howtonothatepeople2017-blog

[howtonothatepeople2017-blog]

The First Outing After the Interview (Flash)

The interview with Ms. Divine was August 1st.  On August 2nd, Gina and I went to a concert.  I love live music, so I was in an open format for the smiling at and making small talk with strangers.  We went out to dinner first, at a place in Gina’s neighborhood where ‘everybody knows her name’ and her order.  It was lovely as usual, and I found it easy to smile at the server and say thank you and good evening.  This was facilitated by the server’s appearance-her make up perfectly matched her shirt.  I appreciated the artistic effort and the color and they way it made her face look happy.

Gina and I decided to take BART to the concert, and were surrounded by strangers on the train and the platform to and from the concert.  I smiled at as many strangers as I could, almost to the point that my face hurt. The train was packed after the concert, and the strangers were high and happy from the concert.  This was the best possible mindset for me to smile at strangers, offer directions about BART stops, ask how they enjoyed the concert etc.  These were small conversations that were mildly meaningful, and yet held no risk for me.

I really felt compelled to smile at people and to talk to strangers.  Ms. Divine is correct in that the act of smiling at people and making a bit of small talk will become a habit.  And it is a habit I am admitting that I am enjoying so far.

[howtonothatepeople2017-blog]

Early Launch for August (Flash)

We hadn’t even done the August interview or gotten the assignment of the smiling at the strangers and the making of the small talk (Have a nice day); but Gina and I did some of that on July 23rd when we sat next to strangers at a family style table setting at a small blues club.  It seemed only polite at the time when the hostess seated us next to a couple already enjoying a bottle of wine, that we strike up some bit of conversation.  It turned out to be deeper than the small talk pool, you know the usual...’where you from?’ ‘how do you know about the musician?’ ‘been here before?’  Their answers painted some parallels to both my and Gina’s travels, places we have lived in California, college alma matters, family histories, taste in music, fascination with live performance, etc.  To be specific on my part, the couple both went to the same college as me, and the man and I had similar experiences with the convergence between the arts and sciences-I even shared that my thesis had been about the biochemical impact of ‘musician’s high’ (think runner’s high).  He quoted a recent FMRI study done on musician’s brains while improvising jazz.  And to be specific on Gina’s part, these people want to visit the rainforest, and she sure has some connections to share for anyone who wants to do that.  We will probably never see these people again, but I won’t forget them.  This is progress for me because there is a previous entry on this blog where I talked about remembering everything about a meal except for the conversations I had with my fellow patrons.

And on July 29th, I intentionally and actively talked to a large group of strangers who shared the common goal of getting into the women’s restroom faster at AT&T park at a concert intermission.  I felt brave enough to say something cause I was the tallest person in the line and I could see some room for improvement, I was compelled to speak up because I am an operations person and I like to solve problems, I was motivated to speak up because people were getting impatient and I thought some humor might help, I was inspired to bring up the ‘one bathroom for all’ topic because it weighs heavy on my mind.  So I started talking because the short woman behind me grabbed the back of my elbow and said she was sticking with me because she couldn’t see where she was supposed to go in the crowd.  She asked what I could see, and I said a poorly organized line that looped past the entrance and then back around.  She suggested I fix it, so I whipped out the old military training of squishing the line-so I started talking to the women facing the other way and suggested we stand closer together so there was no walkway between the lines, decreasing the confusion of other women looking for either the end of the line or a way to cut in.  That worked all the way down the line- a hundred women who needed to pee were now standing shoulder to shoulder side by side and toe to heel front to back.  And then they became vocal to let others know where the end of the line was. Once we had bonded for about 15 minutes and a woman’s husband who had used the men’s room twice came to stand next to his wife, I brought up the fact that if the construction were different-the space between men’s room and women’s room opened up and filled with toilet stalls with doors we would all be back in out seats.  I waited for dramatic opposition and heard NONE. There were some questions about removing urinals to increase the comfort of mixing of sexes, and moving mirrors to decrease time at handwashing stations, but no real loud push back.

I can smile at strangers and I can have meaningful conversations with them, So I know I can also do my August homework.

[howtonothatepeople2017-blog]

What Happened (Gina)

Between my deep fear that I am unable to finish anything and my abiding belief that I can’t actually not hate people, or I am inherently a fraud, I could not write.  I had nothing to say and the hormonal fluctuations of perimenopause make me feel like a crazy person.  I am blaming it on the hormones, but then again, I can always find something to blame it on.  I don’t like not knowing what to do.  I don’t like worrying.  I don’t like the floating feeling of...   I was sad.  I didn’t think it was possible.  I don’t want my darkest feelings on display.  Luckily, I read an article today that talked about instead of changing your mindset you need to change your focus.  So, even if I can’t change my mindset, I can change my focus.  I have a hope.  I am afraid to hope.

p.s. When I thought about it over these few months, it sometimes felt like I didn’t actually hate people the same way I used to hate them. I felt softer inside. I also feel like shouldn’t admit that. Sigh.

[howtonothatepeople2017-blog]

What Happened In May-July (Sparky)

You know what? I don’t actually know what happened in those three months, but we were completely unmotivated to stop hating people. At least I was. I shouldn’t speak for Flash and Gina. Partially it was because I was busy obsessing over The Swan and how I thought I’d fucked things up, and partially it was because it’s impossible for me NOT to hate people while on Prozac. Let me go into details.

I had told The Swan that I liked her. We were hanging out at her house and disclosing our deepest, darkest secrets to each other, and the sun was going down and she was absolutely beautiful in the evening light. Earlier we had gone dumpster diving in her neighborhood. I held up the compost bin lids while she rifled through the piles of aged vegetables and bagels and pastries. It felt like I was getting a glimpse of her soul or some shit, because I certainly wouldn’t go dumpster diving with just any old bozo. 

Anyway, there were moments I wanted to kiss her, but that sort of thing only works in movies. In real life, if you just spontaneously kiss someone, you might have just committed something nonconsensual and deserve a slap. So I didn’t do that, and instead blurted out that I liked her before running away. The next day I apologized for dumping the confession on her, my face growing beet red and sweaty. Then I disappeared from her life for a month because I was terribly embarrassed and felt like a total piece of shit. In fact, I sort of went into hiding from everyone for a month. Most weekends I spent holed up in my room because I couldn’t bear to face the world, due to both the Prozac and The Swan incident. 

So that’s my excuse. I have no idea what Flash’s and Gina’s are, but I’m dying to find out. Anyhow, that was May and June and July. It’s August now and we finally got our act together and interviewed someone. More later.

