The conservative party

When did I become such a square?

I have never been much of a social lion. My version of teen rebellion did include a fair amount of bottle tokes and wine coolers, late nights at clubs or bars with people I didn't really know, like or trust, a touch of death metal(long live Entombed's Wolverine Blues) and an atrocious fashion sense. But it was relatively short-lived, and I found my way back to my good girl ways, eschewing the party for renting movies with my boyfriend and walking his dog.

Had I been content enough with turning into his parents at the tender age of 22, I am sure I would be as happy as a pig in poop to eat hot dogs and powdery mashed potatoes off Tupperware plates and do jigsaw puzzles infront of Wheel of Fortune. But I had a nagging suspicion back then that there was more in store for me than premature middle age. There were faraway places to travel to, lovers to love and hate, adventure, sex, friendships, experiences exciting and new beckoning...

Somewhere along the way though, I took a wrong turn, and got locked into the service industry. It tamed me(or exhausted me, I'm not sure which) of any notion of exploration beyond the walls of citylife survival, and once again, the party went on around me, without me. What was left was drinking at bars and going to shows, and having a few lacklustre affairs and dreaming of something bigger and better. Because I thought that was what I was supposed to want. People I greatly admired had astonishing capabilities in drinking and regaling others with their hilarity and the anecdotes and battle scars that ensured they were the very nucleus of the party. Was the world seperated into two kinds of people; the guests of honour, and the people who set up the snack table? Was I a snack table person?

I have always derided myself for not being very much fun. Oh, I'm a decent sort, and I have a good head on my shoulders, and I'm quite good at being your friend. But I don't dance on tables, or even dancefloors anymore, and I rarely feel like going out. My great pleasures involve reading and watching movies, cooking and writing and daydreaming. All rather solitary endeavors. I'm fine, truly fine, on my own. And I've always thought there was something kind of terribly wrong with that.

But a couple of weeks ago, I had a eureka moment. I realized that, nearing thirty and being functional and independant, I am, in fact, a lot further along in life than people far more accomplished and outgoing than me. And I discovered a distinction I'd never made for myself before. That I'd much rather think of myself as interesting than fun. I'd much rather put an end to this lifelong battle between my true nature of squareness, and the need to be entertaining. I may never be wild and spontaneous, and certainly not necessary to keep the party going. Indeed, there are times when I think my social life is in the constant dip of low blood-sugar. But I kind of think that's okay. Because the world can't run on extroversion alone. If everyone talks, who will listen? If everyone is well-travelled, well-dressed, well-read, what's left to aspire to, and who's left to impress?

Besides, someone has to help keep Wheel of Fortune on television.