I went to the “Spaghetti Disco” at the church up the street from me tonight. It’s a benefit for a library-ish community center, also up the street from me (though going the other direction). All in all, it wasn’t bad. It led me to a realization, though, or rather led me to realize something again:

I’m a bit rusty.

There are a number of things at which I’m rusty: playing music, playing Quake (not that I was ever particularly good), and playing the social scene. Alright, I’ll admit that last one didn’t work. I’m a sucker for trying to stretch the rule of threes. But the point is, I’m just not very good at socializing. It’s probably not a big shock, and in fact you could likely discern this from not-subtle contextual clues here on this very blog. But there is positivity in that I’m trying, I think.

I think the main thing I still have to get over is wondering whether or not people like me. From what I can understand of people who are successful at having friends, they don’t spend a lot of time thinking about it. It may cross their mind from time to time, but it’s not the world-ending calamitous spiral into despair that it winds up being for me. Of course, that may be coming more from the fact that I’m a compulsive worrier than that I’m particularly bad at human interaction.

All things considered, though, I shouldn’t have anything to complain about with tonight. The event itself was pretty well organized, and definitely well attended. I finally met my foursquare nemesis, and he and his fiancée were cool people. Also, I found a beer which I don’t mind drinking (a rare breed indeed): Dundee Honey Brown. I wound up jetting after the raffle and the prizes, as the one beer I had didn’t get me loosened up enough to “shake [my] booty,” and as the bar was cash only I could not procure another. The building feeling that I was sticking out didn’t necessarily help, either.

But, like I always say at the end of these self-pitying blog posts, I must simply try to do better. It’s easy to complain about my failings, and probably necessarily cathartic in a way, but simply wallowing in it will not do. I’m not sure if I come off weird, or stupid, or any number of other negative adjectives. Most people probably wouldn’t tell me anyway, like a piece of food stuck on my chin. People are prone to such harmful niceties. But I can’t really let that be a defining issue for me. The only way to get better at performing is to perform more often. Being rusty shouldn’t be an excuse anymore.