[howtonothatepeople2017-blog]

The Stall May-July (Flash)

To be crystal clear, I did no new homework during the May-July Stall.  But, I didn’t backslide either.  I kept up with the practices of putting myself in uncomfortable situations and talking to strangers, appreciating the things people do and say to each other in kindness, catching myself before or (more frequently after) saying ‘I hate people’- and trying to re-frame my words or feelings to fit just the action or words the person used that made me think ‘I hate people’.  Simultaneously, I shut out new interactions, and stalled my forward progress. 

I did this because it was easier than doing the work.  I am sorry now.  I look back and see some missed opportunities, and am excited that we are back on track; or at least got back on the train and did an interview in August, and that I have done some of the homework for it.

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Things You Shouldn’t Do When You Hate People #2: Be in SF During Pride Week (Sparky)

If you can imagine it, I hated people even more this last week. We still have not gotten our June interviewee and it’s basically the end of the month, and I think this is because we’re not feeling very motivated after being let off the hook all of May. Not actively trying to not hate people sort of feels like sucking in your belly for months and finally letting it all hang, but then feeling kind of gross and unattractive, and at the same time feeling really good. Which makes me think, wouldn’t it be so much easier to just be like, fuck it, we hate people and this is our nature so let’s embrace it? Anyway.

This past weekend was SF Pride. It is a very good thing to celebrate LGBTQ-ness, and every year I vow to attend the parade and at least one of the festivities, and every year I don’t make it. A few years ago, Rocky and Fiddlesticks invited me to “hang out” on that weekend. I didn’t know what hanging out during Pride involved. I imagined we’d walk around and check out booths and stuff (if there were even any booths), but all we did was sit in Dolores Park and then got brunch. While people-watching in Dolores Park might be a fun endeavor, people-watching under the blazing sun on a tiny strip of wet grass in a sea of human bodies was not. I remember wanting to just read a book but that would be rude when you’re with company, and then at night they asked if I wanted to go clubbing and I was like, NOT AFTER I SAW YOU TWO BOZOS MAKE OUT IN FRONT OF ME, but I didn’t actually say that. 

This year I was going to stay clear of that general vicinity, but I ended up having a lunch thing with Lawyer Lady, a girl I went on a few dates/not dates with. The whole conundrum with her involved our differing definitions of “dating”--to her, we were obviously dating since we were going on dates, but to me it was unclear whether our dates were even dates to begin with. One night during a movie she grabbed my hand and that was when I knew I was supposed to feel something more than nothing. I had to break it off, or whatever you call it when you want to tell the person you don’t want to date anymore, even though you didn’t think you were dating in the first place. 

Understandably, she was sad. She didn’t know what a friendship with me would look like and needed time to process everything. I was sorry and felt like a jerk. We didn’t talk for a month, and then out of the blue she texted me saying she thought of me and asked how I was doing. We began talking again, and when I was in Paris in April I bought her a book that she had specifically requested. Over text, she insisted on paying me back while I insisted she not because I like buying souvenirs for friends. When all the traveling was over, we arranged to meet for lunch so I could give her the book (which she did pay me back for because she kept on insisting).

The restaurant’s in The Mission, right in the heart of Pride celebrations. I take the bus there on Saturday, and even though I live in the quiet, residential part of town, a handful of revelers are already waiting at my stop. I can tell they’re revelers because they’ve got the rainbow flag hanging from their back pockets and two of them are clearly lesbians, which makes me oddly self-conscious. It doesn’t get better on the bus. More and more people get on, all of them heading to Pride, and I get so anxious that I put my hood up and leave my sunglasses on and try not to look at anyone. 

The walk to the restaurant is a mile, past streets of gay people having a gay old time, whom I begin to hate, not because they’re gay obviously, but because they’re just people. I’m irritated by young hipsters perched over artisanal coffees, laughing in the sun like there’s not a thing to worry about. I hate the fancy pants businesses that have opened up on Valencia and 16th and 18th and 19th Streets, and I hate the crowds these businesses draw. I hate the fucking city and everything that’s wrong with it.

I begin to get this feeling I haven’t gotten in years, and that is the embarrassment of looking not entirely straight and probably being recognized for it. Rocky used to point out all the queer women we saw in public, mostly because it’s always nice to see one of your own, but it made me paranoid that someone else was doing the same to me. My parents used to hate that some strangers mistook me as their son. We had a neighbor who did a double take on me once, and my dad’s coworker, upon seeing a family photo, had said, “Your two sons are so tall.” They hated it so much they told me I was a goddamn embarrassment to them and they’re ashamed to be with me in public, and suddenly, this is what it feels like to be walking around in The Mission during Pride weekend. 

I am damn near a panic attack when I finally meet up with Lawyer Lady. The lunch reminds me of all the reasons why I didn’t like her romantically, and because I’m already in a terrible mood, her little quirks further irritate me. I dislike how we can’t sit comfortably in silence. Someone always has to say something. I dislike how after I complete a thought, she continues to look at me and nod, as if expecting something more. I dislike how tired I am after hanging out with her. Being a lawyer, she has the tendency to shoot back responses at light speed, and sometimes I’m so stunned that I babble something stupid back. 

Lunch over, I head over to the Safeway near Church so I wouldn’t have to pick up groceries later. The store is equipped with these fancy new self check-out machines that SHOUT out the produce item you’re purchasing. When I weigh my potatoes, it shouts, “2.56 for RED POTATOES.” When I punch in the code for bananas it shouts, “1.42 for BANANAS.” I want to complain that this is a goddamn violation of privacy because I don’t want my grocery list being announced to the rest of the self check-out line, but I’m already panicky enough so I just pay for my crap and run out the store and I hate whoever came up with such an idea for a shouty machine. 

When I’m finally home I collapse in bed and want to cry for no particular reason. Then I get a text from my dad asking if I want to get dinner with them tonight, and I groan audibly and actually growl aloud, “NO FUCKING WAY.” 

At this point, I think it is very clear the meds are not working the way they should. I mean, they are making me really hate people, which I am pretty sure should not be happening. Anyhow, let this be a lesson to everyone out there: if you hate people, have residual gay shame, and suffer from major anxiety, AND your meds are not goddamn working, avoid gay pride.

[howtonothatepeople2017-blog]

Things You Shouldn’t Do When You Hate People #1: Go To Corgi Con (Sparky)

Gina and I agreed that we’re both out of practice with this liking people business, and that’s because May was essentially shot since I was out of town most of the time and Gina was busy with stuff, so we didn’t get a chance to pick our May person to interview. We were to continue with April’s assignment until we found our next interviewee, but to be honest I wasn’t doing a very good job with it and I kept owing people a shit ton of money anyway. 

