Question:

Have you ever been to a party or wedding or taken a class, something where there’s a group of people and after a cruise of the perimeter you figure out that one person is definitely “the weirdo”? Some socially awkward idiot who tries to, or even worse thinks she does, fit in but clearly doesn’t. 

Ok, next question:

Have you ever been to a party or wedding or taken a class and you look around and think to yourself, “Wow, good group. There isn’t a weirdo.”

Newsflash: YOU’RE THE WEIRDO. Now I’m sure many of you reading this have never been the weirdo. Well good for you jerks. I however, have been the weirdo and more than once I’m sorry to say.

There’s something that happens to me after I give birth where I just become an insecure, socially awkward idiot. This first happened when I went to a movie alone after having my daughter 3 years ago. She was due the last day of May but needed to come out 2 weeks early and therefore thwarted my plans to see Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull with my husband and best friend over Memorial Day weekend. Not wanting to miss my chance to see it in the theatre and after some encouraging by my always supportive hubby, I went by myself just before it left the theatres. It was my first time away from the baby who was about 5 or 6 weeks old at this point and I had no idea that leaving my newborn daughter for 3 or 4 hours would turn me into a barely functioning basket case. It started when I parked the car at my favorite theatre, the Arclight in Hollywood. I go to gather my purse and contraband (store bought Red Vines and bottled water) and realize I’ve forgotten my sweater. I get cold when it’s low 70s and I’m not standing in direct sunlight so there’s no way I can see a movie in shorts and a t-shirt. What am I going to do? I’ve already bought my ticket online, it’s the big “first time out” and I really wanted to see this movie on the big screen so skipping it was not an option but neither was shivering my ass off for 2 hours. Ahh! I remember I have a beach blanket in the back that my mother in law sent me. She got it from her bank. It’s this red, plaid itchy thing that kind of folds up into this vinyl carrying case that’s attached to the blanket. Genius! I grab it and head inside.

First stop- box office. I gotta validate my parking so I’m doing it right away so I don’t forget, a pro move. Sure I have to set all of my stuff down and dig thru my pockets and purse to find the parking ticket to hand to the guy, who’s definitely staring at my bank blanket by the way, but a pro move nonetheless.

Next stop- ticket taker. Smooth as silk minus having to set all of my stuff down and go through my pockets and purse to find the ticket to hand to the guy, who is trying not to stare at my bank blanket but kind of can’t help himself. What’s with these guys? Don’t men just stare at your tits anymore?

Stop number three- concessions. Yes, I smuggle in my own water and licorice but I draw the line at bringing in pre-popped popcorn and canned coke. As I wait in line, I can feel people staring at me and my bank blanket and it’s making me kind of self conscious. Do I think it’s weird to bring a blanket to a movie theatre? Hell yeah I do, but I’m already committed so the best I can do is try to act like a “normal” and hold it like it’s a sweater. A sweater with a black vinyl handle attached to it that says Hanover Bank. I adjust positions and feel like I may be pulling it off when I finally reach the front of the line and the older woman behind the counter says, “A girl after my own heart! I always bring a blanket to the movies!” Christ. “I forgot my sweater. I just had a baby.” I say louder than I have to. I kind of expected some “Congratulations, you look great! Now we totally understand the bank blanket!” from the hipsters around me, maybe a small smattering of applause for not having a boob hanging out of my nursing bra which had become the norm for me around the house, but no. Now I’m just the loud talker who is soul mates with the 60 something year old woman who sells popcorn on Saturdays and whose favorite movie, according to her name tag, is Father of The Bride 2. “Whatcha seeing today?” she asks. “Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. Wanted to catch it before it left the theatre”. I swear I hear a hipster cough “Loser!”

I get to my theatre and not surprisingly I’m the only one there except for the usher. It’s assigned seating at the Arclight so we go through the ‘set all my stuff down to look for my ticket’ dance and the guy shows me to my seat which is about 8 steps from where we were standing before, “Here we are” he says. I thank him way too much because I’m desperate for someone to think I’m cool and nothing says “cool” like manners! I sit down but I don’t even know how to start to get situated. Everything that was in my purse is now in my hands plus, I have popcorn, a coke, my goddamn bank blanket. I was just sitting there frozen, holding everything I owned like a fucking asshole. ‘Get it the hell together!’ I tell myself. It’s like someone put Nell in yoga pants and sunglasses and said, “Go figure it out, kid!” I can feel myself kind of starting to lose it. Eyes welling up, thoughts of my baby being permanently scarred that I left her side because I just had to see the worst installment of the Indiana Jones franchise in surround sound. I’m contemplating leaving, seriously that’s how far I’d spiraled, when the usher starts his speech on proper movie etiquette- no talking, texting, turn off your phone. Since I’m the only one there I’m not sure why he’s giving the speech or why he’s delivering it as though there’s a full house but I clearly have no room to judge other people right now so I just sit, holding everything I own, and listen. What am I gonna do? Get up and walk out while he gives his speech? I’m the manners lady in seat J23, I’d never do something so un-cool.

As he wraps up the rules another lonely heart who just woke up from a coma or something saunters into the theatre and sits about 6 rows behind me and to the left. Great, now it’s just me and this guy who, for all I know, is a fucking serial killer and as soon as the lights go down he’s gonna strangle me with his bare hands because that’s the only way he can get an erection anymore. Why did I think I could leave the house by myself?!

The lights go down, I brace myself for the strangling but it doesn’t come. I’m even too weird and pathetic for the limp dicked serial killer. Realizing I will probably survive the 3:10 showing of ‘Jones’ I decide to take a deep breath and settle in. I manage to put everything back into my purse, put my Coke in the cup holder and tear open my Red Vines. Now I spilled the top third of my popcorn, the yummy part with all of the butter, onto my flip flops getting to this point but I’ve come this far I can’t let that get me down. I grab my bank blanket and undo the Velcro (so loud in a big movie theatre with only 2 people in it) that kept it together and prepare to be whisked away into another exciting adventure with Indy and Marion. Cate Blanchett as a nazi, Karen Allen returning to the big screen, Spielberg take me away!!!

Ok, so Spielberg had an off day but who cares? I did it! I managed to get through this stupid afternoon and watch this stupid movie with this stupid serial killer and my stupid bank blanket without completely melting down. Was I the weirdo at the Arclight that day? Yes. Did I lose my car keys? Yes. Did I cry in front of the teen who gave them back to me at the Lost & Found? Yes! But I did it. My first big outing after being a hormonal, sleep deprived shut in for 6 weeks was complete. Walking to my car I could feel the rust flaking off and a shiny, new chrome was peeking through. I was becoming myself again! I’m cured!

However, I’ve since learned there’s no cure for being a weirdo. It’s something that only goes dormant until you have another baby. How do I know? Ask me about my post partum improv workshop.