Incognito Breeder: 1985 vs. 2005

I was 14 years old in 1985. That's a painful age, a painful time, very 13 Going On 30, if you know what I mean, Duran Duran and the wall of bangs. I thought, back in 1985, that things would change, that I would grow out of the geeky-awkward phase, that some things, social things would come easier with age. They don't really, do they?

Case in point; Me First and the Gimme Gimmes are playing in Boston this weekend. I love them. Love, love, luv them. So, three weeks ago I bought two tickets. They were only $15 and surely I could find someone to go with me to the show. My friend Erin agreed and I was happily looking forward to wearing my Mighty Shirt somewhere other than the Parent/Teacher conference. Then, tragedy struck in the form of oral surgery and I was left with an extra ticket. Don't get me wrong, I have friends, but one just had a baby and another is out of town and this one doesn't like the band, and that one I will not take into Boston anymore because she's completely out of control, and his wife already loaned him out for a recent concert, and his birthday is that day and he's spending it with his boyfriend... you get the picture.

Then I remembered the cookie mom. One of the kids in G's class has a mom who works at the cookie store in town. She's cool. She has a Replacements sticker on the back of her car. She might like Me First and the Gimme Gimmes.

Problem 1: I know her only by her kid's name. Awkward.
Problem 2: I don't know her socially, only through school and the cookie store.

It's hard to make friends when you're a grown-up. It's awkward and weird and goofy when you're young, but you're in such close proximity to your peers all the time that friendships evolve naturally. As an adult, you don't want to be friends with your co-workers most of the time, and you have your circle that you've developed over the years. Adding new people to that circle is kind of strange.

Since I don't know her name or phone number, the only way I could ask cookie mom was to go to the cookie store where she works. There, I explained the oral emergency and how since I know she likes similar music I thought maybe... and I'm feeling really stupid, like it's 1985 and I've just gathered my nerves and deliberately crossed the street to the cemetary in order to have a smoke, and the cool kids, they're looking askance at me--the poser, trying not to gag on her Newport Lights--and they laugh in that mean way that teenagers laugh, just loud enough that you don't know what the joke was, but you know that it was about you.

Cookie mom couldn't go, had plans for Friday. "Oh, that's cool, maybe next time." I got in my car and headed to work. Halfway to the office I remembered that the show is on Saturday, not Friday. I asked about the wrong night. At this point, I was feeling too stupid to follow up, I could go to the show on my own, that could be fun, right?

Later this morning, I was moving my car with SuperHotGuy: Interactive Designer. Every morning, SuperHotGuy: Interactive Designer and I have to move our cars to avoid a ticket. I told SuperHotGuy: Interactive Designer the story, prefacing it with, "I'm such a dork," to which he responded, "What did you do this time?" When I got to the point in my story where I said, "so, I'll probably go alone, that could be fun," SuperHotGuy suddenly interrupted, "I, uh, I'll meet you inside, I've got to stop at the bank," and then he bolted across the street.

Oh, Christ, now SuperHotGuy: Interactive Designer thinks I was trying to ask him out, Cookie Mom probably thinks I have some kind of PTO-Mom-Crush on her, I still don't have anyone to go to the show with, and I think I'm getting a zit.