I'm not that girl

I mean, I am that girl, but I'm not that girl that you hate. I'm that girl, but not so much that you smile politely while throwing up a little in your mouth.

Meeting new people is just terrible. Do those first few moments ever go well? There is another young man, who started in the PICU at the same time Justin did. They are going through an internship together, and so, see quite a bit of each other. He has a lovely little wife (who is taller than me) and a new baby boy. The unit decided to have a barbecue together and invite all the families. I nearly bounded into the car. Friend! Adult! Conversation! my brain silently cheered.

Upon arrival I met this sweet woman and put my best face forward; because who would ever want to start a relationship with someone as real as we are in the ick.

Yet, somehow the conversation kept turning me into that girl. I couldn't stop it. Probably because I am that girl. But I don't mean it like that.

You know that girl:

• The dancer/artist who thinks about space and time as if they were actual things.
• She has an MFA, and a BA, and  BFA, and hasn't had a concrete, rational thought since high school.
• She teaches Pilates, focuses on her breathing, and eats chopped salads with kale in them for lunch.
• Her daughter is gluten free.
• And dairy free.
• And soy free.
• Cause we're just that cool.

I hate that girl.

And she is me.

Every time my mouth started moving my brain wanted to interject:

• Yes, I'm a dancer, but I watch football, so it's ok. I'm not weird or anything.
• Yes, I have too many art degrees, but I don't think I'm better than you because I read Kant. (In fact, I might be a little worse.)
• Yes, I teach Pilates and eat kale, but I also play Battle for Middle Earth for 3 hour stretches, and I consume Swiss Rolls and pizza. Kind of a lot. So we're cool. Because I'm not really Kale Girl.
• Yes, my daughter is gluten free/soy free/milk free/peanut free/egg free/latex free/cashew free, but it's because she is medically allergic to all those things. It's not like I think I'm doing her any favors by not letting her eat macaroni and cheese. I want to be the junk food mom, but I also want my baby to live to see her second birthday.

But you can't talk like that because you sound conflicted and defensive. And I hate that girl too.

Maybe this is why I have no friends.

It made me feel just a little bit better when my husband started doing the same thing. We were talking about incredible desserts we had experienced (because sugar is always good for conversation), and he mentioned that we had the opportunity to devour the most awesome invention in human history while vacationing in Maui: mochi ice cream. (Oh, if only I had the time to describe the inexplicable joy of mochi ice cream to you. The pages of this blog could never sustain such delight.)

My usually cool husband, stuttered and paused. "I mean, this was our first vacation of any kind in three years. We don't do that kind of trip often... or ever really. We scrimped and saved and got a tax return. I had just graduated, and it was our anniversary. It's not like... we're... you know... people who go to Maui or anything."

Right. We're not those people.

We just are a little bit. Just this one time.

Meeting new people sucks.

I wish I could just be honest: I dance, I teach pilates, I eat health food, I have a daughter who can't have gluten, and I go to Maui. But I'm not that girl. I'm really just like you...

Who are you again? I missed it.

Best Day Yet, Which Could Have Been Better

Texas did not start out as overly kind. It put crickets in the ceiling, and no furniture in the house, and confusing one way roads with bored police officers. However, we are settling in, and things are looking up.

We found a zoo. This was a good day.

We decided to buy a membership because thus far besides parks and walking around the mall, Texas is dull. There is a park by the lake where we can go swimming... I'm sure it will be lovely in July... When half of it isn't under water.

Back to the zoo. There will be more of this...

And more of these guys...

And maybe there will be more of Jennifer. Grrr.

We were leaving the giraffes. This is not as easy a task as it sounds. (On the way home I asked Noah four times what his favorite part of the zoo was and I got four different answers from bears, to fish, to yee-haw horse [my son is becoming a Texan, see above photo]. However, when I asked Hannah four times what her favorite part of the zoo was, she responded exactly the same each time: "Gee-Raff.") As we headed down the boardwalk a young mom with a boy in a stroller passed us, she smiled politely and I said hello. We proceeded toward the elephants.

But a moment later the same young woman came jogging back to us. "Hey, I just wanted to ask, do you live in Waco?" I shook my head and told her we are in Temple. "Oh," she said disappointed. "Our church is having a Harvest Festival with candy, games, and rides, and I thought your kids might love it. You'd be so welcome to come." And, at this moment, I considered moving to Waco. We talked for about ten minutes about us moving here and struggling to find a church, and she said she would definitely pray for us, that we would find a home soon. We said we would pray for her neck and shoulder that she would get relief from the chronic pain (which means her church doesn't believe in the gift of healing, hurray!). This was the first conversation I've had with an adult other than Justin since moving here. Noah started getting antsy to see the rhinos, so I apologetically said farewell. She helped her boy say goodbye and Jesus loves you.

And my half desperate brain thought, "Yeah? Well, I hate you. (yes I am devolving in maturity) How dare you be the only person in this state you has shown a vested interest in our well-being, while living over an hour away from us. How dare you be nice and kind and saved and live in Waco? Curse you, potential friend, who lives in another city.

When I got home Justin asked if I got her number. ... Curse me and my years of awkward, anti-socialness that has made me too culturally illiterate to realize I can ask for a freakin' number.

But other than missing out on a friend, the zoo was a good day.