I don’t know how Flash and Gina are holding up, really, but this week has been rough in the people-liking department. I can’t tell if it’s because I’m in the middle of a switch between antidepressants or because recent developments with The Swan have triggered some sort of identity crisis. I suspect it’s a combination of both. 

Anyhow, today is Saturday and this morning I wake up really happy to see the sun’s rays through the blinds of my bedroom window. Then an hour later I think about the rest of the day ahead and I suddenly hate life. This flip-flopping happens all morning. I end up sitting at my desk coloring until noon, when I decide to go for a long run down to the beach to see doggies at Corgi Con. 

It is a nice day and the run helps my mood to the point where I feel hopeful and can actually enjoy myself. At the beach, I spy a crowd at the far end, near Park Chalet. I jog in that direction, streaming past people with their dogs, corgis and non-corgis. And that is when I remember that I hate sand. I mean, sand itself is nice but not when it’s in my shoes, and now you’re like, “Well, that’s why people take off their shoes on the beach, you idiot.” And this is where I tell you that what I hate about sand is how it clings to your feet, which is why I generally avoid walking on beaches all together. When you’re trying to avoid getting sand in your shoes, you should just not jog at all, unless you go barefoot.

That isn’t too bad because then I just jog up to the sidewalk. There are even MORE people up there than down by the surf, and it is impossible to run without dodging humans right and left. A seething kind of hatred sets in. I run by a guy who shouts, “CORGIS!!” and oddly, I get competitive, as if there are corgis there for the taking and I must beat the crowd if I’m to grab a few for myself, and I’m thinking, “FUCK YOU, DUDE, THEY’RE MINE!” Then there’s another guy who goes, “What’s so great about corgis anyway?” and I want to punch him in the face and ask, “What’s so great about YOU anyway?” There are a bunch of girls giggling over how cute the dogs are. Couples stroll with loud infants. And I notice that I’m not even AT the Corgi Con yet, and now the crowd looks like it’s closer to Cliff House.

I don’t know if I can stand it any longer. I feel an unfathomable rage for no particular reason. The sand in my shoes irritates me. The noise from people and traffic irritate me. The humans piss me off, and all I wanted was some doggie time, but I’ve forgotten that dogs often come with humans. And I’m so annoyed that I make a right into the park to run home because I just hate people too much at the moment.

The park is nice. I calm down considerably, especially when I run along a path that’s pretty much deserted and I can hear the birds chirp cheerily. I try very hard to stay present as I look up at the beautiful green trees and admire the flowers blooming along the side, and then I think, “God, nature is so lovely. How can anyone destroy our beautiful earth?” And then I remember that people DO destroy our beautiful planet and that makes me even angrier than before and I want to kick someone in the face, so I run as fast as I can to get home because I cannot deal with the world today.

I sure hope the medication kicks in soon. But just in case you go out looking for doggie time--BEWARE AND REMEMBER THAT THEY COME WITH HUMANS. 

[howtonothatepeople2017-blog]

Here’s Your Loofah, Fuck You (Sparky)

I had forgotten to pack a loofah for my trip. That didn’t truly bother me until we were in Paris. And despite what they say about loofahs being filthy breeding grounds for bacteria, I didn’t care because I just didn’t feel very clean without some rough exfoliation. 

Anyway, I started looking for loofahs wherever I went. I popped into pharmacies, which sell stuff like shampoo and soap, and the closest thing I found was some sort of scrub, which would not do. I tried grocery stores, malls, corner drug stores, and NOTHING. I began to wonder if people in continental Europe just didn’t use loofahs, or maybe I was being really dumb in my search and was looking in the wrong places.

In the end I had to just use a small towel, which wasn’t always available at our accommodations, but it was good enough. When I got home, I had the best shower of my life and scrubbed the shit out of my skin, and vowed to always remember to bring a goddamn loofah when traveling.

Two days after my return, I asked the Swan out for coffee. I gave her this Maltese pipe I had bought and we agreed to meet up on Tuesday, and I was pretty happy for the rest of the day until I got home and saw a package lying on the floor. It had my name on it, and I noticed it was via Australia Post, and was sent from Laura.

I already knew what it was. It was all the stuff I had left in Australia at her house, thinking that I might be returning one day. In her possession were a black tshirt, Dr. Seuss shorts, and a pair of navy blue chino shorts of which I had already mourned the loss. You see, she had said she would send my clothes back after Christmas. I assumed that meant January or something, but come February, I resigned myself to the fact that I was never going to see those clothes again. Once in a while I’d think about those chino shorts and hate that I’d have to buy a new pair BECAUSE I LOVED THOSE SHORTS. And it was all Laura’s fault that I wasn’t going to get them back.

So there was the package, which I took inside and ripped open. As expected, my tshirt and shorts fell out. As annoyed as I was with Laura, I was very happy to get the chinos back. Inside the package was also the bottle of contact lens solution I had purchased there. Fine, I thought. That’s fair of her since that shit costs a lot. 

AND THEN OUT TUMBLED THE MINI LOOFAH I HAD USED. 

I don’t know why I was so shocked to see the loofah. Maybe because it’s a goddamn loofah and I thought it would surely have been tossed in the trash. Why the hell would someone keep the loofah of their ex anyway? And who the fuck sends a loofah via international post?! But no, she had sent it back like a big fuck you. Also, there was no note inside. Nothing but my tshirt, shorts, contact lens solution, AND THE LOOFAH.

Hilariously, I got even more annoyed since I did in fact think about this mini loofah while in Europe. I had thought, “Shit, that little orange loofah I had in Australia would be perfect right now.” But I didn’t have it because goddamn Laura hadn’t sent my stuff back yet. I stared at the loofah on my lap and thought, TOO LATE, LAURA. TOO LATE. 

To be fair, this IS “after Christmas,” but who knew it would be four fucking months after Christmas?! 

What does this have to do with liking people? Well, remarkably, I didn’t transfer my hatred of Laura to the rest of the world. A year ago I might have done that, but now I recognize that Laura’s being a rude motherfucker has nothing to do with the rest of the human species. I very much wanted to give her the finger, but I did not want to give the world the finger. This is a miracle BECAUSE I NO LONGER THINK THAT THE WORLD IS FULL OF LAURAS. 

However, whoever decided that loofahs should not be sold in Italy or France--that’s another matter. 

