Why is it that, when I am face to face with Pocket Watch Guy, I become dumber than a box of rocks? Maybe, just maybe, it's because he is the epitome of the figment of my imagination of the guy I end up with. Ever. Since. I. Ever. Imagined. Him.
He is attuned to the fact that every person (including Men) has the capacity for, and a destiny of, Personal Growth. He is travel-adventurous. He is action-adventurous. He is career-adventurous. He is socially adaptable. I don't need to advise him on how to dress [much]. He doesn't have a flat screen because he barely ever watches TV. He reads stuff. He is funny. He is relaxed. He is aggressive in his career path. And! He has a pocket watch collection. Melt. I have no idea why that is attractive to me, but it is.
And so, because of all of these things, I cannot look him in the eye long, for fear he sees me melt, and I say really stupid stuff when I am a reasonably intelligent lady, I shuffle my feet, etc., etc. Dear Lord, what must he think of all that?
Because I have said such really stupid things to him (REALLY, I am not exagerating), I have all but given up on any chance of him being interested back. Which is a good thing, because when I care less about what one thinks of me I can be more myself. So, I should be myself by now; I've blown it at least four times with him already, which is enough for me to feel I've ended Scene I and I can relax now. But somehow I'm still as nervous as I was when I liked the coolest boy, Will M, when he was in the 7th grade and I was in 6th, and I was awkward in stature and just starting to get boobs. THAT'S how it feels when I am around Pocket Watch Guy. The horror!
One time Pocket Watch Guy saw me about to go to Starbucks, and he said "you're going into Starbucks?! I would have figured you for a Peet's girl." And in reality, I am a Peet's girl; the coffee is far superior. But I was new to the neighborhood and Starbucks looked to be more social than Peet's at the moment, and I was hoping to start making a community in my new hood, and I replied lamely... "..."... oh crap, it was such a lame response that I have blocked it entirely from my mind. Sorry to ruin a good reference point. But I will tell you that upon reciting the story to WR, she laughed and laughed and laughed into my cell phone, literally for minutes on end, and I was almost home by the time she stopped. I really wish I could remember now - I can assure you it was one of the most retarded things I have ever said. If I remember over night, I'll let you know. But fate is telling me it's probably a good thing I have blocked it, lest I be too harshly judged.
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7 comments:
Where did pocket watch guy come from? Is he new? I thought we were bouncing between Perfect Joe and email guy. And trash cans.
Eric
Uh, yeah. This one is about a year of retardedness in the making. It's very ridiculous, really. I don't know why he doesn't cross the street and put sunglasses on when he sees me coming.
Ha ha! I just read that more. Trash cans. Ha ha ha! And please be clear - not Perfect Joe, it's Catholic Joe...
Okay, Catholic Joe then. Wait a minute... eight hours away and Catholic? Gertie, you aren't one of those women who seeks out hopeless relationships, are you?
And email guy sure is taking his time.
Here's what you need to do with Pocket Watch Guy: look up his nose. Seriously. Once you look up someone's nose they can't be intimidating anymore. Then you can act like yourself and he'll be unable to resist you.
Eric
8 hrs, I realized after commenting, is a complete exaggeration. It's 4 hrs. He seems to be out of the picture anyway.
OK, I'll look up his nose.
By the way, Gertie, "lame responses are often interpreted by guys as "cute", and a nice tuchas (you did own up to that somewhere, didn't you?) will distract from many an imperfection.
Eric
oh, you may think so, but these responses were at the threshold of UBER. Nice tuchas don't reveal themselves when one's face looks tired and one wears a long, wool coat. But, I feel better now, thanks!
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