How Awkward

I really hate awkward situations.

I know that's a bit of a given. I can't really think of anyone I know who would actually enjoy finding themselves saying something unintentionally racist at a job interview, but I will go out of my way to avoid even witnessing a particularly embarrassing moment. Cringe-inducing comedy films are my horror movies. When I watch something like Mr Bean, I have to sit there peeking through my fingers, frantically reminding myself that it's not really happening and that everyone involved is an actor.

There was a woman I used to see every Friday afternoon for a time period spanning several years. Her daughter had a saxophone lesson before I did, and I would talk to her while she waited to pick her up afterwards. After a while, I knew a lot about her. I knew her hobbies, her husband's annoying habits, her daughter's achievements. Unfortunately, I had never asked her name. And as you will know if you have ever watched a sitcom, the longer I knew her, the harder it was to ask her what her name was. Some people, let's just call them 'jerks', might argue that I'm an idiot for not just asking my sax teacher what the woman's name was. Well, jerks, let me take a moment to inform you that I did exactly that, but he didn't know either. Which I did find a tad bewildering.

Eventually I found out her name through a rather convenient picture in the local paper, but it was only after a good two or three years of gracefully dancing around ever having to address her by name. I will go to amazing lengths to avoid an awkward confrontation and to be honest, I think it's because my parents were exactly the same. We all, in unison, avoided having to talk about anything remotely confronting at all possible costs. Like how some kids develop allergies if they aren't exposed to certain toxins, I never worked up an immunity to embarrassment. My parents and I never had the 'Where did I come from?' talk or anything with as much potential for awkwardness as that. The closest we got was the 'Did you or did you not name me after Sarah Jane from Dr Who?' talk, which was not nearly as bad as anything sex-related could have been. For the record, this consisted of me asking that question and my mother telling me that they just liked the name. However, the fact that my father was standing behind her, wearing his Dr Who apron (which he wore around the house, even when he wasn't cooking) and giggling was enough to let me figure out what really happened here.

Not that I'm complaining, mind you.

-Smackie Onassis

Things You Can't Get Away With In A Small Town

Anything.

It's hard to pull any kind of antic in a small town if you don't want everyone knowing about it by the morning. Believe me. Even the people you don't know are probably good friends with everyone you have ever met. It soemtimes makes it kind of hard to get away with... well, yeah, anything.

Here are a few things you should especially try to be careful with:

1) Online Dating
Some people still try to use websites like RSVP when they live in places where everybody already knows everybody else. Places like Newcastle. I know, because I tried it once. To be honest, I wasn't really looking for a relationship at the time, I was just kinda curious about the whole thing. As it turned out there were actually quite a few local profiles on there and I even started chatting to one guy. I thought he seemed nice, but then I asked him what he did for a living. It turned out we worked for the same people. In the same location. It could happen to you.

2) Repeating Gossip
Yes, people do this even more than usual in smaller towns. It's unavoidable. The problem is that they really shouldn't, because you never know who can hear you. I remember once I was waiting for a friend of mine at a cafe. There were two girls chatting nearby and even though I wasn't intentionally eavesdropping, I couldn't help but hear what they were saying. Because they were talking about me. They could see me perfectly well - the problem was that they didn't realise it was me they were talking about. They were telling a story about something I had done, not knowing that I was sitting a mere couple of metres away from them. I responded by feeling incredibly awkward and deciding to wait for my friend outside.

3) Cheating
Cheating is a strangely powerful thing in relationships. Some people don't see it as a big deal, but others view it as some kind of dating apocalypse. It is strange to then see the things some people think they can get away with.

The bass player of the band I was in was just One Of Those Guys. When we would go touring he had this thing of saying "Not my state!", "Not my country!" or "Not my postcode!" depending on our current location. The implication was that he thought being in a different postcode meant he could cheat on his girlfriend and not feel bad about it. Someone really should have told him that this doesn't work quite so well if your girlfriend is in your band, something I found out about the most awkward way possible. I had joined only recently and we were on tour. He had drunkenly come on to me before we'd left and I'd told him I thought it was a bad idea. In an attempt to bond with the only other girl in the band, I mentioned this to her over a drink.

"Has he ever hit on you?" I asked.

"Actually, we've been going out for two years," was the reply I received.

Kind of awkward, yeah. Although, admittedly that is not so much a small town thing as a 'Don't cheat on your girlfriend who is in your band with the new girl you have hired to be in your band' thing. I think that's good advice regardless of where you live.

-Smackie Onassis

My "Twin"

Have you ever met someone who everyone honestly thought was your twin? I'm going to guess that you haven't, because this isn't something that happens to normal people. But there was a girl I used to know with whom I had a very personally conflicting relationship.

We had met at a drama camp and thought nothing of it. We were both short, with darkish curly hair and the same first name, but that wasn't an uncommon description. We were friendly enough to each other, exchanged phone numbers, and went away thinking we were never going to see each other again.

