The socially repelling and wearisome adventures of Captain Bland

The socially repelling and wearisome adventures of Captain Bland

So, here’s another quality to pile onto my tall list of ‘awesome.’  I know I have briefly touched on having social anxiety, and how excruciatingly vile interviews or any social situation that I am intimidated by are for me. But, please allow me to illustrate the extreme-ness of my affliction. The only way that I can describe this phenomenon is that a transformation takes place. A transformation like no other. There is no phone booth. There is only me, my fear, and a big, stank phobia crap fest. BUT, my super heroic power transforms in the opposite direction. I don’t start off mortal, and then gain my sudden immortality. The source of my power happens in reverse. I begin this journey, in my deranged noggin, by being a super cool, chill, edgy, witty and sarcastic fun bomb. I am cocky, I pontificate conundrums, and am quick on the fly with my hilarious retorts. I am INTERESTING. I like to push the envelope, live on the fly, and things just roll off my back. I actually do have several moments out of the day where I am on point. Moments of bliss where all of my neurons are firing properly. The change is a comin.’ The force does not care what mood I was in the day before, or even 5 minutes before. Within a fraction of a sloppy second, everything changes. My world just goes grey. There might be a black out; I cannot be sure. I undergo a rapid (and rabid) internal transformation.Photo courtesy of: My poor, sad, innocent and fragile daughter who now has lost all respect for her undignified mother.

Captain Bland.  I don’t know how to Photoshop out kitchen islands.   Photo courtesy of: My poor, sad, innocent and fragile daughter who now has lost all respect for her undignified mother.

Let’s say the owner of a company walks into the room. 5 minutes ago, I was Witty Wilma. Immediately, my arm hairs stand straight on end, my inner circuitry begins to malfunction, and I can tell that my fun genes are being hijacked. Shit is getting real. I go from Freaky Fun Bomber to straight broke down and somber.  I have nothing left.  My old interesting self is grieving in the corner. (And rolling her eyes while eating a sushi roll) My confidence was just sucked out with a wet vac, and now I’m expected to perform. I am now a dull, monotonous, stale, listless slug. Without a brain cell. I got nothin.’ Then, to top it off, dizziness ensues. My head is spinning, and I have zero control about whatever is getting ready to take a screaming leap out of my mouth. The transformation is complete: I am Captain Bland. Hail to the muted tedium. (Lifeless fist pump)

“I’m a creep, I’m a weirdo.  What the hell am I doing here?  I don’t belong here.”  – Radiohead

“Hi, Tara! How goes it?” (Disclaimer: Nobody that I associate with would ever screw up and reverse their subject and verb construction)  Me: “I am average. Uneventful, indistinct. I forgot to flush.”  (because, after all, I do have ADD and I already forgot the question) This ridiculousness happens a lot.  Far more than anyone would care to believe.

This is my brain shutting down. This is me at parties, on interviews, being put on the spot, and even one on one.
This is my brain shutting down. This is me at every party, gathering, interview, being put on the spot, and even one on one.

I am now apathetic about life in general. I think I’m wearing a turtle neck now with mom jeans, feathered hair and a Timex. I do not in any way imply that Timexes are uncool, but they are predictable, and my prior existence wasn’t!  I was no watch wearer, and that is a fact, yo!

So, I can be in an interview – which is one of my biggest fears, and my shit will shut down.  The lucky interviewer gets to witness firsthand the lackluster antics of Captain Bland. “Why should we hire you?”

“I am reliable AND dependable.”  (Just ask anyone – those two phrases are TOTALLY independent from one another) and “I’m a people person.”  Oh my…I just sealed my own fate. All of the sanity cells that I have left are pleading. My fight or flight response has kicked in. My old self in the corner is cowering, contemplating a severe face transplant. I am BLASÉ.  I am now Ben Stein in the Clear Eyes commercial. Who am I kidding? He is much cooler than me.  Oh, and I said this: “My favorite flavor is vanilla.”  Fail.

I used to fancy myself like a Justin Timberlake type.  Minus the amazing dance moves and singing voice. It’s the spontaneous funny – and serious when he needs to be, but mostly just fun. Or Amy Poehler. Witty, remarkable and shuttles the fun cruise. That’s what I have moments of: Small glimpses into how I would like to be all the time. So. Frustrating. <Sigh>  For now, I guess I will just have to be content with my boring, tedious, anti-climatic alter ego who is ready to worsen anxiety with a single yawn.

So people, I promise you, at the next social event – for real, if I ever meet up with any of you in person toe to toe, I will not disappoint.  I will certainly live up to the bland hype.  Truth.

Insanity out.

My editor, Kim, is going to LOVE this pic! This is for you, from me!
My editor, Kim, is going to LOVE this pic! This is just for you, <3 me!

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