The Dance, chapter 2: The other single ladies, OR Erin tries to make a friend

I am so glad my people are enjoying my tale o' the dance! I guess my friends really are with me through the unbelievably good times (i.e. when I receive KitchenAids on my doorstep) and the strange times (see the rest of this blog). I fell asleep with my kids last night, and I'm now awake and pretty chipper at 4a.m., ready to blog. This look is called Me, cold. What would I do without fleece blankets?

Brainflash! I am going to create a list of things I could not do without. I've already mentioned two things this week! New post coming up. I'm sure it'll be updated about three times. (Note to self, post a poem for the New Year.) But enough of my list brainstorming (What would I do without ... nutmeg, dryer sheets, make-up remover wipes, embroidery machines); we now return to Night of the Living Dance. When we last saw our heroine, she was circling a cluster of metal folding chairs to the tune of "Pop! Goes the Weasel."

Being at the dance

Corinna had some good advice for me, pre-dance. She said that perhaps my focus should be on meeting other women. This could be an opportunity to find some single LDS female friends, she suggested. Brilliant! Talk about taking off the pressure. And she had a point. As I said last time, dating has always been a group activity, and one of things that intimidates me this time around is the sense of not knowing anyone.

The sense of not knowing anyone? Ha! I meant the reality of not knowing anyone. If I could take any one or three of you guys, I'd be fine. I wouldn't have to wrap up my courage in a fleece blanket, though I would probably lose the character-building aspects of the whole experience. "Erin, Erin, you seem to be able to talk to anyone. What are you complaining about?"you point out. Sure, I can talk to anyone. I enjoy talking to people. I am not afraid of public speaking, but although I'm extroverted, I also have a pretty big introverted streak, and like most people, I prefer not to coldcall a room. I am afraid of public cavorting!

After the first round of musical chairs (and what happened, you ask? I acquiesced to my competitor. I forfeited the round. I wasn't joking about my competitiveness. I wanted to get that last chair, but I only had just arrived at the first night of the rest of my life week, so when it was down to the two of us, me and "Karyn", and the piano man started up the music, I walked around the chair once, then smilingly pointed at it and said, You can have it, then stepped back. The music hadn't stopped, but she took the seat. Everyone clapped. I'd rather lose that way, a way that doesn't involve the sound of falling metal chairs.), I went to the sign-in table. The door greeter had already straight-pinned the name of a movie star to the back of my blouse, but I still had to fill out the Hello my name is ... thing. Another woman was writing her name (let's call her "Myrna"), and Resolved Erin said that I better get friendly, and quick. I introduced myself to Myrna and then followed her into the cultural hall. I sat down at her table, and asked a few questions.

Let me just interrupt myself here and note that somebody worked really hard on this dance. Somebodies, obviously. There were lots of helium balloons, pretty table decorations, mints and candies everywhere, a chili bar with plentiful fixins, a chocolate fountain station, games in the foyer, printed programs listing the games in the foyer ("Movie charades at 10:30. If you can't think of a movie, I will give you an idea!" it read), a Hawaiian-shirted piano man in the foyer, a DJ wearing a pulled-down cap on the stage (which says to me that he was getting paid and not simply a volunteer from the stake), and strips of imitation crab, which IS actually made of fish and therefore not cheap free. I've been on the setting up end of these kinds of things, and I know how much work a dance is. Please do not interpret my general snarkiness to be a lack of appreciation. I recognize the efforts at this thing. I was touched by the array of noisemakers and party hats, for example. Thanks, party ladies! I am grateful for the hours you put into trying to spruce up your dingy and poorly lit cultural hall.

Myrna works as a processor for the local library: "Somebody has to put the barcode stickers on books, and it's me," she told me brightly. We spent 20 minutes talking about downloadable e-books and library card fraud. Didn't realize it was such a problem. She pulled out a pamphlet with every branch library listed, and walked me through the process of obtaining a Houston library card. And folks, I was the one driving the conversation. I was the one who kept asking about pin numbers and circulation policies and hours of operation. If not Myrna, then I would have to seek out another stranger with whom to visit. Did I really want to know the details of label adhesives? Probably not, but I was excited to learn that the library system offers free mp3 downloads.

I picked Myrna mostly because she arrived at the dance at the same time I did and partly because she was also in her 30s. There was a dearth of thirtysomethings at this dance. Not a huge deal, but I didn't spot many in my same life stage. Myrna was pretty. Lovely makeup, soft wavy hair, straight teeth, leather shoes. She was sincere too. Very, very sincere. A bit naive too, assuming that she could leave her purse out and open on the table since "this is a church dance, so it's safe." A bit childlike too. Three minutes into our conversation, and I realized that I was sitting next to Miss Brill's heir. The night took a turn toward heartbreaking.

You didn't think I mean that it was heartbreaking for me, now did you? Oh no! A dance like this couldn't break my heart. People, I've been through a divorce! But you know what could break my heart? Meeting someone vulnerable. Does it every time.

Let me interrupt again. I don't know if this trait is helpful or not, but it simply is, and it's likely NOT going to change. One of the ways I "cope" in life, whether at the DMV or the dentist's office or on a plane with a jovial drunk man, is to think about people (people who might be annoying or frustrating or mean) as characters. When things get weird or uncomfortable or even sad, my heart tries to make it okay by taking note of all the details, the colors, the sounds, the dialogue as though I were writing about it. I usually think of this default fictionalizing strategy as a helpful way to deal with people, but I can see also that it creates distance. Maybe keeping my distance helps me deal with it. I was at the dance less than thirty minutes, and I had already died inside started thinking of the other attendees as people in a movie directed by John Hughes' older, less successful brother. That doesn't bode well for meeting Prince Charming, but it does help redeem the night from Scrap Pile of Humanity to Funny Story I Can Tell My Friends.

So Myrna told me a lot, and it was hard to follow because she was a soft talker (Remember that "Seinfeld" episode? I did!). I had to lean in, listen intently, read her lips and fill in the blanks. The DJ was blasting tunes - couldn't she speak up a little? I asked her to speak up a little, but she kept it at a whisper. Myrna is 32, transitioning from a young single adult ward to a family ward, struggling to find a family ward where she feels comfortable ("I see people who were single with me and are now married, and that's hard"), and 'shopping' for a ward to call home. I don't know for sure how they do it in Houston, but as she was describing ward shopping, I wanted to point out that we were both Mormons. Mormons don't "choose" their wards. It's all about zoning, for better or worse. Not sure if Myrna didn't know that or was oblivious. Maybe she told me and I couldn't hear her.

Next installment, coming later today? Define "movie star"