Underneath it all

Man, I wish it would snow already. I'm dying to bundle myself up and go for a walk in it.

Anyway, I had a lovely weekend in Ithaca with my man Jake and Herself. There was, thankfully, snow, as well as good food, great conversation, a co-ed baby shower and an Irish Wake for the man himself. It was lovely, but I felt like I was there for all of five minutes. (You'll want to check out the pictures, if for no other reason than my new cut and color and apparently, very shiny face.) I'd get so much ass if I lived in Ithaca, yo.

So I'm not sure if y'all are aware of this, but I'm a bit shy. Not across the board, mind you, I can chat up a stranger like nobody's business. I'm timid when in the presence of a boy I like, for one, and I'm meek when in large groups where I only know one person or two.

I wasn't always shy around the boys. In high school, I'd see a bunch of long-haired boys who looked like trouble, grab Mrs. F's arm and drag her over to the mall food court to meet them. In college, I'd spy a frat pledge across the room, turn to Bad Roommate and say, "I'm in love," before making a beeline across the room to introduce myself. I blame New York for this relatively new affliction. See, no matter how old, bald, fat, boring or broke guys are around these parts, they truly believe they're entitled to date supermodels. And they have no reason to stop chasing the dream, because they know that when they do someday decide to settle down, there will be more than enough women that are actually in their leagues to choose from. It's daunting.

As for the other thing, that's always been an issue. It's actually a combination of shyness and anxiety. For example, The Irish Wake for Hurricane Jake. I knew Jake, Herself and sidekick JD Money. Money was "otherwise engaged" for the majority of the evening (wink wink nudge nudge) and Herself was too pregnant to stay very long. Everyone else knew each other and had already broken into their respective groups.

I guess that's what it comes down to. Infiltrating a group. I'm no good at it, and I didn't want to be a parasite on Jake, so I knew I had to get it done. In the end, I did, and I had tons o' fun, but the anxiety? Not so fun.

On the bus ride from Ithaca to Binghamton, I thought about how much time and energy I've put into trying to change things about myself. All through my 20s, I tried to stop procrastinating. I tried to be less impulsive. I tried to be a morning person. A disciplined person. A person who wasn't shy about infiltrating a group. I spent a lot of energy on it, and a lot of money on it in therapy and you know what? I'm still the same person. I'm still going to pull all-nighters when I have a freelance deadline. I'm still going to go gaga when I meet a seemingly great guy and want to run off to Vegas with him to be married by an Elvis impersonator. I'm still going to sleep until noon on the weekends, eat too much junk food and have a motherfucking anxiety attack whenever I have to go to a friend's party. And I'm okay with that.

Right after I decided I was okay with that, we reached Binghamton, where an aging Scottish hippie boarded the bus. He cracked open a can of Genesee as soon as he sat down next to me, and we talked for three hours straight.