I Am NOT Jar Jar

This one’s not about adventure.

Not fun adventure anyway.

Rest week, remember?

Except not. Because despite my unfriend warnings, people still said North Mountain to me. And also Chaos. Though Chaos doesn’t require unfriending. I always welcome Chaos.

But that’s not what this is.

Because I have spent the last two days resting.

Which has given me plenty of time for other activities.

And sometimes my curiosity…

Fucking curiosity.

So, I’m pretty good on my own. Right?

Y’all know. My recent dating life has been…a struggle.

My recent recent dating life has been non-existent.

And I’m generally good with that.

It’s nice to avoid drama.

And I’m pretty sure I’m a way better human outside of a relationship.

But damn Facebook keeps putting its damn dating option all up in my face.

Like, here. You need this.

And maybe I do.

I’ve been told I’m picky.

I don’t know if that’s true.

I just don’t want to spend my time with people that don’t make me laugh.

Laughter is really all I’m looking for.

But, like, intelligent laughter.

I just want intelligent witty laughter.

And. I mean. Like maybe one other thing. But this is not the place…

(My mother reads this. Don’t be inappropriate.)

Anyway.

So I’ve got this damn Facebook dating app thing throwing people at me now.

I gotta tell ya. Things don’t look great out there…

I should never be the one carrying the conversation. If I’m the one carrying the conversation, then that means that I’m gonna have to keep doing that shit forever. And my brain is not made that way.

No one should ever rely on me to carry the conversation.

I’m more of a supporting conversation kind of actor.

But I’m over here carrying all of these damn conversations.

And they’re not even good conversations.

And then this pops in my Facebook memories this morning:

And now I feel like Zuckerberg is just baiting me.

But also. Ok. So, yesterday my family had Christmas dinner. At 2 pm. Like always.

And after some arguing about why we were eating so early. Because maybe Smart Son was late getting there. And maybe someone refused to wait for him. Or anyone else. And maybe someone was already fixing her plate before anyone else even got to the table…

Maybe my parents explained that it was because I get hungry. Like, they set the time for family dinners at 2pm, because years and years ago, maybe I got a little pissy having to wait until 5pm for food.

“Nah. I wasn’t about to ask y’all to wait for me. I know mom. I knew asking her to wait for food was pointless.”

And sure. Haha. I generally stay pretty content if you just put food in my face. Such a funny little quirk.

But also? I get awful without food.

And not usually like throw a fit yelling and cursing everyone awful.

But just shut the hell down and refuse to engage with anyone awful.

Like, you know in scary movies the uncomfortable quiet that happens just before the skeleton hand comes out of the wall and pulls the dumbass who was stupid enough to go wandering the halls alone at night into the netherworld?

Why are you living in a fucking haunted house, dumbass???

That kind of uncomfortable.

And I’d like to say that I’ve gotten better over the years. Growing as a person.

But really, I’ve just learned to train the people around me to always have food on hand.

At cycle class last Sunday, Everyone’s Favorite Husband asked Beautiful Beastie, “where is that bag of potato chips you bought for Sunshine?”

“Shhh, EFH. I’m saving those for an emergency meltdown.”

And then she threw a tiny bag of Pringle’s on my bike and pointed out the aid station in the corner.

But it’s not just the hunger pouting.

Before dinner, we were playing Star Wars Risk.

(Because at breakfast, I’d said the words “Star Wars.” And that launched a 30 minute debate over which episodes were the best episodes. And how in hell are you gonna say the prequels were the best? And did you just say that Empire was long-winded and all over the place?? And wait. Which one of you just called me Jar Jar Binks???)

So, we’re playing this game. And Borrowed Child asks if I know how to play Spades.

Psht. Boy, you know I know how to play Spades.

And then asks if I can teach him.

Which leads into a whole conversation about other card games. And how “we don’t play those games with mom anymore. No one does.”

Except for Handsome Son. Because he may be as obnoxiously competitive as me. And thinks he beat me one time. But he didn’t. He won one hand. I won the entire game.

But so I recognize that that level of competitive. Where your friends and family get this look of terror in their eyes and then suddenly find other things to do whenever some newbie suggests a card game in your presence. Is probably not an attractive quality.

And then there’s the next level pouting I go into whenever I’m not specifically included in things.

Because one of the people that said the words North Mountain the other day was GJB.

Except he said it in a group chat.

And ok. There are only four of us in that particular chat.

But in my defense. He and OT planned this whole McAfee Christmas hike without me. And Rogue hasn’t gone out on a mountain with me in a minute.

And so yeah. I may be a teeny tiny bit in my feelings over not adventuring with them recently.

So, when I said that I didn’t know who he was throwing that invitation out to, he said something to the effect of, “Every fucking person but you, Sunshine.”

Ok, but. So, can I go…?

So, yeah. I’ve got some issues.

And so maybe I’m one of the compromised stalls in the toilet analogy?

And I guess there are a few ways to manage that.

I could clean…

But y’all know I get kind of whiny when I have to shower on days when I’m not required to wear pants. And I’m on break right now. And honestly, I think I may be as high functioning as I’m gonna get at this point.

You think I’m a mess now? Psht. You should’ve seen me 20 years ago.

Or I could just go ahead and look for the least compromised stall…

Except then I run the risk of someone asking me to clean others people’s crap out of their stall. And I have a pretty strong stomach. But an exceptionally low tolerance for other people’s shit.

Or I could just continue being ok peeing alone. In my own compromised stall. Or out in the woods. Or really wherever.

Because I have to pee a LOT.

Because I’m 45.

And also really hydrated.

I don’t know.

What I do know is that it’s pre-January. And I should probably just turn that Facebook dating thingy off for the time being.

And just rely on the excellent collection of humans I’ve acquired as friends to entertain me.

But on a rotating basis. So no single one of them has to deal with me for too long.

Because January is absolutely not the time to be presenting myself to someone new.

Because the netherworld is a real thing.

And also. So we’re clear. I am NOT Jar Jar Binks.

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