I don’t think I’d have gotten this far in life without having a sense of humor about myself (and a selection of Tensor bandages and thousands of pots of coffee.)

When you’re prone to nerdish enthusiasms, intense klutziness, exuberant feelings about random things, and just enough social awkwardness to occasionally stun people into silence, you have to be fine with being the brunt of jokes… and more importantly, being the brunt of your own.

Here’s a quick list of talking points:

Doesn’t wear shoes/socks
Arms so short she can’t reach her hands
Overthinker
Verbal processor
Talks at the television (see above)
Reads the ends of books and plot spoilers
Doesn’t like talking on the phone
Lazy eye on the verge of narcolepsy
Potentially manic about Christmas
Built like snowperson
Never without handbag the size of an adolescent lamb
Is from Canada and says “aboot”
Is prone to self-injure in public
Cooks dinner until oddly late hours
Is snobby about groceries
Can’t drive
Prone to cry at commercials
Takes “from above” self-photos as though she were a Yeti and needed to be captured on film to prove her existence

… and really, there are many more. But I openly acknowledge these facets of the jewel I am. Huzzah!

If you want to watch me turn into a total spaz, however, get mad at me. Better yet, get mad and walk away. I’m not good at dealing with that.

Not in the sense that I need everyone to love me (I might, I might), but in the sense that I panic if I think I’ve offended someone and they’re not responding to me, or if they get overtly chilly in my direction, or they ramble passive aggressively about something that sounds like something I might have done. I rush in to try and make everything okay, or justify myself in some loopy way, or fuss about how I can compensate for whatever I did. Usually this pattern plays out in one of three ways:

1. They didn’t actually have a problem with me, and now I’m a lunatic
2. They did have a problem with me and I’M NOT MAKING IT BETTER
3. Silence

And silence upon silence? Chilly upon chilly? Well, nothing can go well from there. Nature abhors a vacuum, and Meg abhors unresolved tension.

I hate it, even if I’ve done something to earn it. And if I can’t figure out what the hell I did, I go berserk. Not at the person, mind you. Just at myself. Which makes me inevitably weird to the person. Which, again, makes it even worse.

Modern psychology has all sorts of advice about letting people feel their feelings and owning your choices and giving them the space to do what they have to do… but I’m a fixer. I want things to be fine. I want people to be fine. I used to think this was a good quality, when it’s more just… selfish.

My late Nonna used to say, “Shalom!” and make a little “CHILL OUT” gesture with her hands if a discussion in her house got too pointed or a debate got too lively. Sometimes it was a joke, but she really didn’t like conflict. And I’m different — I can deal with conflict in the midst of it. Sometimes I propel it, even. I’m a hell of a debater, and I’m never more articulate then when I’m royally pissed off.

I just don’t like to deal with the consequences.

After arguing with my husband the other night about something ridiculous — and doing my usual, “I’M SO SORRY I’M A HORRIBLE WIFE!” and asking him if he was fine about five minutes after I was ready to unscrew his head and throw it at him — it occurred to me that I was doing three (just three?) annoying things consistently:

1. Not trusting my family and friends to love me (mostly) unconditionally
2. Dodging the consequences of things I was responsible for by forcing “okay”
3. Putting people in the awkward position of reassuring me when I’d just annoyed the hell out of them

It took me until I was in a new city with a whole new group of friends, and a new husband who was going to have to put up with me… forever… to realize that my way of dealing with things was kind of kooky. It lacked patience, it lacked faith in my relationships, and it was making me squirrelly.

I’m still figuring it out.

I know that there ARE people who want to make you feel terrible if they’re angry at you, and put effort into it — I’ve had those friendships, and they’re exhausting. But they’re also a rare animal.

Most people want to feel how they feel, take a bit to get over it, and then move on. Or they’ll tell you what they need when they figure it out. Or they’ll yell, and then stop yelling. Or you’ll apologize, and they’ll accept or not. All you can really do is do better next time, and respect how they deal with their frustration.

But it doesn’t escape me that most of the big life lessons I’ve had since I became an adult amount to CALM DOWN or SHHHHHH.

Oh, and, I LOVE YOU, DOOFUS.

Let’s have a little chat about shoes.

I’m not known for being practical about shoes. Not at all.

I wear ballet flats and flip flops, both notorious for their utter lack of support and protective abilities.

In fact, I’d be barefoot most of the time, if someone was willing to walk ahead of me with, say, a yoga mat and a Costco-size vat of Purel.

But, in a rare moment of practicality a couple years back, I got Uggs.

Yep. Uggs.

