Occasionally, I exit the warm cocoon of home that I love so and mosh it up with the masses. I don’t know who’s worse off the experience, but here’s a few observations I feel the compulsion to share:
Know Your Limits: Whether it’s alcohol or lattes, understand that you’re only human and as a human, your body can only handle so much of either. Don’t weekend warrior it and get all juiced up on a double whip, whole-milk mocha if you’ve deprived your system of all things caffeinated, sugared or God forbid, whipped, all week. You’re not going to handle it well. The same goes for alcohol. Slow and steady wins the race. That’s my motto. You gotta train for these things. This ain’t the Olympics; no amateurs allowed.
Use Your Inside Voice: I don’t give a rat’s ass about your life. If you’re not sitting at my table, I don’t want to hear your conversation. You’re not that important. Otherwise, you’d be sitting at my table. But yet you feel the utter need to yell and invite everyone to listen in on your merry tales of absolute bullshit. Enough. That’s all I can say about that.
Stick With What You Know: A social setting is not a good time to try new things. Like walking and chewing gum at the same time. Or being witty. Or pissing without missing the toilet. Maybe practice a little bit at home first before you debut your new talent for all of us. I see too many people trying to be funny, seductive, or even demonstrate the simplest of civilized behaviors when that kind of ability is just out of the realm of their capabilities. If you can’t do it sober, don’t think you’re going to be able to do it after a few Yeager-Bombs. It. Ain’t. Happening.
Don’t Try to Make New Friends: This might be an addendum to Stick With What You Know, but the point needs made. Just because I’m sitting at a table, with all my own friends, enjoying an evening out doesn’t mean that I want to you come sit, stand or otherwise loiter around me. I specifically picked the people I’m with for a reason: they’re not you. And while we’re on the topic, don’t assume that because there’s an empty chair at my table, it has your name on it. It was simple statistics. Not karma, fate or my subconscious begging for you. It’s a freakin’ empty chair and I’d prefer it if it stayed that way.
Don’t be the First One on the Dance Floor: Chances are we’re all just going to make fun of you and really, can you’re ego handle any more criticism? And for God’s Sake, if you’re gonna dance, do it right. There’s usually not a pole in the middle of the dance floor and even if there is, I’m sure it’s not for your flabby old ass to be shimmy around. Leave that kind of work to the professionals. We’d all thank you in the end.
Don’t Come on to Me: This should be self-explanatory given my f**k you attitude when you came to my table, tried to talk to me and knew that I was lying to you about where I lived and what my name was. It should have been further evident when you got a glance at the three karat sparkler on my left ring finger. My husband didn’t put it there cause he liked spending three month’s salary on the thing. It serves as a warning, in essences saying: I know she’s a bitch; but she’s my bitch.
Don’t Take Everything so Seriously: Honestly, we’re all not out to get you. I know that sometimes the effects of alcohol or too many Chia teas can make us all a little paranoid, but I swear to God that I’m not all the interested in stealing your date, drink or even your freaking seat. In fact, I’d just be happy to pretend you’re not even there. So go on with your bad self and take a deep breath. No one wants to throw down.
Finally, I guess I’ll throw one in for myself. Not everyone you meet at the coffee house or bar is a self-absorbed, egoistical, flabby, uncivilized ogre. Give people a chance and you might meet someone interesting. Don’t be so judgmental and critical, even though it’s like a second skin to you. Stop giving people names that mock them. You don’t know them; maybe they’re decent and kind. Maybe you’ll be a better person for getting to know them.
Ah screw it, you’re all a bunch of freaks and I’m going back in my cocoon.