I Wanna Be One Of The Cool Nerds

So the other day I was reminded of my terrible "Foot In Mouth Syndrome" and why I rarely speak to anyone who hasn't known me for at least a year. I don't know why I can put something down on paper (or computer) and sound like an intelligent modern woman but when I speak to people in real life I get tongue tied and awkward and sound a lot like Urkel at a modeling convention. I think there's a loose wire somewhere between my brain and my mouth because stuff is definitely getting lost in translation.

I'm truly convinced that I was being raised by a pack of wild hyenas during the age where I was supposed to be learning social graces and by the time my real mother found me, it was too late: I was interactionally (You wouldn't believe how much spell check wants me to fix that word.) helpless. I've managed, over the years, to emulate other socially acceptable practices enough to be moderately human in small gatherings. That (and 34 years) will pretty much smooth the rough edges out of anyone's awkwardness, right? Um, wrong. (You know I'm leading up to an example, right?)

It all started with an acquaintance that I'd heard had lost her husband within the past year. And she has kids. Now this pings both my Sympathetic Mom Radar as well as my Compulsive Helper Gene. Instantly I want to hug this woman and offer her help in some way: pizza money, a baby sitter, a kidney. But this is a woman I've known for an equivalent of eight hours over a period of 2 months. Cumulatively, I've known her less than a single day. It's probably not socially acceptable to offer internal organs and such at such a tender age in a relationship with someone. So I keep my sympathy internal and manage not to accost this woman with any well meaning, but probably creepy, intentions.

This restraint is really unlike me, however, and destined not to last that long. Unfortunately, my brain has never outgrown my nerdling tendencies because, well, I am nerd, hear me roar. This means any new public interactions with actual people throw me right back to high school. So despite my being a well read, well spoken woman who wanted to say, "I'm terribly sorry for your loss and can't imagine the strength of character and fortitude you must possess. If you ever need an extra hand, or a shoulder, or an ear, please let me know if I can help." turns into, "If you ever get stuck in a pinch and need a place for the kids to get off the bus...." (Our children are in the same school system.) Great. I sound like a creepy pedophile stalker with delusions of helpfulness. There's a restraining order in the making right there! And to compound matters, I can't help but replay this awful conversational nightmare over and over in my head. She's probably written the entire encounter off as just a chat with a nut job and here I am obsessing over it.

When I relayed this entire debacle to my husband (who I swear was trying his hardest not to laugh at me) he said only, "You're not a creeper babe, you're just trying to be a nice person." (See, this is why I keep him around. He actually thinks I'm normal.) Although I'm pretty sure that I did see him smirk from the corner of my eye, he gets points not only for managing this conversation with a straight face, but for making me feel like maybe I was just blowing it out of proportion. Or he did until 7 cop cars pulled up in front of the house. Kidding, kidding! No police were involved in the making of this blog.

So while I appreciate and embrace my dorkiness, I don't understand why I couldn't have grown up to be one of the cool nerds. And by cool nerds, I mean the ones that are currently worth a couple billion dollars. I'd probably still be one hot social mess but at least I could make amends with diamond watches or something.