[howtonothatepeople2017-blog]

I Owe Everybody Money (Sparky)

If you can believe it, I actually really really do want to stop hating myself, and I seized the opportunity by asking ALL my friends to keep me accountable. Turns out this whole self-love thing is harder than I thought. Conversations with people generally followed this pattern. 

Me: I bet I’ll owe you a ton of money.

Someone: That’s 50 cents.

Me: HOW DOES THAT EVEN COUNT?!

Someone: You talked smack about yourself. 

Me: I hate everything.

Someone: That’s another 50 cents.

Me: I hate this and I will suck forever.

Someone: 50 cents.

Me: The Swan hates me.

Someone: 50 cents.

Me: Everyone hates me. THE UNIVERSE HATES ME.

Someone:  You could try to say something nice about yourself now...

Me: ...

Luckily, I soon left for a three-week trip to Europe with my mom and brother, so my friends would not be closely monitoring my self-hate speech and I was free to loathe my being as much as possible. But then several strange things happened while I was abroad.

1. I barely had any self-defeating thoughts. The thing about travel is that it’s almost impossible not to be present when you’re trying to survive as a stranger in a strange land. Your very existence is boiled down to the search for shelter, food, and safety (not in the “lost in the wilderness” sense, but you know what I mean). In a way, this is freeing. When I’m newly washed up at the train station with barely an idea of how to get to our accommodations, my mind does not wander to existential thoughts about the meaning of life. Nor do I worry about my far future--”What am I doing with my life? What have I achieved? Am I worthless after all?!” It’s these lofty thoughts that drag me into a suicidal depression, and it’s almost as if being abroad gives me no brain space to think about such notions. On a day-to-day basis, I was predominantly worried about how to get from point A to point B, where to eat, how to escape my mother’s potential wrath, and how to not go insane in the midst of my dysfunctional family dynamics. It was very, very refreshing. 

2. I just couldn’t spiral down the path of self-hate. I couldn’t because everyone was relying on me to keep it together because if not, we’d all be fucked. I was the only one who knew where we were staying and what we’d be doing. My brother had essentially relinquished all control to me and my mother was as helpless as a toddler. I remember wondering what we would do if we somehow lost our mother on the subway, and the very thought sent an icy punch to my gut. We would be screwed, that’s what. We would have no way of predicting what my mom would do, whether she’d stay on the train or get off at the next stop, and her phone wasn’t working and she didn’t even know how to connect to wifi on it, so there’d be no way of contacting her. She didn’t even have the address of where we were staying. 

Anyway, all this is to say that I didn’t have a choice but to move and speak with confidence even when I clearly did not know what I was doing. I didn’t exactly have STUPENDOUS thoughts about myself but I didn’t have negative ones either. I just was.

3. In Rome, our Airbnb host very kindly offered to drive us to the airport for 35 Euros. My mom said something to the effect of, “He takes every opportunity to earn extra cash,” and I was like, MAYBE HE’S JUST A NICE GUY, and then it hit me that I gave someone the benefit of the doubt. I thought about it some more, and realized that I truly believed most people have good intentions when they do nice things. Like, a guy who offers to help isn’t necessarily out to swindle you. I can’t tell if this is me wanting to believe in the goodness of humanity or if I actually DO believe in the goodness of humanity. Whatever it was, I was struck by how absolutely positive and forgiving my attitude was.

4. Here’s the strangest thing of all: I VERY MUCH WANTED TO STRIKE UP CONVERSATIONS WITH STRANGERS. Now, I’ve had such urges in the past, but they were all theoretical. These urges usually floated to my consciousness at 2am, when I’m in the throes of severe insomnia. I’d find myself fantasizing about how great it’d be to make friends with random people. In my fantasies, I was cool and articulate and charming, qualities that I would never ascribe to my real self. But now I was truly wanting to talk to people in the flesh. It began in Paris when I spotted a giant herd of travelers lounging by the Seine, and I found myself wanting to sit next to them and getting to know their story. In Monaco I wanted to keep chatting with the kind stranger who helped us find our way to the hotel, who then turned out to be the manager of said hotel. And in Rome, I wanted to spend an afternoon conversing with our Airbnb host, possibly over tea and cake, and hearing all about his journey. 

For various reasons, I didn’t do any of those things, but the point was that I wanted to, and had I been alone, I very well might have done so. In the past I’d avoid others, preferring solitude, namely because I was afraid of people. Somehow I came to a place where I no longer saw people as such a threat. 

I don’t know if I like people yet. I still hate people some times, especially in large groups. All I can say is that humans are a bunch of fucked up weirdos who might not be evil bastards after all. At least some aren’t. 

But I still owe everyone money. There’s always that.

[howtonothatepeople2017-blog]

Loving Thyself (Sparky)

April called for a new interviewee: Ms. Crappy To Happy. I won’t go into too much detail about her, but her website is here. She is a self-proclaimed people-lover, which, like other people-lovers, greatly puzzle Gina, Flash, and me. During the interview it was abundantly clear that she was indeed a very happy person, the sort of spiritually and professionally fulfilled individual we all strive to be. She divulged several practices that have helped her become the joyous person she is today, and after the interview, us FGS got together and racked our brains out for an April assignment that will launch us closer to our goal of liking people (or at least not hating them). 

The prevailing theme from Ms. Crappy to Happy’s interview was self-love and self-compassion. There’s that age-old saying about how you can’t expect others to love you unless you love yourself, which I’d always thought was dumb and made no sense. Like, what the hell does loving myself have to do with whether others will love me or not? Those two were completely unrelated! And then I started working at Upstairs Nonprofit Place, surrounding myself with people who talked about how to “show up” and “give off that positive energy,” and all that New Agey stuff that usually made me raise my eyebrows in skepticism. 

Then one day it hit me: people can see if I hate myself. They can smell it the way mean teachers smell fear. They can tell you don’t think very highly of yourself because you’re always making these self-deprecating jokes that slowly become unfunny and just pathetic and sad, or because you look at the floor when you talk, or because of this: YOU DON’T ALLOW THE REAL YOU TO SHINE SINCE YOU DON’T THINK YOU’RE WORTHY. I realized there was no way I was going to find The One with that sort of attitude. 

