Tocking to peepul

In a little over an hour, I will be going to my first ever social event for military spouses. I feel like a third grader going to her first birthday party, which is to say my hands are sweating, my stomach hurts, and I think I might puke in the car on the way over. I am not, how do you say, good with the meeting strangers and the making friends thing. I used to think I was good at this, back in college, but it turns out I just went to the largest school in the country and the sheer number of people I was squished in with outrageously inflated my success ratio. Plus there was booze.

There will be booze tonight as well, but I must be very careful because as my husband just reminded me, I am my mother's daughter. Most of the time, this is a good thing-- I got the towering height and the nice eyebrows from her-- but when it comes to the social situations and the meeting people and the making friends, not so much: under pressure, my mother blurts things out.

Once at a particularly stressful Thanksgiving dinner she hosted Saudi Arabia, with wholesome young American soldiers and random neighbors present, she was forced to say grace, and, being a lapsed Catholic, she felt less than confident improvising a blessing. She started, "Dear God--" and then faltered. Long seconds passed before finally in frustration she blurted out, "God damn it!" It's one of our favorite family stories now, but at the time the guests sat in shocked silence until my brother cracked up. The evening ended with everyone sharing their own embarassing moments, but one can hardly rely on such nice saves.

So I'm aggressively grooming and preening (and sweating) now and going over possible topics of conversation in my head. Everything I come up with makes me sound like a total psycho:

* I just watched "Grizzly Man," a movie about a bipolar former drug addict who harrasses Alaskan grizzlies for thirteen years until one finally devours him.

* I am working on a drawing of clanky old robots doing housework. I just finished one of a chorus line of vegetables. I do this for fun.

* I love ganster rap. I plan to embroider a Tupac tribute apron for my brother so he can grill and keep his gat handy.

* I teach at a community college, but not for any high-minded faith in public education-- I just like the stories my students tell me.

* I hate the president with the white-hot passion of a thousand suns.

So, um... hi!

Oh God.