I suffer from a serious inability to overcome stationary inertia when it comes to having a social life. I live in a neighborhood filled with friendly and cool people. How many of them do I actually know? Two. No, seriously. Two.

Why? Because making friends with anyone would require that I get up and leave the house from time to time. And that just seems like a lot of effort to me. Hell, the only reason I know the two people I know here is because of our kids.

This makes me sad. I’m a fun girl. I like having friends. I like having things to do. I like talking to grownups face to face. So, just when I decided to make more of an effort, one of the people I know throws a Wildtree Herb party. Fate speaks to me! Fate is saying, “Go! I’m giving you this golden opportunity!”

Now, I have to tell y’all about the whole process with me and going places, especially places that involve someone selling me stuff at someone else’s house. And it is a process. A long, drawn out, ridiculous process.

I get the e-mail from Sarah (Lenna’s BFF’s mom) inviting me to the party. Oh, SQUEE!! I reply immediately with “I’ll be there. :)” (I listen to Fate when I can. :nod:) Which I then promptly want to unsend. (I simultaneously love and hate that feature of AOL mail.) Why? Because woo — Sarah’s house is pretty far from here. (It’s down the block, people. Down. The. Block.)

But I don’t unsend it because I’m GOING TO MAKE MORE OF AN EFFORT!! I WANT TO TALK TO GROWNUPS! I WANT TO GO HAVE FUN! I WANT TO RE-DISCOVER LIFE OUTSIDE THIS HOUSE! Also? I want some of Wildtree Herb’s apple pie spice stuff so I can make apple butter. But that’s not the point. I WANT TO BE A FUN GIRL AGAIN!

So, over the next couple of days, I don’t let myself think about the party much because I’ll come up with a hibbity-jillion-kazillion reasons why I really. cannot. go. And not a one of those reasons will be more than utter bullshit designed to keep me from having to make an effort.

So yesterday was the day of the party. All day long I’m thinking up reasons I can’t be there. And all day long I’m telling myself to cut it out already. The following is the convo between Sane Self (SS) and Not-so-sane Self (NSSS).

NSSS: Tricia’s too fussy from her shots to go.
SS: The shots were two days ago, and she’s fine.
NSSS: Okay. We don’t have anything to wear.
SS: Of course we do. We’re wearing jeans and that Trogdor polo we got from Sarah [my sister, not the party-thrower].
NSSS: We’re too fat to go in public.
SS: That’s utterly ridiculous. Although we could stand to lose….hey. Cut that out!
NSSS: We’d have to take a bath and comb our hair.
SS: You make a very compelling point, my friend.

So I’d decided I’d call Sarah and tell her I wasn’t going. Yes, people, all because the idea of bathing and combing my hair was just WAY too much effort. No, seriously. I’ve dialed the phone even, when I snap out of it and decide I am going. Just then, Sarah answers her phone. Since I’m not terribly quick on my feet in moments like this, I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind, “I can bring my kids; right?” (I knew I could — she’d said so in the e-mail.)

WHAT?! What the hell was THAT?!? Bring the kids?!? This is supposed to be grown up time! This is supposed to be Steph is being a fun girl again time! This kind of thing is why there’s a pile of breastmilk in the fridge! WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?! :sigh:

Sarah says yes and asks if I’m bringing the baby. Well, hell, now I’m committed. “Yup. We’ll be there.” So off we go to the party. We had a grand time. Tricia was cooed over. Lenna was praised by all. (Matt and Bill stayed home.) I met some new people who I think are absolutely the coolest. I talked with grownups and managed to avoid saying anything really stupid. And most importantly, I bought the apple pie spice stuff.