Go ahead, laugh. My dad bought them for me (HE WANTED ME TO BE WARM) so he will likely cry (OR PUNCH YOU), but mock all you want… my toes go to sleep each night (or if I sit down too long in a weird position) knowing I’ve made them a priority.

It’s not like I’m doing this, people:

I’ve never worn them with:

shorts
a skirt
sweatpants
a miniskirt (who are we kidding?)
a sundress
short shorts (again, IT’S NOT LIKE I HATE YOUR EYES)
a bikini (now you’re just being foolish)
a panda costume (though I would… I would)

Nope, I’m all Kate Winslet in MY Uggs (sans watermark):

(I’m well aware I don’t look anything like Kate Winslet but MAYBE IN MY UGGS?!?)

Check it: warm coat. Warm pants. A scarf. Casual family erranding. She’s not trying to look stylish, but I don’t think she looks bad, either. SHE’S KATE FRIGGIN’ WINSLET, PEOPLE.

And she wears Uggs.

The most important consideration here is that Uggs keep my feet happy in the cool temperatures of New England (when we actually have them, and no, I don’t wear them unless we do)… AND they make me look like a cozy Eskimo (Inuit!) girl. Fun!

From where I stand, the primary argument against Uggs rests on the proposition that they’re not “stylish.”

“Ugg — that’s short for ugly!” WOW, NO ONE ELSE HAS EVER MADE THAT JOKE BEFORE. GOOD ONE.

And I’m not saying they look fantastic. But I think function, in this case, trumps form.

Besides, Judgy McJudgington, I’d like to point out that y’all wear some pretty goofy stuff yourselves in your quest for cutting-edge style.

Like gladiator heels, my MOST HATED SHOE.

To me, it just looks like you’ve got some sort of physiotherapy issue or ankle ailment.

Can you tell which are which?

I’m just saying.

There are zillions of less functional, more ugly pairs of shoes than the ones I use to keep my toes from freezing off, and yet the worst of these are trumpeted by all manner of style-setters and fashionistas… as they tumble from their lofty torture heels into city gutters, and fill their handbag du jour with gum wrappers, rain water, and vermin.

Blech!

So I don’t worry too much about it.

Anyway, if I had to choose:

That guy wears Uggs.

This guy? Doesn’t:

I REST MY CASE.

I haven’t written a love list since May.

MAY.

It’s not like I ceased to love things that day — I mean, the whole wedding thing would have been a bit of a wash if that were the case.

Nope, I still love lots of things… just as many as I did when I used to write these lists every Friday. And since this week has achieved new heights of awkward lameness (HAPPY 2012) I figured now was a good time to remember the GREAT in my life.

So here they are!

(As always, I welcome your lists in the comments or wherever you feel like putting them. Unless it’s in my eye. Don’t put your list in my eye.)

THINGS I LOVE

My family
Salty vinegar-y capers added to a good Marinara sauce
Lotions that smell like coconut
Sleeping in
New babies (Eli, Jackson, and Campbell, I’m looking at YOU!)
That I am excellently loud at finger-snapping
E’s long, winding, exhaustive recaps of playing video games
Salt spray for my weird hair
Pine-scented candles
Making people laugh
Making people think
Making people give me weird faces when I repeatedly attempt to buy my T pass with my Sephora Beauty Insider card
The multiple magical uses of bobby pins
Realizing how blessed we both are to be employed and in a warm home in a place we like every. single. night.
Pedicures (charcoal shimmer or shiny red, this time of year)
Our nightly cup of chamomile tea
Gaviscon. Truly.
Fresh-baked biscuits
Timex watches — the more old-school the better
FaceTime-ing with my parents
Driving with Gradon (well, I am passenging, but still…)
Loving Christmas, and not being even a bit cynical about it
Peanut butter M&Ms
My fluffy white down coat which is en route to me but taking an AGE because I ordered it during the holidays and didn’t expedite the shipping but I do like anticipation so that’s fun
Brussels sprouts
Freshly bought magazines
Not always looking 37
Seeing my friends *happy*
When people give great hugs — no “pat pat pat” or fragility
Ella Fitzgerald, always
Mr. Matthew Knell of Long Island City, NY, owner of many caps
Amazing and terrifying aerobics videos on YouTube
That my new husband and I did not kill one another during our Big Budget Chat
My reorganized iTunes (I created my own genre labels. In other news, I have insomnia)
The wee pug that hangs out in one of our neighborhood stores
My washing machine. And what’s more… my dryer
Addictive television: The Wire, Dexter, Friday Night Lights, Downton Abbey, Top Gear, playoff anything…
Olives!
The possibility of bangs, as yet unrealized
The Cloud
You.