Anyway, what Ms. Crappy to Happy said was of a similar vein. Liking people involves a whole lot of forgiving and being compassionate to those who do horrible things. It involves looking at the dude who clubs baby seals and going, “What you do is a fucking shitty thing, and maybe you’re a shitty person or you’ve got reasons for doing this shitty thing that doesn’t necessarily make you a shitty person.” It means not immediately hating the person who’s rude to you on the phone because maybe they’re also having a bad day and accidentally took it out on you. It means seeing and hearing about all these people doing awful things and still thinking, these are a truckload of shitheads or maybe people doing shithead things, but it doesn’t mean the entire human species are a bunch of turds. 

Really, it involves being compassionate, and there’s no way you can do that unless you can be self-compassionate. 

Personally, I have a hell of a time with self-compassion. I guess we could all use a little more of it since most of us are pretty hard on ourselves. My particular problem is that I walk around believing there’s something inherently wrong with me. I mean, I REALLY REALLY believe this. My therapist calls this my core belief, which is a pretty sad thing to believe. And because I think I’m defective, I subconsciously search for evidence supporting this conjecture. The evidence usually comes in the form of other people hurting or rejecting me. I never look for the good in others. It’s like I have a built-in detector for Shitty Things People Do To Me that goes off and screams, “SEE?! You MUST be unloveable if so-and-so rejected/lied to/cheated on/ignored/insulted you.”

Our task for April is: To cultivate self-compassion. And it all begins with language and the stories we tell ourselves. Inspired by several experiments Ms. Crappy To Happy conducted over the years, we are to find one or more accountability buddies who will charge us 50 cents every time we put ourselves down, or say anything coming from a place of self-hate. They will then ask, “What is the kindest thing you can do for yourself in this moment?” and if we answer and do the thing, we will only pay 25 cents. 

It’s Day 1.5 of the assignment and already I owe Needles 50 cents, Penelope 25 cents, and Kimmy 75 cents. 

[howtonothatepeople2017-blog]

It Always Seems Like A Good Idea At The Time (Gina)

So it’s March and I’m determined to live large enough to make sure that when I die Sparky and Flash won’t be the only humans at my funeral.

Do Something Scary activity #2: Learn to play the bagpipes. 

This might not actually make me any friends. But if it works out and I join a bagpipe troupe, the music at my funeral will be epic. 

I turn to FaceBook for help.

This was also a practice experiment about using social media (and a tame one at that) to put myself out there.  Here is my actual post on Monday.

As a result, I had 12 people like it, two people share it with their networks, eight conversations with people (who I already adore) and had a teacher, a loaner instrument, my “Learn the Bagpipe” book ordered online, and a local weekly class scheduled  - all done by Wednesday.

I was a little alarmed. But it happened fast, I didn’t die from exposure, and now I am going to learn an instrument that I have been wanting to learn for longer than I have wanted to learn taiko drumming. Translate that to - a long time.

I was inspired by my teammate, the Irish Bambino, who brought a bagpiper into her corporate office to start off a meeting on St. Patrick’s Day. I want to open my meetings at work with a bagpipe song! 

But omg the sound of a beginner bagpiper.  I might be accused of recruiting more haters. I crack myself up with the deviousness of it all.

[howtonothatepeople2017-blog]

I Can Feel You Reading This (Gina)

You. You in the future(s). Somewhere. Not quite sure what that says about YOU, but please know I do appreciate it. 

And if you’re expecting us to not hate people yet, you can forget it.

So for the month of March we are supposed to do four things that scare us. Each thing a something that makes us feel alive - like we are swinging out and engaging in the world full force. Something that could possibly bring us closer to people, and ultimately relate to them as fellow travelers on this planet or something ungodly I mean romantic like that. 

I’m supposed to look friendly fergodsake. What a disaster.

Task #1 - I enrolled in a social media class. Part of this move is practical. We need people we don’t know to read this blog because Sparky not-so-secretly wants to become a famous writer and I am committed to making that happen. I am planning on hiding somewhere when all her fame happens so considering that I am going to keep co-writing with her we will have to work out the details eventually.

But you may have noticed that the logic train isn’t running so straight here because in order to become famous, other people need to know about us and be interested enough in our work to keep reading and then possibly even like and follow us. Which will require actual interactions with other humans.

This class is going to teach me how to interact online over the next eight weeks. Or some number of weeks. I was so upset listening to the agenda that I can’t really remember what’s going to happen, but it involves instagram. I want to throw up. Stay tuned to watch what happens.

And now, a special message to YOU - technically another person who I might not even know, on the other end of whatever device you are reading this on. I am grateful that you got this far, generally in life, and specifically in reading this post. I honor the little spark that  lit up in your brain because somewhere, deep inside, your inherent magic-ness somehow felt - a friend? - and in response my magic-ness sparkled a bit and said hi and tried really hard to look friendly. 

[howtonothatepeople2017-blog]

Her Boyfriend, James Franco (Sparky)

The next morning, Friday, Needles told me that she had seen The Swan in her office. “Maybe I shouldn’t go,” I told her. “I was hoping she actually wouldn’t be in today so I had the weekend to mentally prepare.”

“No, we all know about this. Now you have to go.”

“I feel like I’m going to shit myself.”

“It’ll be fine.”

People are always telling me that things will be fine, but what exactly does “fine” mean? I hope that my friends have higher standards of what “fine” is than simply “getting out of a situation alive,” which seems easily achievable given the circumstances. What I really wanted to hear was, “She will love you and you will love her and you two will live happily ever after.” Obviously, nobody can tell me that because nobody can see the future, which I think is pathetic considering the number of technological advancements we’ve seen in recent years. At the very least, it would be nice to know whether a situation will turn out favorably so I wouldn’t have to risk humiliating myself, but oh well.

Front Desk Lady was talking to her colleague when I went into Downstairs Nonprofit Place. We exchanged some rather exuberant greetings, and then I said, “The Swan in today?” Her colleague kindly walked me to the entrance of the hallway and directed, “Yes, just go straight down here and---”

“Yeah, I know where it is, thanks,” I said, making sure to sound extra sincere in my gratitude. 

I knocked on The Swan’s door. She promptly turned around. “Hi,” I said. “Is now a good time? I could come back if not?”

“No, this is fine. Let me read this message and I’ll be ready.”

“Okay, I’ll just wait for you outside.”

Something remarkable happened while I was out front, waiting for The Swan. Front Desk Lady and I actually chatted and it wasn’t difficult at all. I always thought I sucked at conversation because small talk behooved me, but words flowed out of me like I did this every day. We talked about riding the 28, her comedy show, biking in the city, and then when The Swan appeared, I just turned to her and asked if she took the 28 too. I knew she did BECAUSE THAT WAS WHERE SHE LOOKED AT ME THE FIRST TIME, but I hadn’t seen her since and wanted to know if she had moved. She said she walks or bikes a lot these days, which explains her absence on the bus. All three of us began discussing the experience of biking in SF until there was a pause and I asked The Swan if she wanted to go up to Upstairs Cafe Place now. I felt like a fucking pro at this talking thing, and realized that the key to being interested in others (and hence, liking people) is to be happy. 

