now know about the guilty pleasure you’ve been keeping on the down low. You’re terrified that the next time they introduce you to someone it will be with, “This is David. Big Toddlers & Tiaras fan.” And then you’ll go throw up in a potted plant and spend the rest of the evening as that awkward lump in the corner.

No more, I say!

It’s time to take pride in these ridiculous things that we love. We’re all, as a rule, kind of weird. So, get pumped when someone finds out. They may not like the thing you like, but maybe they’ll talk about how every time they check out at the grocery store, they can’t resist grabbing the latest National Enquirer. It’s a great ice breaker.

In the name of full disclosure, here are five of my no-longer-so-guilty pleasures:

• Online Personality Quizzes: Can you pass up finding out “What mythical creature are you?” or “What would your Vampire name be?” Because apparently, I can’t.
• Archie comics: Love the whole gang. And I don’t care how many times my dad tells me to just switch Betty and Veronica’s hair and they’d be the same people, I will still pick up one of these every time I seen them in the grocery store.
• European Teen Groups from the late '90s: B*Witched, A*Teens, and, of course, Spice Girls, all hold a special place in my heart. Listen to any of their songs and tell me you don’t feel like bopping along. You can’t. ‘Cause your pants would go up in flames from all the lying.
• Made-for-TV Christmas movies: Seriously obsessed. Particularly since I only allow myself to watch them from the evening of Thanksgiving until the first of January each year. The movie schedules I have made the last few Decembers have been epic and, according to some, terrifying.
• Monogrammed Black Velour Jumpsuit: This wonderful addition to my wardrobe came from my lovely sister-in-law. It is the perfect loungewear, plus...you know...snazzy looking. To be completely honest, I almost didn't share this one, but then Roomie said I was lying to myself and the world. According to her, it's the definition of a guilty pleasure. Something I wouldn't have bought for myself, but love and wear around the apartment all the time. She talked about the frequency of wear quite a bit, actually. I think she's jealous.

Roomie wanted to in on this action, so here is her list, as well:

Roomie:

• America's Next Top Model marathons: "Marathons - that's important to specify. I don't just watch the show."
• Amount of Mint Choco Chip ice cream I can eat: "Make sure it's 'Choco,' that's the Turkey Hill brand. I have standards."
• Have read Twilight series more than once: She once hung up on me so that she could finish New Moon. When reminded of this, her response was "Not even a good one."
• Collection of late '90s music videos: "No shame."
• Bad sequels to dance movies: "Step Up 2, 3, and I'm preemptively counting 4. Center Stage 2. Dirty Dancing: Havana Nights. Not really dance movies, but all the Bring It On sequels. I love them all. Also really hoping that Peter Gallagher's character in Step Up 4 is the same one he played in the Center Stage movies. Come on, Jonathan!"

Hope you all have a great weekend, full of whatever weird things you love!

Possible Career Change

I’ve mentioned before that I have a number of alleged doppelgangers. Apparently there’s something about my appearance that defies nationality, as well.

I had a teacher once who used to tell me I had the “map of Ireland” on my face. A classmate in college said that I bore a striking resemblance to a close friend from her native France. A husband and wife from Georgia (the country, not the state) came up to me on a train platform to ask me if I was Armenian. When I said no, the husband didn’t believe it. He just smiled and said, “Talk to your parents.” (They’re still holding out on me, by the way.) 

My accent has also been cause for speculation over the years. As a kid I had a strong New York accent, which made sense because so did my parents. However, somewhere along the line, I lost it. I can’t explain it. A few people say that they can still tell that I’m a New York, but many others have disputed this.

People started asking me about it in high school. A couple of my classmates asked if my parents were originally from England and that was why I spoke as I did. Nope, Brooklyn and Nassau County. After I told them this, their next explanation was, “Well, it’s because you read so much.”

I can’t even explain the logic of that.

Working in a group project in college, I was asked by my classmates what country I was from originally. It wasn’t that weird of a question, I guess, since the school I went to had a fair number of international students. But, when I said New York, they didn’t seem to entirely buy it. And it was awkward. 

When I moved into my house and got the cable installed, the gentleman asked, “Why do you sound like you’re from Australia and your dad sounds like he’s from New Jersey?” I honestly didn't know how to answer that. Not only was it wrong on both counts, but I didn't say "g'day mate" once....while he was there.

