The Island of Misfit Toys

We're about two weeks into my official First Summer in Texas.  I'm getting used to it, I think.  Maybe. I'm baffled by Crawtators, and I blend in at the PTO like Marisa Tomei in My Cousin Vinny.  Also, it's getting kinda hot.  

Here's the thing: I've made a commitment not to swear in this blog, and I don't know if I can describe Texas summer weather without swearing. I will do my best.

Basically, if you're going to live in Texas in the summer, you're making a monogamous commitment to your home's central air conditioning system. (Dear Central Air Conditioning, I will forsake all others for you. Unless you stop working. In which case I am fully prepared to proposition the HVAC guy.)

So, we live inside during the summer.  I am still getting a tan, though, from walking across the Target parking lot once a week.  The heat radiates up off the pavement and melts my 110 SPF sunblock right off.  It is really. farking. hot.  (See? No swearing. Yet.)

All this staying inside is no doubt contributing to my inability to make friends in my new hometown.  We've lived here for four months and I still only have, like, one friend.  And she's in Colorado right now escaping my extreme neediness the heat. 

Not that being able to get out ensures I'm going to score friends.  Here are some of the many places in which I have failed to make friends in my new town:

1. The PTO. Let's just say there was an incident at the school's Movie Night. It involved another mom trying to give my daughter candy after I had already said she couldn't have it.  I am by no means anti-candy.  In fact I have a personal stash of chocolate that I hide behind the beef broth cans.  But in this case, the Pork Lo Maniac had already had some candy, and it was close to bedtime, and my children had school tomorrow, not juvie.  In any case, I believe it's written in section 243.c of the Mommy Rules that you don't screw around by questioning another parent's decisions, in front of her kid.  (Section 243.d. also specifies not to do it in public.)  I literally put my hand between her and my daughter to block the candy like I was an NHL goalie.

2. Chick-fil-A Play Area. FAIL. Despite the fact that it looked like a day care center had overflowed into the play area, there was only one other parent in there with me. And we were both so busy reprimanding other people's children that I didn't get a chance to get her phone number so I could stalk her chat with her.

3. PTO, Attempt 2.  I mentioned the Chick-fil-A scene at another PTO event, hoping to win friends with my witty description of the scene.  Another PTO mom informed me that she was "special" about other people disciplining her kids.  Yes, she said "special."  I wasn't sure what that even meant, really, so I just said, "Well, I guess you'll want to supervise your kids if you're ever at Chick-fil-A with me, then."  Yeah, making friends at the PTO left and right.

4. Drive-Up Line at School.  One day in the pick-up line at school, I noticed that the car in front of me had New Jersey plates.  I hadn't seen the car around before, so I got all excited, thinking someone new had moved to town that I could totally cling to invite for coffee.  I am so desperate for friends that I got out of my car and tapped on her window.

Me: "Um, yeah, I noticed your Jersey plates.  Did you just move here?"

Horrified Texan: "Oh my God, no.  This is a rental."

Hermey the Misfit Elf Me: "Oh.  So, do you want to get coffee?"

Horrified Texan: (Rolls up window.)

4. Super Target.  A while back a woman approached me at Super Target and asked me if I knew if the store had a produce section.  She mentioned that she had just moved here. Why didn't I ask her to hang out and get an Archer Farms chicken sausage at the dining area?  Because I was so stupefied and unnerved by the hugeness of the Texan Super Target, that I was nearly having a panic attack myself.  So we drifted apart like two overwhelmed, panicky ships in the night. 

5. Waiting Room at the Pediatric Neurologist's Office.  (Also known as Orville Redenbacher's Bonkersville Institute.)  What better place for my family to make some spectrum-tastic friends?  Last time we were there, another mom and dad were in the waiting room with us. They were clearly there for that all-important sans-kid first meeting.  They had that glazed look of parents who Need Their Kid Fixed.  Unfortunately, their proximity to my kids, who were in full-blown Island of Misfit Toys mode, was not helping their stress level.  I think I saw the dad actually twitching.  So I figured I should just leave them alone. 

This place is a mystery to me.  Really, everyone here is super nice.  It's just that I'm a complete misfit.  I don't want to fix toys, I want to be a dentist.  Wait, no, that's the misfit elf from Rudolf.  I am the misfit Yankee.  I panic at every tropical storm.  I don't know the right words for things (shopping cart = "buggy," any kind of soda = "coke.")  I don't know the right way to say things.  (Me: "Your say your husband works in the all industry?" Potential Friend: "Yes, he works for Mobil All.")  I have to Google the things I find at the grocery store (Crawtators = I still don't know, and I'm a little afraid to find out).

I'll keep working on figuring it all out. Maybe I need to try the Crawtators.