The above revelation sounds completely dumb and maybe wildly obvious to some of you. When you’ve spent a good chunk of your adult life mired in misery and melancholy, happiness might seem a tad foreign to you. Plus, the medication I’m on makes it harder for me to experience joy. While I’m not stumbling around greatly depressed anymore, I’m not exactly living my days ecstatic to be alive either. My baseline is a notch above “not feeling shitty.” When a significant event bumps that up to happy, I am instantly amazed by what a miracle drug this happiness thing can be. 

Being happy with myself opens up my heart to others. I don’t see strangers and my fellow human species as potential threats or jackasses, but as individuals with their own stories, passions, fears, desires, and histories. These days are incredibly rare, and I have to remember to take advantage of them when they come.

Back to this coffee date/not date...  

The first sign that she might be my soulmate came when we ordered our coffees. Seeing me go for the decaf at the self-serve station, she commented that she also drinks decaf because she couldn’t take the caffeine. With our cups in hand, we walked to the far end of Upstairs Cafe Place and sat at one of the tables by the windows. She placed her phone, keys, and wallet onto the table and excused herself while she went to the restroom.

IT WAS THAT WALLET, THE ONE WITH THE MAN ON IT. I took a closer look at the guy. He was shirtless with a six-pack. His long hair was pulled back and he had shades on. Who the hell could that be? If that was her boyfriend, then Jesus, there was no way I could compete. 

“Who’s that guy?” I asked The Swan when she returned from the bathroom. I braced myself for her to say, “Oh, my boyfriend.” Instead she asked if I knew who Riff Raff the rapper was. When I said I didn’t, she explained that she’s never listened to his music, but the character that James Franco plays in Spring Breakers was partially inspired by him, and since Spring Breakers is her favorite movie and she loved James Franco’s portrayal of said character, it was only natural that she’d have his photo printed on her wallet. 

We sat together for an hour, talking. The second sign that she might be my soulmate came when she told me she too loves Taylor Swift. Unlike Laura from Australia who thought my taste in Top 40 pop music was lame, The Swan proudly admitted that she loves all pop. “People who say they’re not into it are fooling themselves,” she said. “I mean, pop was made to be catchy and appeal to the masses.”

“I know, right?!” I agreed.

The third sign came when she told me how restless she felt, and how she yearned to quit her job and live a nomadic lifestyle, and I was like, “SHUT UP, me too!” 

She writes prose and music. She wants to perform live despite having stage fright. She once drove from Seattle to New York. She likes ice cream and dogs. She’s 23 and seemed mildly surprised when she found out how old I was.

She had on a nice striped turtle neck. Her eyes were a lovely grey-green and her cheeks were slightly flushed. I liked it when she looked out the window at the rain, like she was thinking about faraway things. I liked how she talked--calmly and peacefully, in a soft-spoken but interested way. I was astonished to find how un-drained I was after our conversation. 

We didn’t talk about whether we’d hang out again, but I’m going to make sure that we do. When I glided back into the office, I announced to Needles and Gina that I had discovered the mystery behind the wallet man. “It was James Franco from Spring Breakers,” I reported. 

“You didn’t recognize James Franco?” Needles asked suspiciously.

“No, I didn’t recognize James Franco IN SPRING BREAKERS.”

Needles Googled a picture of him. “You’re telling me you thought this was her boyfriend?”

“Okay, she had a different picture on her wallet,” I said. 

“Yeah but does she look like she’d date someone like that? With the teeth and all?”

“How am I supposed to know?! I don’t want to make any assumptions about who she might or might not be attracted to!”

“Sparky, you kept saying she was probably straight.”

“Okay, you know what I mean.”

Needles shook her head. “I can’t believe you thought James Franco was her boyfriend.”

Uncomfortable Thing #4: DONE. Looks like I completed this month’s task with much success. 

[howtonothatepeople2017-blog]

Disappointing People is Scary (Gina)

So I was on my way to visit a dear friend, who I call The Goddess in real life. She calls me The Other Goddess, so we are keeping it real. We met through my non-profit job and became friends because we both love animals, believe in angels, and were related in our other lives - we just know this. Oh, and she likes to take me as her date to see her favorite rock-n-roll greats (Elton John, The Stones and Paul McCartney for example). She’s awesome and inspiring and very kind and generous to me.

She also lives an hour drive away, and I had scheduled a lunch with her, which in itself took forever to sort out a date and time, and I was on my to meet her.

I had had a long week at work, a brutally hard rowing practice that morning, and was scheduled to go to the North Bay that evening for a concert. I was exhausted but pushing through my fatigue to keep my promise to this dear friend - who I really wanted to see.

I saw the backup on the freeway as I headed down the hill and started to cry. I pulled over and ran a check on the drive time and saw that it would take me nearly two hours to get there. I’d only have an hour for lunch would then have to turn around and drive home through even worse traffic into the city.

It was that dreaded feeling, of knowing I wanted to do something fun, keep my promise and show up as scheduled, only to have my body wanting nothing more than to lie down and sleep for three hours. I felt a pit in my stomach as I thought about what I “really” needed for myself - and the answer came in loud and clear: go sleep for three hours.

When I called The Goddess to explain my situation, I could hear the disappointment in her voice that I wasn’t going to make it for our scheduled visit. She completely understood and supported my decision to turn around and take a nap.

And I felt like a complete ass for cancelling and thereby taking care of myself.

I’ve read about this and hear people say how hard it is to put your own self-care first. I felt so guilty, but my body felt relieved. I sat at the side of the road and cried knowing that I disappointed my friend but I could go home and lie down, and my body was so relieved.

I should have planned my time better. If I had thought about it more carefully, I would have known that I had too many plans for one day.

I hated disappointing The Goddess. A part of me thought she would be angry with me and say something upsetting (hello, mom projection). And she *was* disappointed and told me so at dinner on Monday night (we managed to reschedule our meeting). And I sat with her disappointment, and I apologized. And I still felt bed. But I took care of myself.

I think about the decision a lot, I’m happy I decided to rest. And I decided to concentrate on not overbooking myself. It seems so simple, but it’s not for me.

