With the exception of sex and driving in the car pool lane, I pretty much like doing things on my own. Going to the movies, eating out in restaurants, going to art museums, etc. Maybe I’m a tad bit narcissistic – okay fine, more than a tad – but it always seems like the other person, or persons, screws up the experience for me. They talk during the movie, they criticise the art I like, or they complain about the food. I never complain about the food. I don’t have too. The other person usually does it for me.
Them: I don’t think they got your order right.
Me: How would you know? You were texting your BFF and totally ignoring me when I ordered.
Them: Well, it just looks wrong.
I’m not one of those complainer people. I figure that if I’m lucky enough to have the means to even go out to a restaurant that I should be grateful. A lot of people don’t even have enough food to eat on a daily basis. I’m lucky that I do. Unfortuately, a majority of the people that I hang with don’t share that philosophy. They equate being grateful with weakness or letting people walk all over you.
Another reason that I prefer doing things on my own is that, in addition to being complainers and criticizers, most of the people that I do things with are those itinerary/list people. I hate lists. Nothing spoils an adventure more than a list. With lists, especially those accompanied with times, there is no plan B.
I keep everything in my head. And I always have back-up plans. A through Double Z. If this happens then I’ll do that. If that happens then I’ll do this. Written down itinerary/list people usually just have Plan A. That’s it. A snag or a snafu and they’re screwed.
Oh no, traffic is backed up. Let me honk incessantly at these other cars. They are screwing up my plan. I am going to be late for no. 7 on my list. My day is ruined.
It’s not that I’m not organized. I am, somewhat. But, you can be TOO organized. Organized to the point of it screwing everything up. I like to keep things more Bohemian.
I suppose that I should seek out people who are more like me. You know, the freer, less organized types. The ones who don’t have a coronary if the movie starts 5 minutes late, or don’t have a cow if a few regular fries get mixed in with their curly fries. But. for some odd reason – probably some psychological childhood trauma thing that I’m not even aware of – I surround myself with those ‘complainer/I have a time limit’ people. Shruggs shoulders
I can’t help it. That’s how I roll.