Saturday, May 14, 2016

Can't. Stop. Talking.

Okay. Several confessions: 

(1) I am at one of my BFFs from law school's wedding in Rhode Island with my family 4,500 miles away in Alaska, and it's a fucking BLAST. Natch, I miss Geoff and the kids, but do I wish they were here? 

Um, no. Zero percent do I wish that. 

(2) I am staying in literally THE nicest hotel I have ever set foot in in my entire LIFE, thanks to my amazing friends' generous hospitality, and have taken no fewer than five baths in this tub over the course of two days. FYI: those orchids are not plastic. I repeat: NOT PLASTIC ORCHIDS. I told the dude who escorted me up to my room that this was not usually how I rolled, and he looked at me kindly and said, "It's a lot to take in." No shit, dude!! (I'm still hung up on the fact that there's a glass jar in this room full to capacity with free malt balls that are not even Whoppers, and I keep hearing my dead grandma hiss-whisper (hissper?) "put it in your purse!")

But I digress. 

The point of this post is to confess that I have a bit of a problem, which it might not surprise you to learn. And that is, I can't stop talking. 

Cannot. Stop. Talking. 

It only takes me a couple of drinks to really start bending a complete stranger's ear, espesh at a wedding. I can kind of see their eyes darting around the room looking for an out, but I'm like "fuck it, nothing can possibly be more interesting or important than what I have to say right now, obviously."

So I kind of hold them captive, going on and on about life in Alaska (always a great ice breaker, no pun intended), my deepest philosophy on life, what my hopes and dreams are for my children, how long it takes to fly here from Juneau, etc. And keep in mind: I have literally met these people exactly five minutes ago.

Part of me knows that I might be pushing it. That these are strangers at a wedding who just maybe might want to do something else besides hear me (again, a complete stranger) blab on and on about God knows what with a G&T in my hand. 

And a small nagging voice of anxiety tells me to stop talking, that I am being weird and boring. But the more I talk, the worse it gets. Still, that little voice of reason is not loud enough to actually be effective. It's completely drowned out by the part of me that insists on showing people pictures of my kids and telling them that haha, it was so funny when my son mistook a pigeon for a ptarmigan, and haha, I love your dress and your boyfriend looks like a young Paul Simon with a ponytail and is "supes DTE," which means "super down to earth." 

I mean, seriously. Who does this?! As usual, I'm afraid you have your answer.

The only mercy I show my victims is that my bladder has a capacity of 2 ounces ever since I had kids, and I often have to pee before I can complete my 100th sentence.

By the time I get back to where I left my audience, I usually can't find them again. 

I wonder why?

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