[howtonothatepeople2017-blog]

Deadly Coffee Beans (Sparky)

On Thursday, I had a horrible hankering for something sweet. This is not unusual, and it was one of those days where I would have gone out to buy myself a cookie or brownie. But on Kimmy’s desk was a bag of chocolate covered coffee beans, free for the taking. I reached in and grabbed a big handful, devoured the entire thing, and went back for seconds. 

Afterward I realized that I had been mindlessly consuming a shit ton of caffeine. I am extremely sensitive to caffeine. My doctor tells me to stay away from it because it’ll worsen my anxiety and depression. For the most part, I do a good job. The times I’ve ignored my doctor’s advice and went for the mocha or latte anyway, I ended up with a sort of bipolar reaction--I was either manic or incredibly depressed, and sometimes both, one after the other. 

This time, I was, luckily, just manic, and kind of jittery, which is a much preferred reaction to depressed. I couldn’t concentrate on my work. My mind kept veering off to other things, such as The Swan. Okay, ONLY The Swan. I knew I had to talk to her today because I would hate myself if I chickened out. 

“Today is the day, Gina,” I told Gina frantically. 

“Not when you’re like this.”

“No, BECAUSE I’m like this!”

“Okay, yes, today is the day.”

And still, I stood at my desk, forcing myself to work. Shortly thereafter Gina announced that she was going off to her chiro appointment. When she returned, she excitedly screeched, “SHE’S THERE. I SAW HER! I WAVED AND SHE SMILED AND WAVED BACK! GO DOWN THERE NOW!!”

Slightly taken aback by her sudden outburst, I blinked and said, “But I’m getting contracts for the auditor.”

“WHO CARES?! GET DOWN THERE NOW!!”

“YOU care! THIS IS FOR THE AUDIT. And besides, she never waves at ME when I walk past her window! In fact, she never even turns around.”

“Well, I dunno! She was standing up and turned when I walked by. Just go down there and do it!! She’s in a good mood!!”

I stared at the Excel spreadsheet on my screen, and was suddenly hit with this unexplainable wave of despair. “She probably doesn’t even like me.”

“OH FOR GOD’S SAKE!” screamed Gina.

“And I’m wearing SHORTS!” This was because I was supposed to go work out with Fred and Kimmy, but our session was postponed until later in the day, and I was too lazy to change back into long pants. 

“OH FOR GOD’S SAKE!” Gina screamed louder. 

I sighed. “Okay, okay, I need to check the mail anyway.” 

“Uh huh,” nodded Gina.

I grabbed the mailbox keys and headed down. The Swan’s window is right next to the wall of mailboxes, and sure enough, she was in her office, her back to me. I retrieved the single envelope that was in our box, and then shakily walked into Downstairs Nonprofit Place. Front Desk Lady was there. 

“Hello!” I chirped like a maniac. “Just checking the server!”

It must have been the caffeine, because I was feeling a bit woozy when I was down there. I was pretty sure the server room was right across from The Swan’s, but when I got there I wasn’t sure if it really was the one DIRECTLY across, or the one that was sort of across. I was afraid one door led into someone’s office and I would barge in on an important meeting. Then I noticed the sign that said, “Supplies and Server” posted on the door DIRECTLY across from The Swan’s office, and that was when I knew how deadly an abundance of coffee beans can be. 

I made a bit of a racket trying to get in. Somehow, I was having a difficult time pushing or pulling the door, and maybe I had cursed audibly or something, but from my peripheral vision I saw The Swan stick her head out the office to see what the commotion was all about. As soon as I saw that, I popped into the server room and shut the door promptly behind me. 

I kind of really love the server room because it is warm and cozy, and the whir of the machines provides a sort of comforting lull. Since I was supposed to be checking on the server, I poked the touchpad of the laptop to awaken the screen, and then punched a few keys, hoping I hadn’t done anything stupid to actually fuck up the server. Then I inspected all the wires and cables as if I actually were checking the server, and then I stood there in the warm, cozy room, trying not to faint. 

Eventually I opened the door and slipped out, and yes, right across from me, WAS HER OFFICE. AND SHE WAS INSIDE, ON HER LAPTOP AND THIS WAS MY CHANCE. And since Gina had practically announced my personal life to the entire office, I couldn’t very well go back up there empty-handed. I had to do this. 

I knocked on The Swan’s door. “Yeah?” she answered. 

I walked in. “Hello,” I croaked.

“Hi,” she said, smiling. HOLY FUCK, SHE IS SMILING AT ME, I wanted to scream. “How are you?”

“Good. And you?” HOLY FUCK, SHE ASKED HOW I’M DOING.

“Good.”

“Good, good. So, I was just checking the server and noticed your office was right here. And I know for a fact that you drink coffee, so I was wondering if you wanted to get coffee together tomorrow.” It felt like I had said all that without breathing. 

“Yeah, sure, what time?” HOLY FUCK, SHE SAID YES. SHE. SAID. YES.

“10? Or earlier? Whenever.”

“Ah, it might have to be later because I’m thinking of coming in at 11, if I’m coming in at all.”

“Oh yeah, sure, whenever. I’ll come check in at 11. If not tomorrow, then Monday.”

“Okay,” she said, still smiling. HOLY FUCK, SHE’S STILL SMILING.

I lit on out of there. “Server’s fine!” I said to Front Desk Lady as I whipped past her and out the door and up the stairs and back into my own office, completely breathless and elated. 

Of course, there was Gina, on her way to the kitchen. “WELL?!”

“She said yes!”

The next thing that happened is almost impossible to describe. Gina let out the loudest laugh-yelp I had ever heard. It was so loud that half the office streamed out into the hall to see what all the ruckus was about. 

“OH MY GOD!” she cried. “THAT IS AWESOME!! THAT IS SO EXCITING!!” 

Catnip was there. Needles was there. They both noticed my shorts. “You asked her out showing off your legs, huh?” they said.

“I WAS SUPPOSED TO WORK OUT!” I said defensively.

And then when I walked back to my desk, Kimmy shot me a two thumbs up and said, “We heard.” 

Later, Flash, who had also heard the news because I had excitedly texted her, came in to visit Gina. They had taken a stroll around The Palace of Fine Arts in search of the heron nest that Needles had told us about a few weeks ago. Flash said she had something to show me, and then pulled out her phone to a display of several photos of...

A swan and a seagull tranquilly sitting on the water together.

“You see this?” she said, swiping across the screen to show me the next in the series. “Gina and I were at the lake when we saw this swan here going after this seagull. You say that swans don’t go for gulls, but I’m here to prove to you that you are wrong. Do you see that? That swan is getting closer and closer to that seagull. It’s totally into him. Nature can surprise you.”

