People Puh-leezers

A few weeks ago I was planning a dinner to celebrate (or rather drink our sorrows away) the end of summer. I decided to set up camp on my apartment’s deck and decided that it should be an easy number of 20. Then came the delilah.

Never mind that I could not cook to save my life. Never mind that it might rain. The true predicament in organizing this affair was who to invite. First of all it was big enough to illicit "Why was I not invited?" bombs from my other "friends" skimmed out (we always joke that there should be a Nokia template for this since it’s uttered so commonly...another article all by itself...stay tuned) and second was that it was not big enough to buffer those among my eclectic crew who simply don’t like each other thus disposing the use of rain to ruin the party.

After rattling on and on about this to Victor, while I was nervously puffing away my zero-calorie Luckies, he gave me a direct answer that only a sensible engineer (which he is) could give to a neurotic writer/failed party planner (which I pretend to be...being a writer that is): just call it off. It promptly shattered my plans for a Sunday of sangria and skewered animals. We stayed in and ate Andok’s.

As a child I grew up watching Dynasty instead of Sesame Street. I knew drama before the alphabet. Thus it does not help that I have this itchy desire to be Crystlle Carrington (the good one). Growing up I was always led to believe that there was something wrong with me if nobody liked me. That if ever they did–it’s my fault.

People pleasers are nothing to behold as I have realized. Sure they seem like saints catering to everyone’s whims, going left and right making sure everyone’s ego is massaged. They coddle insecurities (including their own by playing a dumb martyr) and are likely to lose the gold in their words especially if the P.P. is caught in the middle of a crossfire thus treading on the tricky line between being diplomatic and plastic. They exhaust themselves trying to please everyone, and then of course as the nature of things would have it–all their efforts go to shit. It’s a universal truth that you can’t please everyone. But of course being greedy humans P.P.’s want to earn that prestige of being the only well-dressed, fabulous Miss Congeniality in town who is friends with everyone from station one, two and three! Because they want to prove there is nothing wrong with them and they are as faultless as they paint their hearts to be. And they can sleep well at night knowing that they are not veteod in any publication butt section (paparazzi section).

Although I have still many issues to face, thus adding fodder to my weekly columns, I am proud to say that I have learned to stick my middle finger quite erectly to Prima Don’ts. The itch from childhood to be good is slowly dying and I have no qualms about being Alexis Colby from time to time.

Exploring the topic of the party pleaser – you know the boldfacer who could do no wrong, the socialite with a heart. These guys are freakin’ everywhere! Although they may be wearing the snobbiest labels, they will bend and crouch for a co-boldfacer or socialite emeritus. This species is not to be confused with the people who are genuinely caring. Nope, these guys are out to barter. One good deed equals an invite, a free anything or maybe if they are really good a feature on some vague thing they are currently doing.

Another kind of party pleaser is the one that lets the delilah of others affect them. By absorbing everyone’s BVs (bad vibes), this party pleaser thinks that this emotional and spiritual suicide is an act of altruism. In reality no one will even notice but the sucker party pleaser as he plucks the pins and needles out of his battered ego. You know them: they fight other people’s battles; concern themselves with the affairs of others; make judgments on situations they are not even involved in as a show of so-called loyalty to please the person he is supposedly camping with. They mold this annoying form of interloping as a mode of false kindness. This does not bring the party pleaser a Nobel peace award, just more enemies.

When the shit hits the fan, the P.P. feels like victim. "Why did this happen?" they may laconically opine, and thus indulge themselves in a tear soaked pity party. The P.P. is not out to make sure the world is ok. He or she is simply out there to make sure he or she’s OK. That she is a being a creature of fabulousness with a heart. A social Switzerland.

Look jaded is as out as being a party pleaser. The things is, there’s just enough of you to go around. In the ludicrous social setting of Greenbelt-loving Manila, there is a clown that is more scary than funny. There is a party pleaser in all of us, just as there is a bitch, pervert and whatever scandalous title you could dig up. The art in being fab is in stifling these urges (though it is quite fun to be bitchy at appropriate times and dosages). The party pleaser is also any kind of pleaser who enjoys the victim syndrome, uses Xylitol-sweet acts to get ahead and those who are simply so insecure that they rely on the assent of others to survive. Admittedly this whole la-la circuit is a very confused one. All I have to do is sit and feel the jittery nerves around me looking in need of some Prozac salvation. I admit that I experience that sort of diffidence myself, I can’t help it, it’s like a virus. But a good piece of advice my mother dispensed to me is that when you’re feeling crazy, slap yourself. I choose to just skip town for the weekend instead. But the lounge set is not alone. The world is nuts and it wants us to be its children. But succumbing to contrived acts in search of comfort is simply fruitless.

There are battles to be fought and make sure they are yours. The moment you are faced with a choice, choose. Easy street will only lead you to a dead end.