When I was a wee ThirtyWhat in grade school, I was horrified at the idea of parent/teacher conferences. I remember as far back as second grade ... practically having a panic attack at the idea of my mother meeting my teacher. What would they talk about? What were they going to say about me? I would work myself up into a froth until I was convinced that it was going to be catastrophic ... and I would spend the entire evening imagining Mom coming home angry because of all the horrible things she'd heard about me ...
This went on year after year ... until finally one year Mom came home angry ... but not for the reason I'd expected. She walked in the door and said, "Why do you do this?! Every year you worry and you panic and I start thinking that you must be doing horrific things at school ... and every year I go in and your teacher tells me you're a joy to have in the class! Stop doing this!"
I didn't. I worried just as much and panicked just as much the next year ... and the year after that. I just internalized it. I didn't show her how anxious I was at this annual sadistic ritual.
And then I grew up ... and discovered performance reviews. Which are parent teacher conferences all over again ... only worse. Because now you get to sit there and get to hear bad things about yourself. It's like they took my worst fear and pumped that sucker full of steroids and said ... how you like me now?! And, just like grade school ... it is never bad. The last two years I've gotten perfect scores on my review. I've even gotten awards for the training work I've done. And yet I still spend the entire week leading up to my review sick to my stomach.
It's an illogical fear ... I realize that ... but I think by this age we have to face the facts. It's an idiosyncrasy ... and it isn't going to change. Which brings us to ... tonight.
My anxiety about this evening has nothing to do with my guy. He's awesome. He's funny ... and sweet ... and smart ... and a few other things my family doesn't need to know anything about. And on the flip side, as much as I joke about them, my family is great. They're funny and they're nice ... and they're excited to meet him. No ... the nervousness is all me. It's all in my head.
Laying in bed last night, I tried playing the "what's the worst that could happen" game ... and that was the worst fucking idea I've had in a long time. Because what's the worst that could happen? I don't know ... he could say ... "Your family is fucking crazy ... Seacrest out." No no ... worse than that? My cousin could tell the story about that time when she was little and my grandmother was babysitting her and she thought she had to pass gas but instead pooped all over herself and my grandmother's wall ... because at that point, he'll just get up and walk out and never speak of us again.
Don't ever play the "what's the worst that could happen" game ... it's a horrible, horrible game ...
So ... what's the best that could happen? We could all have dinner and talk and laugh and have fun ... then he'd take me home and I'd spend a little time earning a great confession on Saturday. Yeah yeah ... reality will probably fall somewhere in the middle. I know ... it's okay. Everything is gonna be alright ...
Gonna set this town alight
The boys are ready, we're out to rock
Gonna turn it up tonight
Slaughter - Eye to Eye