It was at my friend Nirmala’s 25^th birthday that I practiced “party of one” tip number four. 

4. When you’re nervous, alone, don’t know how to talk to someone you’ve just met, and don’t yet know if you even want to know them further, ask them about themselves. It’ll let you know if you do want to get to know them, and relax everyone. Most people don’t receive a lot of undivided attention from other people who are interested in who they are and what they’re doing. Mostly, they’re told who to be, what to wear, what to weigh, who to date, and so on. To have someone express interest sets most people on fire. It doesn’t take much to get rolling. Here are a few examples that I used on one of Nirmala’s more reserved female friends. 

“Hi! I’m Nirmala’s friend Sita. What’s your name?” 

“How do you and Nirmala know each other?”  

“What do you do with your days? I’m working on an MA half-time, writing, and investigating volunteering opportunities.” (This allows them time to understand that you’re not asking necessarily what they do for a living, as though that’s the sum total of who they are. I hate that.) 

From a beginning like this, I learned that Nic’s friend is in her 30’s, not her 20’s like I originally thought. I found out that she used to be a cat and dog veterinarian, but recently chose to specialize in feline care. Her job isn’t just how she pays the mortgage, it’s something she’s passionate about. She often adopts the older cats that people bring in to put to sleep, so she has ten or twelve cats at home at any given time. All this told me a lot about why she and Nirmala are friends. Though reserved, Nirmala’s vet friend is passionate and dedicated to the life she’s created, she’s tremendously compassionate and doesn’t talk a lot about the things that need doing - she simply does them.  

I learned all that in the first fifteen minutes of conversation, simply by asking questions and letting her tell me, and show me who she was. 

To my surprise, I ended up staying at that party until almost midnight. (Something I never do. My family always teases me and calls me “Granny Edwards.” Now, where’s my walker?) 

Clearly, my party skills and I could use some practice, but I’m getting there. The best part is, I always have more fun than I expect, and it’s never as scary as I think it’s going to be. 

I even got to feel all super in demand at Nic’s party. I tried to leave at ten, but the people I was talking to exclaimed in disapproval, and wouldn’t permit it. 

What do you know? I may have arrived alone, but I left feeling like part of the group.

5. Calm down from the outside in. When I get uncertain and nervous, my heart rate goes up, and I begin to breathe very rapidly & shallowly. Take conscious, slow breaths, remind yourself that there’s no need to panic, and dive in. 

I found this particularly helpful when I attended a holiday open house with my mom and her sweetie. Other than me, the youngest person there was twice my age, and I’d never met any of them. Usually when familial guilt cons me into attending such events, I revert to age six. I drink ginger ale, stand pigeon-toed, & talk an octave above my normal speaking voice. It’s like being possessed of the ghost of Sita Past. Yuck. 

This time, when I felt myself beginning to skid headlong toward mute panic tinged with boredom, I yanked myself back. I worked on my breathing, and found myself immediately calming down, so when the hostess came over to talk to us (and asked me about myself - see #4), I was feeling receptive, and gamely followed along to be introduced to people. It was a wonderful evening during which I discussed the public school system, education in general, the impact of my education in my life, and learned a lot about art. 

Heading into a room full of people you don’t know can be scary stuff, even without adding size concerns into the mix. But recent experience tells me that simply by showing up to such events I’m confounding people’s expectations. Fat people don’t sit at home watching television because we’ve got nothing else to do. We go to parties, write articles about our silly mistakes, laugh at ourselves, love our friends, and we live our lives to the fullest. 

Now that is activism!

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Not long ago my friend Katherine and I decided over lunch that the innermost circle of hell is undoubtedly one eternal cocktail party. There’s a whole set of assumptions that attach to a single woman at a party, and they are only exacerbated if that woman happens to be fat. Single and slender, people wonder why you haven’t been snapped up. Single and fat, people don’t wonder - they think they KNOW.

