Girl, So Intense
✿ disco, candy, and rejection
Back in 2020 during the greyish slog that is a Canadian February, I attended a queer sober disco.
The hosts—Boring Girls Club, an alcohol-free gathering for the women and the gays—were people I was just getting to know in my post-alcoholic world. This was to be my first real attempt at figuring out where I belonged. Could I still go out dancing without getting wasted? Could I socialize without confidence juice? What would I do without my kryptonite: picking up men at bars?
After taking in the vibrant splendor of oversized pink balloon letters ("BGC") against a gold matte garland backdrop, I got myself a ginger beer from the cash bar and wondered existentially if the groups of whispering lesbians thought I was fuckable.
Then I bumped into Megan.
Megan turned out to be a social media connection of one of the hosts. She was into tarot and crystals, was a graphic designer, vegan, and sober—everything I was into! (at the time) We clicked. I shared passionately about my earth activism and she shared passionately about the current astrological weather ("it's a full moon in Leo tonight and your mane is soooo on point!")
We stayed close the entire night, intermittently chatting and taking in the now-full space of groovy disco folk. When anything Bee Gee's came on—see ya! I'd book it to the dance floor and tear that shit up. She seemed quite shy, but cheered me on anyways with an embarrassed but participatory smile.
There was a spread of classic party nibbles but I found myself drawn to the candy table: three industrial-sized bowls filled right to the rim with brightly wrapped sweets. If I was to guess, there were probably eighty candies to every one human there—a truly comical ratio—and nobody was eating them! So with a nod of amusement from the drag queen on snack duty, I filled a pocket of my blazer with multi-flavored Hi-Chews, figuring I'd do a bit of foraging for my new friend.
When I returned, she laughed in disbelief at my social absurdity. I told her I thought the full moon was making my gut parasites crave sugar and that I was simply being a good host. She shook her head, smiling and exasperated, and said "you're such a Leo Rising" to which I responded "actually I'm just a genius: look" and offered up my other blazer pocket as a wrapper disposal bin.
All in all, a wonderful night. My courageous step back into the world of sober socializing was fruitful—and not just from the fruity sugar high. A hug goodbye from a new friend, a follow on Instagram, and a plan to connect again soon. I was thrilled.
~ the following afternoon ~
She hadn't followed me back yet but that was fine. I went to her profile, clicked the message icon, and typed out your standard "hey it was great to meet you last night, I had a lot of fun!" Later, a response notification! I tapped the alert and felt my heart drop from my ribs to my butt.
"Hey Kristie, thanks for reaching out and for following my tarot page. I'm just writing to let you know that while it was good to meet you last night, I'm not interested in being friends. You're a really intense person lol and I can tell you're really passionate about your interests. I wish you the best on your path. Megan."
Damn. I thumped down on the couch as my internal self went right into practiced processing mode. Waves of emotion and stories and meaning-making gurgled up.
First I felt shame and rejection.
“You’re a really intense person.” Fuck. I'm too much—see? I knew it. Did other people last night think that too? When did it start going south? Was it my dancing? Was it my spirited rant about regenerative permaculture? Was it when I shared my collection of alphabetized vinaigrette recipes? Was it the pocket full of candy???
Then anger and pettiness.
You know what? Fuck her. Whatever dude. Intense?! Yeah, maybe compared to the most boring person at the party—you! Who doesn't dance at a dance party?! Like c'mon, Megan. Too intense???? Yeah well you’re UNtense.
Then more shame paired with self flagellation.
I wonder if everyone just puts up with my intensity and feels the same way. I'm never going to find my people, am I? There is something seriously wrong with me. How did I not pick up on her not liking me? I am so stupid. I thought we were really clicking. Do I suck at social cues now too?
Then finally, maturity and acceptance.
I'm impressed with her honesty. She could have strung me along but she didn't. She knows what she is looking for in a friendship. Kudos. And yeah, I am intense. But passion is kinda my thing. Cool. Alright. This feels like shit but I’ll live. This doesn't have to mean anything other than what it is: two people trying something on and realizing it doesn't fit.
I waited for my inner swirl to settle and integrate, then wrote her back the most non-intense message I could muster (just to keep her on her toes—hah!!!) and that was that.
I guess not everyone is ready for friendship with a parasite host.
Thing is: I am an intense person.
One of my old co-worker turned friends told me that when she first met me, she assumed I was on coke (I honestly probably was) because of how excited I got about the most ordinary things. She even had me saved in her phone as “Coke Head?” with the ghost emoji until we became legit friends. True story.
I am someone who is enthusiastic beyond belief—but not in a plucky Pollyanna way. I am sensual and dark and layered and complex and passionate and expressive. I feel intensities that would blow the circuit boards of most. I am deep deep deep. I never fail to find the magic in the mundane, in fact, I seek it out with determined gusto. I feel the highest of highs and the lowest of lows and everything in between. I am open-minded and neurocomplex as fuck. I say audacious things. I have a dark and twisted and surreal sense of humor. I have shapeshifted and burnt my life to the ground more times than I can count. I am a voracious reader. If something piques my interest even slightly, I dive head first to learn everything there is to know about it. I ask questions. I connect dots. I seek new uncharted ways. I don’t accept a thing just because someone says it’s true. I speak the things people are too afraid to say. I am attuned and honest. I am curious like a cat. I am friendly and warm and I care a lot. I am fierce and loyal and protective. I challenge. I disrupt. I am direct. I growl.
And while I’m not an ‘up in your face’ type of person, I’m not not either. I just do it softly. The term Gentle Provocateur suits me well, and you know what? I have learned to love these qualities in myself. I’ve become the type of woman I’d want on my side. Not only will I ride for you, I will bring you back a pocket full of candy. I’m that bitch.
I’m still not sure where I fit out in the community, but one day, I’ll find my people. They’ll be the too-intense ones with wild eyes and a mountain of info to dump. They’re the little freaks, the hipster nerds, the rebels with a cause. They’ll say too much. They’ll laugh at the wrong moment. They’ll be ten steps ahead yet four steps behind, and they’ll be weird and wacky and real.
And you bet your ass I’ll forage candy for them.
I’m intense like that.
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Everything you read here is written and edited by these nimble human fingers (and sometimes thumbs.) I do not and will not use AI to write or edit my words. I believe in the grunt work of artistry. To me, this is a holy practice.
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Martha sounds like a BLAST. Who tf doesn’t love surprise pocket candy (WITH a partner pocket trash receptacle!!) and dance parties?
Provided, of course, you are an actual person and not 5 algorithms stuffed into a raincoat.