What all this clearly adds up to is that I have the makings of the world’s greatest spy. I apparently look and sound like I could come from every country across the globe. (Except in my head, of course, where I still sound like that three year old girl from Long Island.)

The only thing standing in my way is my total and utter lack of stealth. But how important is that in the long run, anyway? I mean, Maxwell Smart did pretty well without it.

And roll credits....

Did any of you ever watch Daria? I loved so much about that show and then my affection was just compounded when it got to the end credits and all the characters would be shown in bizarre outfits, doing strange things.

This is kind of how my brain works sometimes. I think of the people around me and they suddenly appear in my brain as a character. While I think this is just my natural inclination, I also kind of blame my sister for this. She's always pointing out when people look like something other than people. 

Back in the day, when I was trying to figure out where I wanted to go to college, my family visited a lot of schools. At one, we were sitting in an auditorium, listening to a panel of speakers. Everything was going fine, until my sister leaned over to me and said, "The woman on the right? She looks like a turtle. Seriously, look at the way her head moves. She's totally a turtle." 

Well, once she said this, I couldn't see anything but the turtle-like aspect of that speaker's mannerisms. I think it was mostly the head bob, but I don't think the shell like sweater coming to a peak over her shoulders really helped matters. So, I started to laugh a little. Seeing that she had made me laugh, my sister started to laugh, which made me laugh harder. That's the thing about my family. Laughing is always contagious. You don't even have to find what originally sparked the outburst to be funny. One of the others is laughing and it's pretty much a done deal. 

My mother, of course, noticed that we were laughing like hyenas and asked what was going on. I explained to her that it had begun because of the woman's turtle-ness, but had now spiraled out of control. My mother told us to knock it off. But, you see, my sister and I come by the contagious laughter honestly and in moments mom was laughing as well. The thing was she was trying harder to stop than we were, which just made it worse for her. And then she tried to get mad, to stop the laughing and said to me, "I want you to leave." Which just set me off, anew. It was a mess. My dad was just lucky he came into the presentation a couple minutes later than the rest of us and was able to sit in the back.

The point of this is, because of my sister, when I see people I think things like, Man, he kind of looks like an earthworm. Or, That guy would make a great cartoon giant. Or, She's got kind of a old-school Strawberry Shortcake thing going on. Of course, that might just be the hat/dress combo.

Since I expect this to be going on the rest of my life, I thought, out of fairness, the people who I see the most frequently should have some say as to what kind of character my brain is turning them into. So, I asked a few if they were going to be turned into story characters what would they want to be. Here are the answers I got:

The Roomie: What about a sports writer? No superpowers. I’m the Xander. (When asked why she chose sports writer, her answer was succinct and eloquent: SPORTS SPORTS SPORTS SPORTS. Can’t ask for too much more than that.)

The brother: A wise cracking, street smart detective. No superpowers. (When asked why:) It’s something I actually think I could do right now and I wanted to be true to myself. (I'm seeing a cross between Sam Spade and Mick St. John (when he's not all vampiric), with a splash of Shawn Spencer in there.)

The sister: A smart exec rising to the top (working for a company whose field is never described, of course) by day and an Indiana Jones-like woman saving the world by night. No superpowers…unless you consider your hair never getting messed up in a fight a superpower. (For one thing, not getting your hair messed up is totally a superpower. And who wouldn't want to see a lady Barney Stinson fighting archaeological crime?)

The sister-in-law: I’d like to be the wise cracking, street smart detective’s charming and beautiful wife. =) Or, I’d like to be on a sci-fi show where I’m the female in a pair of FBI agents who solve mystery cases…oh, wait, that’s already been done. And lastly, I’d like to be on some type of dramedy (a la Desperate Housewives) with completely unrealistic plot lines, and fabulous clothes and hair. (Married FBI agent living in a neighborhood of aliens, affluence and allure. Fantastic.)

Ah, yes, that should take care of my Daria-like credit role for a little while. But, if anyone else would like to share their chosen characters, I'd certainly love to hear about them. 

Pronunciation Aggravation

You know what’s pretty much always awkward? You’re having a discussion with some friends and suddenly you notice them all looking at you strangely. You inquire as to why and they laugh and mention that you just pronounced a word incorrectly. This is not the awkward part. The awkwardness sets in when you realize that this was not just a one time slip up. You really thought the word was pronounced that way.

