People are Okay,Theoretically.

It’s not that I “hate” people.  I post “ironically” badly drawn comics on the internet and have a #relationshipgoals level affair with Netflix and red wine. I’m supposed to hate people, and instead form my bonds with sweatpants and pizza.

Though I do have romantic feelings for melty cheese, people and I are ok. I just find them very… what’s the nice way to put this? Draining? Exhausting. Y’all are a piece of work. A 20 minute stretch of casual small talk makes me feel like I’ve been trying to sneak through an alligator infested bayou camouflaged with nothing but a granny-style croc skin handbag upside down on my head. And just when I think I’ve managed to avoid the gators some redneck airboats up and mistakes my purse-hat for an alligator and yells “CHOOT ERRR!!!”.

baghead

I LOVE theoretical people. Internet people, like you. Statistical people, sociological masses with predictable, quantifiable behavior. The infamous “The People” whose general well being I’m concerned for in my political fervor for equality, justice, and stability. In person people, with their incessant demand for the correct amount of eye contact and relevant facial impression, wilt me like indelicately handled baby spinach. And it’s way too easy for them to touch you. Like, there’s nothing even stopping them.

Last week was St Patrick’s Day. This is not a day that would normally interest me. I’m the only Caucasian in America with zero claim to Irish-ness, and I’m a stickler for cultural authenticity. But since I hate to be touched (and plus also love whiskey and how pretty my eyes are when I wear green) I spend days trying to figure out the perfect green outfit. The one that toes balance of being enough green to avoid a repeat of the Turrible Tickling Incident of ’04, but no so green that my not-Irish self look like I’m just out for an excuse to day-drink Jameson.

pattyes

I mean, I am. I just don’t need to look like it.

I work at a job where I have to be constantly available to customers the most potentially awkward social situations imaginable for 40 hours a week. Sometimes I’m not going to have the energy to put together a post. I’m trying not to feel like a failure for that. Ironically, as I drafted some things for this post BETWEEN stressful social encounters today; a devilish coworker snuck right into my karate zone and “Boo!”ed me. I attacked her energy drink, and I think I absorbed some by osmosis because my heart rate is STILL up. But I managed to recover enough to post this so clearly that’s a victory. (Hey, Whitney!)

 

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