The limits of my vocabulary meet the Foxfield Races

Here is a girl who got a perfect score* on her verbal SATs, but who can’t find a synonym for “awesome” in quotidian** conversation. Or who finds herself stuck with “interesting” as a default adjective whether she’s discussing a Great American Novel or the pizza she had for lunch.

The verbal portion of my brain freezes up completely in mixed company. All I can process are the ways in which people are looking at me. I try to be articulate – I really do – but I get distracted by the sweat running down my back or by the scrutiny in other peoples’ eyes or by the fact that I lost track of what I was talking about a long time ago. If I’m going to say something borderline intelligent, the social climate has to be right to within an eighth of a degree. For example, the sweat glands, the digestive system, the state of intoxication, the room temperature, what I absorbed on the internet right before the party – this all has to line up perfectly or I will start blabbering.

This is all a prelude to an important lesson I learned over the weekend. If you really want to feel eloquent, hang out sober with a bunch of people who are balls-to-the-wall wasted. I picked up my lovely little sister and her adorable friends at Foxfield on Saturday, and I plan to take on the DD role every spring from now on. Not only did I get to be the hero who arrived in the nick of time to shuttle the kids back to town before anyone else got arrested, I also got to be the cool cucumber who knew just how to nonchalantly accept all the praise heaped on me for being the “awesomest.” I was driving a 12-seater van, I was cracking jokes, I was telling the drunk people about the salad I had for lunch – and they were all riveted and enamored by me, I swear to God. And when I walked along Barracks Road on the way to the field and was passed by all the undergrads in pickup trucks who shouted, “You suck!”,*** it didn’t even matter because I knew that I’d be able to recite the alphabet better than anyone within a mile radius. What a great day.

I’m wondering if maybe I should become a late-night taxi driver. I can try out some smart-person vocabulary on drunk passengers, give my self esteem a boost, and make some money in the process. I wish that I could be that sober all the time, but sadly, slight intoxication is the millstone I must wear around my neck in order to deal with average social events like lunch and dinner. I tried yoga, deep breathing, and meditation, but they’re so much harder than a mixed drink.

*STILL bragging even though it was over 10 years ago and those smarty-pants brain cells are all gone now. And please don’t ask me about the math portion – just give me my moment in the sun.

**See!!?

***In fairness to these people, after they harrassed me they would typically notice the purebred dog I was walking and then they would forget that they’d just yelled, “You suck!” and politely ask, “Aww, is that a Bernese?”

4 Thoughts on “The limits of my vocabulary meet the Foxfield Races

  1. Ha I saw those kids at Barrack’s too – probably the same truck, although there were several. This one was loaded with girls who felt the need to yell at passersby. You’re a good sis to shuttle the sillies. I remember those days…just not so well…

  2. Awesome Post Wis!

    I really found it interesting.

  3. Erika H. on April 29, 2009 at 11:50 am said:

    Last night I had a dream in which I was telling a story to a group of people. Once I was about a sentence and a half into it, it became painfully obvious that it was going nowhere and wasn’t funny in either the narrative arc or the ending, and in fact had no ending, and the dream dragged on in these sick lurches where I was glancing around at the puzzled, pitying looks on everyone’s faces while desperately trying to come up with the next sentence of the story and simultaneously think of how that sentence could possibly lead to some sort of ending that would redeem any small part of the telling.

    So in my universe, this post is well-timed.

  4. “…can’t find a synonym for “awesome”

    “Awesome” should be a word for which there are no synonyms, because awesome events are nearly, if not completely, without equal. A chicken salad sandwich is not awesome. Dunking a basketball is not awesome. Even really hot chicks in skimpy sundresses are not awesome (I had to think about this one, but, no, they’re not).

    Only 60′ waves, F5 tornados, and driving 12-seater vans should be bestowed with “awesome.” : )

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