However. I went to the snow with my family that year and, as I was sidling over to my skiing lesson, I saw a familiar face. Well, ok, it wasn't her face I noticed first. It was that girl, only... something was weird. We were both wearing the same pink ski jacket, the same black pants. We both had blue beanies and were both currently growing our hair long. At first I was like, 'Hey, coincidence!', but then things started to get very confusing for everyone. I was placed in the same ski class as her and her father, and so the three of us automatically banded together. Naturally, everyone assumed she and I were sisters at the very least. Most people assumed we were twins who had never outgrown the novelty of dressing alike. It then got more confusing when everyone else in the class struggled to learn our names. This is how the conversation usually went:

Man: So, what was your name again?

Me: Sarah*

Man: Oh, ok. I thought the other one was named Sarah.

Me: She is.

Man: Oh. Wait, so you guys aren't sisters?

Me: No, just friends.

Man: Oh, so you came down here together?

Me: Um, no. We just sort of ran into each other.

Man: Wearing the exact same outfit? Thousands of kilometres away from where you live?

Me: Yes.

At the end of the week, we again exchanged numbers, promising to catch up again. And we did end up texting each other fairly regularly. The messages that followed made up the most politely passive-aggressive assertion of identity I have ever been a part of.

See, it turned out we also had the same nickname. It's not a name I use anymore (there comes a time in a person's life when you are just too old to get away with a nickname that ends in a Z), but at the time it was MY name. Not anyone else's name, my name. My identity, even. Unfortunately, she felt the same way. It was never something we were going to outright bring up with each other - we were far too polite for any of that. What ensued was a series of text messages, where she would address me by our real name, and sign off with the nickname. In response, I would address HER by our real name, reply to what she'd said, and then sign off with the nickname. This continued for entirely too long.

Neither of us ended up coming out ahead. I think we realised that the whole thing was entirely too absurd and ceased all contact.

-Smackie Onassis

*OH NO REAL NAMES

Smackie Onassis: Not A Lesbian Since '87

My relationship with my parents was always a little strained. It's not that they were bad people, but rather they had no concept of how to talk about any kind of personal issue. I went through my teenage years with my parents avoiding personal discussions at all costs. Every now and then, they would make something of an attempt, but it was usually a swing and a miss.

I can recall one incident where my mother and I were waiting in a parked car to pick my sister up from the movies. I must have been about fifteen or sixteen at the time. I was happy to listen to the radio, but my mother decided she was going to attempt to engage me in conversation.

"I hear so-and-so's a lesbian," she began. My mother was known for having about as much subtlety as a swift kick in the kneecap.

"Yeah," I muttered in response.

"I get the impression that it's harder for women to come out of the closet than it is for men," she said, avoiding eye contact with me.

"Um, I'm not sure that's true," I replied.

"Well, it seems like it's harder for girls to be open about being lesbians," she persisted.

"Ok."

"It's okay to be gay, you know."

"Yes, it is."

It was fairly clear that she was trying to encourage me, in her own strange way, to come out of the closet. Which would have been all well and good, if I were a lesbian.

I have always thought that sexuality was something our society tends to over-define. It is a commonly accepted psychological opinion that while most people have a preference to one gender over the other, people who are exclusively attracted to one gender are actually in the minority. You will probably find a lot of insecure bogans willing to debate that to the death, but let's face it, this class of people are not known for their expertise in psychological academia.

Regardless, I am not a lesbian. Tomboy, yes. Minor weakness for girls with excellent hair, sure. I will accept that gladly. But lesbian? Not so much.

I remember telling this story to some of my lesbian friends (maybe it was the fact that I was also a social outcast in my hometown, but at one point it seemed that a good majority of my friends were gay). They laughed harder than I thought was necessary.

See, apparently I exude heterosexuality from my every orifice. It isn't something I actively aim for, and to be honest, I really have no idea what it is. I mean, I sometimes wear square-framed glasses, have short hair and listen to Ani Difranco. I could at least pass for a lesbian, right?

Apparently not. I used to go to the local gay bar* reasonably often with the aforementioned lesbian friends, and it wasn't long before we observed a strange phenomenon. Every time we went there, I would be quickly approached and hit on by the one straight guy in the whole place. We ended up making a game of it, taking bets on how long it would be before the straight guy found me. The game ended when it happened less than five minutes after entering the bar. I walked in, went to order some drinks, and was immediately asked to dance. I actually asked this guy how he knew I was straight. We were in a gay bar, after all, and I was there with a group of lesbians. He said he wasn't sure how, but he could tell that I was straight. I did a brief survey of the rest of the bar, and got the same answer from everyone I asked. 

To this day I can't explain it. Maybe I was sub-consciously giving out some kind of body language. Maybe I was wearing my 'Ask Me About: Heterosexuality' badge**. I don't know. I really don't.

-Smackie Onassis

*I kind of thought it strange that a regional town that built its economy on such manly exploits as steelworks and coalmining even had a local gay bar. But, my hometown was not known for making sense. This is a town so stupid that there are buildings there that are PARTIALLY abandoned. As in, first floor: abandoned, second floor: abandoned, third floor: discount sporting goods store. How does that even happen?

**I kind of want a badge like this now. I collect badges, and have spend many a late night on ebay, trawling badge shops like the memorobilia junkie I am. I would love so much to have my own badge press. I want to make a badge that says 'Pancakes Are Flippin' Sweet'.