… and exhale.
It’s been a while since I updated this digital diary of sorts. Since my last post Sweet Soul Burlesque did a quickie Kootenay tour, the girls went to Las Vegas, one had a baby, and I went to Los Angeles when American Mary got her USA/Canadian theatrical release. The strange dichotomy between the events in the space of fourteen days is one of extremes and has thus come to be par for the course in my life. It’s been feeling like I’m standing on the apex of the cliff and I’m getting ready to do that first jump into the air and into the ocean. The thrill, the exhilaration… Next to performing it’s a huge rush to see all these projects and all this hard work pay off for myself and my friends. But there are strange bedfellows, contradictions that come with this territory. Not that I’m complaining, but I’m noticing a consistent theme in both worlds that is an increasing problem for me:
The social awkwardness.
It’s been a growing concern for myself and I see this as a larger problem as we are increasingly having more and more social intercourse online versus in person. In my own case, contrary to popular belief, I get shy around new people when meeting them in person for the first time. My tendency to be loud, make off-colour jokes, and laugh at inappropriate instances makes me want to be circumspect when meeting new people. Mostly in order to not put them off right away, or at the very least lull them into a false sense of security until such a point when I can shed social niceties and be myself. So while I may know you through Twitter or Facebook I tend to get a little insecure in the face-to-face, which means although it might *look* like I’m a standoffish bitch, what I’m doing is trying to get enough whiskey/white wine into me to relax and get past those boundaries and give into better social decorum.
My problem stems from being miscatergorized. Many people assume from my social media that I’m a social butterfly. I’m afraid to say that I’m nothing of the sort. More like a convivial moth: I do best when I’m out at night, I tend to wear fuzzy garb and am much less flashy than my gregarious lepidopteran ladies. So oftentimes to ease myself into a strange crowd I find myself with my wingman, whiskey or a nice Chardonnay, in order to amp my mind up. I have a feeling though, if I were to get out of my own head for five minutes, I might look around and catch everyone doing the same thing I’m doing. Mostly, people in the same generation as me.
I come from the old school. The NES and Sega systems hadn’t yet become standard in every home, just that friend who’s parents were either making up for being working 80′s parents with electronic compensation, or parents who didn’t really give a shit and were making up with electronic compensation. Either way. The main time we were social as kids was either seeing a film in theatres or else going to the arcade. We used to dress up all the time to go see films. I’m shocked people regard this is as a new and novel thing, but its what we always did as kids. It was going out in groups – and yet also an excuse to sit in a dark theatre and not have to make conversation until afterwards. This way of being social, yet not social can also be pinpointed on a medium that’s now almost totally dead: video arcades.
Arcades were the best way to go out with people when I was a kid. Much like the movies (hey, let’s go out but not talk to each the bulk of the night) it was the idea you were getting out of the house together and spending time with your friends. What you were actually doing was all standing around watching intently if so-and-so could bump off the current high score, making collective groans and cheers and the player manoeuvred their 8-bit avatar. Now the most recent evolution in this is going out for dinner with a group of people while the entire party is on their smart phones.
So I’m not saying that if there is an open bar, to get obliterated… what I’m saying is that if you see me, and I look like I might be making ‘bitch face’ it’s actually because I’ve not caught up to the rest of the room yet. If that’s the case, grab a shot of whiskey, let’s drink, ask me how much I hate the movie Suckerpunch, and I promise, the conversation will never look back. That is, unless there’s a pinball machine…. in which case just cheer me when I top the high score.
Hugs and hisses,
Little Miss Risk