“How metaphorical. What happened at the end? Did the swan get to its object of desire?”

“No, then a bunch of dumb tourists threw bread at them and scared them away.”

“Oh. That’s like society. Society frowns upon relationships such as ours. It does not approve our love.”

“Oh for God’s sake,” said Gina.

And that was how two deadly handfuls of coffee beans and a very loud Gina prompted me to do one of the ballsiest things I have ever done. And also how the entire office heard of my personal escapades. 

That night, my heart pounding from the caffeine, I tossed and turned and agonized over how our coffee date/not date (?) would go, and realized it had been almost exactly nine years since I last asked a girl out like this. 

Uncomfortable Thing #3: DONE

[howtonothatepeople2017-blog]

To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield (Flash)

OK, really for you literary lovers out there reading this, that blog post title was written by Lord Alfred Tennyson in "Ulysses".  As a person who remembers a great deal of the things I have read, "Ulysses" has been on my mind a great deal as we have been on this quest to Learn to Love People.  If you haven't ever read it, or if it has been a while since you did, you can find it here (https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems-and-poets/poems/detail/45392) Anyway...I bring this up now because Buzz Lightyear and I are both on a quest of Forgiveness, and "Ulysses" has many lines that have resonated with me on this quest.  Buzz Lightyear said something like 'I can't take one more thing, what else can possibly happen?'  And I firmly believe this is a question best left unasked in the arena around bad things happening in my life.  Tennyson said "Life piled on life", which is kind of what it feels like when one more bad thing happens and you are not ready for it. Again, Anyway...Buzz Lightyear and I have talked a lot about how we are having a hard time figuring out what Forgiveness will feel like and how we will know it when it happens.  The quest for Forgiveness feels like, as Tennyson said: "We are not now that strength which in old days Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are; One equal temper of heroic hearts, Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will" ...Back to the assignment...Today Buzz Lightyear and I met up at a mall to do some shopping.  We both hate shopping and really dislike malls so, we were in a place that made me uncomfortable; and since we were out in public, I did my best to have this hard Forgiveness conversation with Buzz Lightyear while looking kind and approachable to the strangers who could see and hear us walking and shopping and talking.  I know, the assignment was to actually talk to strangers, but having hard conversations with people I know while in an uncomfortable situation or location still feels like I am following the assignment. So, there we were talking, filled with pain and anger and at some points tears, in the shoe section at Nordstrom.  Buzz Lightyear really wanted to try on a pair of shoes but was hesitant to try to talk to the shoe department staff member in this condition.  I mustered up my approachable and kind face and smiled at the staff member, who was happy to come over to help.  It actually worked, this change in my presentation invited the staff member (who appeared frightened to approach us in our sad state) to come over to assist us.  I asked for the shoe in Buzz's size with my kindest facial expression...and we got help.  It actually works.  And while none of this completed the quest for Forgiveness, it did open me up to talking to strangers while uncomfortable. So, to Michael Kavarok, I admit, you were right again.  Look approachable, talk to strangers, you never know what good things might happen.

[howtonothatepeople2017-blog]

What Would A Person Who Likes People Do? (Sparky)

Now that I have been properly introduced to The Swan, the next step would be to get to know her. But seeing as how little I bump into her, how was that ever going to happen? I saw several options.

1. Gina and Flash suggested that I befriend Front Desk Lady and get her to invite me and her entire office, The Swan included, to one of her shows.

2. Gina and Flash also suggested I wave at her in front of her window and then ask her out to coffee. 

3. Fred said I could save her from a life-threatening situation. “That’s why I’m working out with you,” I told him. “So I can pull her up from the edge of a cliff.”

4. Make a loud noise and fall down right in front her window, causing her to run out to check to see if I’m okay. 

5. Literally spy on her to see when she leaves the office for the day, then follow her so we can be on the same bus. 

I asked my coworker, Kimmy, for advice. She is a cheery individual who might be able to provide a new perspective.

Me: You would say you like people, right?

Kimmy: Yup.

Me: And you would say that you’re an extrovert, right?

Kimmy: Yup.

Me: So what would an extrovert who likes people do in the following situation? Suppose the extrovert sees a cute person who happens to work downstairs and wants to get to know them more. What would the extrovert do?

Kimmy: The short answer is probably they would go up to them say, “Hey I’ve seen you around, where do you work? That sounds cool, wanna get some coffee at Cafe Upstairs sometime?” I usually say something like, “You seem cool and I like hanging with cool people. We should hang,” something like that. Sometimes saying something that could be awkward and weird just gets things out there.

Me: What? That’s it?

Kimmy: Yeah, I read this funny book as a teen where the author was like, “How to Survive Adolescence,” and one of the things she said was if you feel a sort of "weakness," like if you think your breath smells bad, you should offer it up right away. Like, “Hi, so nice to meet you, I’m so sorry I had garlic for lunch and I might have garlic breath.” Once you acknowledge it you can get past it. I made a new friend in my Lyft line this weekend. We’re going to hang at the MoMA in the coming weeks because I was like, “I don’t know anything, I’m new.” It’s fun!

At this point, I was beginning to wonder what planet Kimmy was from. 

Me: So you wouldn't strategically like, scheme to be friends with one of their coworkers first and then get them all to hang out in a group, or spy on them and follow them to Cafe Upstairs?

Kimmy: No. I mean, it’s nice to talk to people who think you are interesting and cool (which most people are) so when you put it out there it almost seems like, why would they say no?

Me: Because they’re creeped out by you?!

Kimmy: I don’t find that happens so much, especially not here in CA--everyone is so friendly!

Me: So...you would just walk into their office and ask them out?

Kimmy: I wouldn't do that. Too direct. I'd do it hopefully at a time when you see them around, like in the hall or in line or after some event at the building maybe. Just be like, “Hey! I’ve seen you....”

Me: So you DO have to stalk them?

Kimmy: Oh. Maybe a little.

(I always knew this would involve some stalking.)

Me: What if I already introduced myself like that and now I need a second excuse to talk to her?

Kimmy: Can you bump into her again?

Me: It’s hard. It’s hardly ever happened. BUT the server IS located across from her office so it could very conveniently break down and I can go check it and then ask her.

Kimmy: There you go! Great idea!

And this, I suppose, is a benefit of liking people. You don’t go straight to scheming and stalking and spying like a little weirdo. Your instinct is to be friendly and directly ask people to hang out like a normal human being. Who DOES that?! People who like people, apparently.