The Twisted State of Conversation

Last night I was — where else — at the

BOWLING ALLEY!

Who knew all the life lessons to be learned in such a filthy place?

A woman there just for entertainment’s sake — her husband & daughter are the bowlers in the family — was yammering on about one interesting subject after another.  I wanted to give her a big smooch & say “I LOVE YOU!” 

Nothing in the whole wide world makes me happier than people who

TALK TO ME!

Really she was speaking with our daughter, who’s been going bowling with my husband on Thursdays without me all year.  I’ve started going since my step-son moved to ALABAMA.  Yes, I’m a bowling SUBSTITUTE, too!

I knew my daughter adored hanging with this group of older people, but couldn’t imagine why.  Now I know.  They don’t only talk to her, they also

LISTEN TO HER!

What a freaking concept.

(She told me to pretend to be someone other than her mother, so I wouldn’t blow her gig.)

* * * * *

I hate my life when left desperate with those who have nothing at all to say.  I’m sure that’s why I married a silent man and have a silent son!  God’s sense of humor is huge.  I love them I do, but the lack of communication is such a freaking drag.

Please don’t get me wrong, I love silence when it’s appropriate, i.e., during television programming, in movie theatres, while reading or busy with something else.

And I’m not suggesting I’m interested in the idiots who preach at me or think they know it all. 

That is NOT conversation.

However, if in the midst of a public gathering with nothing else going on and 3 or 4 people standing around . . . SHARE SOMETHING, ANYTHING!  Keep me from wanting to bang my head against the wall or peel my skin off with my teeth.

I’m talking

CONVERSATION!

A back and forth dialogue with people who look me in the eye while they tell stories that make us both laugh & cry!

INTERPERSONAL COMMUNICATION!

This obviously excludes those who wish to vomit upon me verbally and then look away when I have something to say.  Those are BORES, not conversationalists.  Folks who take over & show no interest in hearing what anyone else has to say?  Oh no, I’m DEFINITELY NOT talking about them.

Follow the rules of basic civility!

Honest to God, I’ve gone a month sometimes without anyone asking me a single question.  It breaks my heart, it really does.

I’ve lived in five states, nearly died twice, raised two children, lived & loved a man who died of AIDS, held at least 27 different jobs, worked in NYC, held elected office, assisted in an appellate death penalty trial, thrown a dime at a man’s head during a production of Rent, had a dude show me his penis in the side mirror of his 18-wheeler, been offered cunnilingus by a non-English speaker in a San Francisco laundromat, driven a nun to Philadelphia and told a woman in line at a popular Florida amusement park to “Go Fuck Yerself!”

I’m fucking interesting!

But if you don’t ask me about it I’ll never force myself upon you.  I’m not unique.  There are millions of us.

* * * * *

My favorite uncle amazed me, even when I was little.  I LOVED going places with him & it didn’t happen near often enough.  I grew up in a house with BORING people who talked about stupid shit. 

But MY UNCLE would walk into a grocery store & begin chatting with the check-out clerk.  He would ask, “So, do you have a boyfriend?”   (If a person was bagging at the end of the aisle he would bring him into the conversation, too, probably asking if he’d ever dated the checker or knew any details of her life.)

She would turn purple and get all embarrassed — then actually ANSWER his question plus 10 or 15 more — and there was a good chance he’d know the boyfriend because he regularly talked to so many people. 

I’d watch her come to life, giggle, stand up straighter & preen from the interest shown.  I’m sure more than once it’s been the highlight of someone’s day.  

For that moment she stopped feeling drab & invisible, standing in the middle of a supermarket talking to old bitches who only wanted to speak of price checks and coupons, people who didn’t care if she looked like she wanted to cry or if it appeared she’d been standing there for 12 hours and not a single soul had acted as if she was

A REAL PERSON.

To this day I make it a point to mention someone’s nail polish or jewelry or tell them I like their hair.  It embarrasses the crap out of my kids, but that’s just too bad!  (I’m not brave enough to ask the kinds of silly questions my uncle does!)

My son’s father would walk up to someone on a street corner and ask if they knew the score of a game that had occurred the previous evening.  I loved that about him.  He had such an easy going way of not caring if someone ignored him.  He would no doubt think that THEY were weird, that it was THEIR PROBLEM, not his.  So, of course, no one ever blew him off.  Everyone adored him.  He EXPECTED it.

The conversational thing doesn’t come as naturally to me.  I’m always wondering if the person is going to

LIKE ME

which is such a fucking annoying trait that the first time I noticed it I really should have just driven a nail through my own foot and said,

“STOP IT!”

Why do I care if a total stranger likes me or not?  Well, I care because I’m a sick fuck with issues and I have the self-esteem of a garter snake, hiding behind rocks and slithering in the dirt.

What I should have been doing ALL MY ENTIRE LIFETIME — instead of worrying about my lackluster hair or my chunky chiclet tooth or my powdered sugar donut belly — was not giving a shit, entertaining myself, talking to the people no one else talks to.  Cause, ya know, quite often the average guy with spinach in his teeth is WAY more interesting than the perfect looking dude who spent half an hour on his hair that morning.

That’s what they should be teaching in high school!

Granted, there are no doubt some simple boring fucks out there who aren’t interested in communicating with other humans.  I hate them.  The times I’ve attempted conversation with someone who has the depth of cardboard & they’ve blown me off, well each of those incidences has stopped me from attempting at least 100 more times with 100 different people who might have been fantastically interesting.  Yes, I agree, that just means

I’m a moronic asshole!

New people, fascinating information, it’s far better than any of the usual substances we seek.  We self-medicate rather than experience the longing for real human contact.  Connecting with someone while our clothes stay on can be far more intimate than sex.  The body actually gets in the way of learning about the soul, which is why on-line or long distance relationships sometimes seem to move so fast.

I am a natural communicator, even astrologically speaking (Gemini with a Cancer Rising and Pisces Moon). I don’t care about things, I don’t own crystal or Hummels or miniature lit Christmas huts. I don’t want silver or china or jewels.

I feel untethered & high as a kite after great conversation, like I need a Quaalude or a Valium to bring me down. 

* * * * * 

My inner yapper often feels silenced by societal norms, unsatisfied with the conversational subjects I feel limited to with most people.

If I discover you’ve recently visited China, I don’t want to know about the temples, I’m interested in the toilets.  “How was your squatting experience?”

Sometimes I want to mention the AIDS thing or the fact that my mom once shot a dog.  It doesn’t necessarily go over well.  Once I mentioned the dog during a work luncheon with other people from the Probation Department and was met with dead silence & blank stares.  Oops, wrong crowd.

Of course, politics can bring the same reaction.

I love my fellow bloggers, who in a single day often share more of themselves than I get from a month of real life.