On Becoming Antisocial

I think I am becoming antisocial in my old age. Yesterday was the cut-off to RSVP for my company's winter event. In essence, it is our company's Christmas party. However, being politically correct, it is not called a Christmas party. Nor a Hanukkah party. Nor a Kwanzaa party. Nor a holiday party of any kind. It is the "Winter Event." I've never been before, but I would anticipate that the word "event" makes it sound much more fabulous than it actually is.

This year, several of my coworkers have asked me to attend. As a matter of fact, one of my gay male coworkers has practically begged me to attend, promising that I could sit at the “reject” table with he and his partner. I must admit, that almost sealed the deal for me. I am always up for hanging out with the rejects. I find that they tend to have the most fun at these events. I promised my coworker I would discuss it with Ruanita and we would probably attend.

This year's event is being held at the Walker Art Center. The catered dinner menu sounds decadent and delicious. Cocktails will be provided and we will have the opportunity to peruse the galleries free of the typical crowds. All in all , it sounds like an absolutely fabulous party. Right?

Of course, I am not attending. So how did I get from a promise of probable attendance to a flat out refusal to attend? That, my friends, is my dirty little secret. The source of my anti-social-ness (yes, I am creating words. If George W. Bush and Sarah Palin can do it, why can't I?). Here it is. As a general rule, I do not like people. There. It is out in the open. The truth shall set me free.

I have not always had a disdain for the public, at large. In my younger years, I was pretty dang sociable. However, in recent years, I find that I have little patience for people's bullshit. The people I work with are fine enough people. I have no reason to dislike them, and as a matter of fact, I generally do like them. However, I wouldn't really consider any of them my friends and really have no desire to hang out with them outside of work (with the exception of my one gay boy friend who keeps inviting Ruanita and I to his house for dinner. One day we might actually go).

Since having children, my weekends have become incredibly precious to me. Ruanita and I do not see each other at all during the week, with working opposite schedules. My weekends are reserved for my family and people that I genuinely enjoy being with and consider my friends. Unfortunately, though they are probably damn fine people, my current coworkers do not make the cut. Does that make me antisocial? Probably. Does it make me cold-hearted? Maybe.

I am quickly approaching forty years old (two more years....ack!). As a nearly forty-year-old woman, I think I have earned the right to surround myself with the people who mean the most to me. If that means choosing a movie and pizza at home with my spouse and kids over a fancy dinner and cocktails with my coworkers, so be it. Perhaps I am not really antisocial. Perhaps I am simply selectively social? What's so wrong with that?