You feel the weight of awkwardosity settle on your shoulders.

How many people have heard you pronounce it that way? Sweet heavens, how many??

Even as you’re asking yourself this, you know what the answer is – a lot.

You’re so horrified by this, that you can’t even laugh it off for your friends. So, now they know that it wasn’t a one time thing, too. Which makes them laugh harder. When you realize this, you try to save face. Play it off with the old, “I’ve heard it both ways.” But you all know you haven’t. So, you get annoyed at them. Why didn’t they ever tell you this before? Why hasn’t anyone ever told you this before?

These questions haunt you, even as the voice in the back of your head reminds you of all the times someone else has pronounced something incorrectly at work and you kept your mouth shut. 'Cause calling someone you're not close to out on their word wrongness is as awkward as being the person committing the word wrongness.

Still, your friends are suddenly in the position of having to explain that you rarely discuss missiles with them, so how could they know that you always used the British pronunciation for it (even though you’ve never been to England). And search engines just don’t come up in conversation as frequently as you’d think, so how were they supposed to hear that you say Moxilla, instead of Mozilla?

We’ve all done this. I used to pronounce epitome, ep-ee-toe-m instead of ih-pit-uh-mee. Embarrassing.

Sadly, there’s really only one way to deal with this. Accept the fact that your friends will never forget it and make fun of you for the rest of your natural life, whenever anyone mentions the word. Make sure you don’t say it wrong in front of anyone else. And wait, in horror, for this to inevitably happen again.

In the meantime, though, you can just laugh when it’s happening to someone else.

Probably Should've Read It First

People like to talk about books. It’s common ground. You may know absolutely nothing about the person sitting next to you on the plane, but you’ve read the book they’re reading. Instant conversation starter. Find out that you share the same opinions on the plot points and character development? Best-ies for life. Or, for the very least, the duration of the flight.

Even if you are not the kind of person who enjoys mid-air chats with strangers, you probably can’t prevent someone from talking to you about your reading material if it’s something they’ve read, as well. The reason for this is very simple. The book may have gone through a plethora of stages before ending up in your lap -- author to agent to editor to publisher -- all these different hands involved in making what you now hold. But this fades away once you’ve read it.

The story touched you and now it’s yours.

Which for some, depending on personality and level of connection to the book, makes it nearly impossible not to discuss it when you spot a person who may share your feelings. This leads to a great many conversations with the potential for immediate connection or soul-sucking awkwardness. Even with the SSA risks, many find it difficult to forgo the chance to chat about something that is simultaneously personal and communal.

I do offer one friendly warning: Be careful of exercising ownership over books you have not actually read.*

Last spring, I went to see a production of Les Miserables. Needless to say, the soundtrack has been playing, on and off, in my head ever since. Particularly now that there are more articles coming out about the movie version.

Do you hear the people sing? Singing the songs of angry men!

Yeah. I hear you. Now, if you could stop singing them in my cranium, I would greatly appreciate it.

I went to use the restroom at intermission. The line was characteristically daunting, but I prevailed! A fact that I am extremely grateful for, otherwise I would have missed the following conversation between the two women behind me.

Woman 1: “The play does a really good job of squeezing a lot of the book’s plot in. They definitely left stuff out, but you’d have to. It’s like making War and Peace into a play. The book is huge.”

Woman 2: “Oh, you’ve read Les Mis?”

Woman 1: (pause) “No, but I’ve seen it and.... it’s like.... a really big book.”

I’m assuming that Woman 1’s thought process was, Uh oh, this person actually read the book. I’m not going to know what to say when she starts talking about it. Better come clean. Woman 2 had not, in fact, read the book, her boyfriend had. She wasn’t going to quiz Woman 1, but merely confirm that she heard the book was quite intimidating.

When Woman 1 realized this she prolonged the awkward exchange, trying to explain that she has always wanted to read Les Mis. Really. She just hasn’t gotten around to it yet.

Finally, the line came to an end and these two strangers were able to go their separate ways, both probably equally relieved. And leaving me with a shining example of why, as tempting as it is to claim intellectual prowess through literature, it’s generally better to wait until you have the opportunity to discuss a book you actually have read.



* OK, don’t really be too careful about this. Such caution would severely limit overhearing conversations like the one found above. Which would be less fun.