 I’m allergic to putting myself in positions which confirm people in their prejudices, so I tend to avoid parties where I don’t know many people. It makes me want to drawl self-importantly, “Well, the Count really wanted to be here, *dahlink*, but he had some urgent last minute business with the Royals, and you know how they hate to be kept waiting!” In addition to that, I get shy in crowds of strangers. Generally speaking I’m quite outgoing and self-confident. (Enough so that when I tell people that crowds make me shy, they snort in disbelief.) The combination is just bad. It serves to push every insecurity button I have, and make me want to crawl under the couch, whimpering for my mommy.

Which is precisely why I accepted as many party invitations as possible over the holidays. No, I’m not a masochist. (Though who doesn’t like a good spanking now and then? Mrowl, baby.) My life experience has made it abundantly clear that, much like the thwap-a-mole at the carnival, my fears just pop up repeatedly until I clobber them for good. In college, I dealt with my tomboyish refusal to wear skirts by throwing out my pants and wearing nothing *but* skirts. Nine years later, I still prefer them. Insta-femininity combined with excellent air circulation - what’s not to like? But I digress.

In the true spirit of drawing one’s sword and bravely facing the slobbering Beast of Social Insecurity, I accepted several party invitations in the Halloween to New Year bloc. The first was to a Halloween party thrown by none other than Katherine, my cocktail party loathing friend. Having spent more time learning to deal with obligatory parties than I have, she had a couple of helpful suggestions. (Nothing like a friend who understands one’s neuroses to get you through the tough times.)

1. Get to the party early, while it’s in the closing stages of being set up. That way, you can meet people as they come through the door and are still nice individuals, prior to the pack mentality that happens once they’ve all arrived and are drinking and mooning each other *en masse*. (It’s a good idea to clear this with the hostess first, provided of course that she isn’t the one that suggested it to you.

2. Find something useful to do in the doorway area, and make a point of greeting each person as they enter, introducing yourself, and striking up some sort of conversation. It doesn’t have to last long, but it fixes you in their mind, and it’s easier later in the evening to join circles of people standing around talking to each other. You’re more likely to get a bright smile and a cheerful, “We met earlier, could you tell me your name again? I’d like you to meet some friends of mine!”

3. This may not be a rule, exactly, but here’s something *not* to do: Girding my proverbial loins, I pranced my way on my brand new 4″ sex kitten heels over to the door to practice Katherine’s suggestion. (Thank you Torrid, for creating a perfect harmony between agony and foxiness.) Standing near it was a really beautiful man. He was tall, African American, had those cool skinny little dreds all the way down his back, and biceps so large that I could almost hear his leather jacket panting with the effort of containing them. Mrowl, indeed. I don’t remember what I said initially, but eventually the inevitable Halloween party costume bit came up. I was feeling rather proud of my slinky little form-fitting black t-shirt that had a red devil tail sassily wrapped around the words, “Devilishly Cute.” (Sometimes, the obvious bears repeating.) I was going for a sort of lazy-urban-slightly-slutty-devilette look. I even had those tremendously cool drag queen tinsel eyelashes that stick out for *miles*. I couldn’t see a thing, but I looked smashing. I couldn’t figure this guy’s costume out, though. Very understated. Was he going for Cool Incarnate? Perhaps Tyr Anasazi from that show “Andromeda?” My query was met with a friendly, but nearly monosyllabic, “Bouncer.” “Ah,” I thought, “that’s a good one. He gets to go to the party without all the what-will-I-wear drama!” Then the doorbell rang, he removed his list of permitted guests from his pocket, and proceeded to check them off. In the immortal words of Homer Simpson…..”Doh!” Not “A” bouncer - “THE” bouncer!

Though some of you are no doubt recoiling in horror, I thought it was pretty funny. Evidently the bouncer did, too, judging from the grin and wink he shot me as he got to work. And really - isn’t any party at which handsome men grin and wink at you a smashing success? I certainly thought so. Thank you, Katherine! (Next Issue - Birthday parties galore!)  

Links You Might Like:

• Young and Trendy Plus-Size Clothes

• Plus-Size Costumes

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