Caring sucks.

Despite finding conversations with the majority of people I don't know to be tiresome and repetitive and useless, I don't actually mind being forced into certain situations where these sort of conversations take place.

Well, no. Obviously I do, as the above sentence says I do but, I mean, when I know I'm going to be stuck in a room with 'unfamiliars' for an hour or more I've reached the stage where I know, if I put some effort in (the 'if' forms the crux of the matter) then I can walk away safe in the knowledge that while they may not necessarily like me they certainly won't actively hate me. Or, they won't hate me enough that they openly flaunt that fact in front of my face.

To some this may not appear a remarkable feat. To those people I say, you know not of Sazz circa 1987 to 2005. That Sazz changed dramatically in appearance many many times (both in stature and in fashion sense: from dungarees to leggings to ill-advised purple cord flares - Blossom you have a LOT to answer for - to the tweed era, which, I'm going to kid myself, was the last time I committed any really punishable sartorial crimes). But where my personality is concerned - although there had been developments; there hadn't particularly been any dramatic changes. 'Wallflower' doesn't even begin to describe it. The thought of any sort of social interaction would make my throat close up and all concept of words, least of all sentences, would be lost to me. I'd get palpitations if a friend left me to converse with a stranger and would just stare blankly at a spot on the floor hoping against hope for the moment to end as quickly as possible whilst getting more and more panicked. Part of the reason I took up smoking as a hobby is that, if your mate has pulled and you're left standing on the edge of a dancefloor like some character from a Pulp song then, rather than being forced into making *shudder* small talk with an odd looking fellow who has similarly been abandoned by his better looking mate, you can light up a smoke and stand there with a scowl and be fairly confident of being left alone (except for all the times I wasn't and felt a bizarre need to not be mean or rude to these guys that had blatantly been told where to go by every other single female in the room so was left with the desperate option of trying it on with me). With a cigarette to hold you can take on the persona of a 'lone wolf' rather than just a 'loner' (seriously kids, smoking IS cool. Or, at least, you feel cooler while you're smoking even if you just look like a sad fat kid who's trying to be cool). This was me then.

Now, within the last couple of years, for whatever reason, I've found how to not be a complete social retard (although I haven't quite escaped the lure of the cigarettes I do still only mostly do it when I want to be left the fuck alone. Melancholy, in particular, works so much better accompanied with a park bench, a wistful gaze, and a roll-up). I couldn't pin point when things shifted exactly but I am aware that it's mostly down to a combination of three factors:
1. Realising that when I do pull out all the stops - it always ends well. As in, if I try hard enough I can make people walk away from talking to me thinking 'she's alright I suppose'. This is a vast improvement on people thinking 'she's seriously fucking weird, or a mute... in fact, she's probably both'.
2. Realising that, when all is said and done, I'm not a bad person. I can even be more-than-ok on occasion.
3. Realising that I don't actually care if acquaintances don't think that highly of me. It's obviously nicer if people do like you where the old ego is concerned but if they don't... meh. The weird thing is, this particular realisation gives you complete freedom to be yourself and thus, increases your chances of being liked. I know right! The crazy world of paradoxes continues apace.

However, even armed with all this knowledge. Even knowing that I'm a different person than before and not really phased by social gatherings one jot, on Friday night as I walked into the pub with the newest addition to my small-but-perfectly-formed circle of pals I was so nervous about meeting his friends that I thought I might throw up. This was bizarre for me. I remembered that feeling as soon as it hit and I remembered that I didn't like it. I'm so glad that I only found out how many people were coming as we were on our way there in the taxi. Had I had a whole week to mull over the number of people I would be expected to impress I probably would have been contemplating throwing myself down the stairs come Friday in order to legitimately get out of it.

The good thing is, this boy knows me. He knows I'm not really a people pleaser. I think it's one of the things he kind of likes about me as he does need the love and affection of everyone he comes into contact with. It amuses rather than disgusts him that I don't. However, I felt pressured seeing as:
- he's ingratiated himself with pretty much every single person I'm close to, without even breaking into a sweat. So, were we to compare our success rates with each other's friends, he pretty much already knows he's scored a home run (or whatever sporting metaphor makes sense when in context of 'won the game').
- I already have a lot of ground to make up as I suspect that, due to some of my history with this boy and some of the youthful escapades (read: being a psychotic girlfriend) this history contains, his friends used to despise me and are probably not thrilled that we're approaching friend-level now.

So there was that to contend with but, and the kiss of death for me acting like me, I was astonished to find that I cared what these people thought of me. Not caring has formed the basis of every social interaction I've had in the last two years. It's my key strategy in the war of the casual acquaintance encounter. Without my key strategy I was lost and frightened. Worse than that I realised I cared because I like him so much. He makes me laugh ("I'm going to call you 'Sazzalicious' because look what the addition of 'licious' has done for Fergie") and even though we haven't spoken much in the last four years or so every time we have met up we've connected again almost instantaneously (give-or-take the presence of 'eep! history and that' feelings). He's a good thing in a world of not-good things so I want him to stick around and be my friend for a while yet. That means having his friends like me too. In the end I gave it my best shot. After five minutes of sat there scoping out all the best escape routes (which the bastard cottoned onto almost immediately. I pointed out that him pointing out you could see the look of terror painted on my face did not help me feel more comfortable. This just amused him further) I sort of tried to join in. I didn't have much choice as he kept trying to draw me in to the table's conversations. I'm pretty sure they thought I was mildly retarded as, for one thing, I was much too enthusiastic with my facial expressions when someone was telling a story and laughed too hard at things that really weren't that funny. But I think I did alright. Not great but alright. Trouble is, my 'alright' is other people's 'one notch below wanting to punch someone in their face'. I haven't had feedback from him on my performance (and I'd be loathe to ever actually ask... make myself vulnerable to criticism or rejection! Ha! Maybe in bizarre-o world!) but at least he texted me to say he liked his birthday mixtape so he's not not-talking to me. This is as positive as I think I can be about the whole thing.