I alone

[originally posted on myspace on July 27, 2009]

- my apologies for the stripy-ness of this...I don't know how to correct it -

I will call her “Julie,” named after Love Boat Cruise Director Julie McCoy. You’ll see why in a second (depending on your rate of reading).

As a background, I met Julie one time before seeing her again the other night. That first time I met her, eh, I just found her to be very forcibly nice. Like if she was a character in a Lifetime movie, she’d start out super nice and just a bit off-puttingly too friendly and by the end of the movie, she’d steal your husband, poison your dog, kidnap your kids, somehow get you fired from your job, torch your car, etc.

But, really, I don’t know her well enough to cast her into a movie. She seems nice.

So, the other night, she comes over to me and re-introduces herself (thankfully, as her hair was different, so I probably would not have recognized her otherwise). She reintroduces herself, still the same forced friendly, “You’re Jen, right? Hi, I’m Julie, we’ve met a few times, I think.” (unless she has been showing up at my apartment during my Daisy of Love viewings, then, no, we’ve met once).

I am standing away from the stage because, 1) the older I get, the further away I want to stand from the speakers and 2) the show was in a record store and man, did I want to rummage through the room full of vinyl. She, again, being nice, invited me to join “the rest of us,” the group of assorted band member significant others and supporters who were directly in front of the stage. I said no, thanks and she flitted away. It reminded me of a time in 8^th grade…I had made one of the ‘popular’ girls laugh and she suddenly realized I was cool and invited me to move over to the ‘cool’ section of our mutual math class (yes, our math class had a ‘cool’ section, the two rows closest to the door which was filled with all the popular kids of the class and apparently, was a by invitation only sort of seating arrangement). Anyway, it was a nice thought, but, really, I was happy roaming the store on my own. I didn’t really feel the urge to sit with others I didn’t know/didn’t really want to know and drum up conversations. There was vinyl to pillage! So much for my networking skills, eh?

Here’s where she earns the name Julie. She was working the event, like a social event coordinator, like it was her job. She was making sure the video camera was set up, she was mingling with the people. And then, she repeatedly came over to me through out the night to check on me (like a waitress, I almost asked for a refill of my nonexistent drink, but I don’t think she would have taken it as a joke). Not in a ‘do you like the music?’ or ‘what do think of the store?’ kind of way, but in a ‘are you having fun?’ and ‘are you ok?’ kind of way. Because, obviously, a person cannot possibly be happy standing by herself in a record store, watching bands play (had there been alcohol, it would have been my dream setting).

I assume she’s just working the room, repeatedly assure her I am fine, even go talk to some people to get her to back off. At the end of the night, when I normally would have slipped out quietly, as I had someplace else to be, I made it a point to go and say a kind farewell to her. I get a big old hug (expected) and again, she asks me if I had a good time, to which I, again, assure her yes (and besides, if I didn’t have a good time, that’d be on me, not the activity director). Then she says something along the lines of: “I just worry about you because EVERY TIME I see you, you’re alone.” (or it might have been “you’re by yourself”)

I can’t pinpoint why her sentence surprised me (and has burrowed a little hole in my brain and made me post a blog about it). Worry? Because we are not friends and you don’t know me enough to make an assumption about worrisome behavior (granted, if you met someone twice and both times, they were extremely trashed, you might want to worry over the state of their liver, sure).

Every time? The total of 2 (including that evening) times she has seen me equals “every time.” Yes, mathematically, that is correct. 2 out of 2 is 100%. But 2 out of 2 may also be too soon to judge, Sunshine.

Yes, the TWO times I have seen her, I have been at a show alone. Is that a horrible thing? Is that something that needs to bring on the old Jewish mother with an aged, unmarried, wallflower daughter high level of concern? It went from being friendly to feeling more like she was the camp counselor adopting woeful, anti-social me as her special project (complete with 1980s movie make over montage and my emerging out of my cocoon to rise to social butterfly stature with crimped blonde hair in time for the big end of summer dance).

Sure, there were 2 (or 3) people that, had they come along (had they been available or had I asked), it would have been a fun night. But, shocker, I had a good time by myself. And I’m sure it’s harder to believe because I know I tend to have a frown (or I’d rather think of it, I don’t have a plastic fake perma-smile stuck on my face), but when you go to shows alone, you adopt that look, that don’t bother me, please, drunk man, don’t hit on me, look (a look that drunks are oblivious to, apparently).

Or, I could see some concern if, every time, I showed up alone and went home with some random guy, or started throwing barstools at strangers for looking at me funny or defaced property. Nope. I show up, usually late, enjoy and leave, usually quietly.