Doubts, part 2

Part 1 can be found here.

Even though The Boyfriend and I had spent countless hours talking on the phone, the idea of holding hands or cuddling on our first date made me feel more than a bit uneasy. I am well aware that most normal people would not be unnerved by this, but, as my significant other has already attested, I am not normal.

With regards to closeness (emotional and physical), I tend to move at a much slower pace than the rest of society. Before I can display even the slightest intimate gesture, I need time to get to know a person. And when the potential object of my affection lives in another state, I also need time to acclimate to their physical presence. Unfortunately, it wasn't until The Boyfriend's first visit that I started to understand this about myself.

Our very first date was a simple one - dinner and a movie - made simpler by me choosing to cook the meal and opting to watch a video rather than go to a theatre. After a bedazzling display of culinary skill, we settled in to watch one of The Boyfriend's favorite independent movies.

We had talked about this moment before the visit and we both expressed a desire to cuddle on the couch while we watched the movie. Even though my brain had agreed to this and my mouth uttered concordance, when the time finally came, my body decided to resist any attempts at physical intimacy.

After placing the video in the VCR, I scoped out a place on the couch. I decided on a spot right next to The Boyfriend, a spot that was closer to him than I had been all day. After sitting down, The Boyfriend tried to initiate the cuddle portion of the evening by putting his arm around me. I immediately felt myself tense up. I tried to maintain a calm and cool exterior but on the inside I was freaking out.

(To be continued)

The production staff is trying to kill me

My co-workers seem to be at the center of a plot to force me to commit suicide. And they are using the subtle yet subversive tactic of bad music to do their dirty work.

Monday morning I arrived at the office to discover the production department listening to Dolly Parton. That's right, I said Dolly Parton. For an hour, I was tormented while the twangy vixen belted out her deadly melodies. Luckily, the constant phone ringing was enough of a distraction to stop the fatal bleeding from my ears.

Yesterday, after the failed country music attack, they went right for the jugular and pulled out John Denver. Although his syrupy, folksy brand of music produced much gagging and dry heaving, I'm proud to say that I am still standing.

Today, the production staff has gone a step further and is currently playing the obnoxious sounds of various 80's hair bands.

Is there no end to their torture?!?

Fortunately, I have finally come up with a defense that will, at the very least, spare me much pain and suffering and maybe even my life. Whenever life-threatening noises start emanating from the back of the office, I race to find my radio and put in my earphones. The music from the stations I have programmed is able to miraculously repair any damage that has been done to my internal organs.

Plan thwarted.

A day of rest

I'm aware that I promised a conclusion to my Doubts post but I've decided to postpone it for a few days.

Okay, maybe a week.

I've had the week off from one of my part-time jobs (that means I worked only two jobs this week instead of three) and I've used the extra time to catch up on some things around the house. Consequently, I'm exhausted. Too exhausted to put the kind of mental effort into Doubts, part 2 that it deserves. And since I'm a perfectionist, I will wait until I can do the post justice instead of spitting out a bunch of drivel like I'm doing now.

I'm postponing the post for a whole week because I looked at my schedule the other day and realized that I will have to babysit overnight 3 nights in a row next week and I'll need some time to recover. Normally, two nights in a row is enough to knock the wind out of me. I can only imagine what 3 nights will do.

Needless to say, I am not looking forward to it. Not because the two young boys who have been entrusted to me aren't cherubs (they aren't but that's beside the point) but because 3 nights of not sleeping in my own bed takes a lot out of me.

Maybe I'll take a pad and pencil with me and in between breaking up fights and enacting the discipline of strangulation, I'll find some time to work on the Doubts post. I also have to tell you about the nutcase we almost hired to replace The Stripper.

I know. A moment of silence for the boobs.

Doubts, part 1

When I saw him for the first time in the airport he was easy to pick out because he looked exactly like his picture. This would relieve some people but I never had any doubt that the tall, husky yet handsome man in the photo that resided on my hard drive would resemble the man that stepped off the plane to greet me. My doubts didn't start until we had gotten back to my place and I had an opportunity to observe my future boyfriend’s mannerisms and pick apart his dress. It was then that I began to question our ability to have a relationship.

My biggest male fashion pet peeve is white socks, especially when worn with dark colored pants. To me, it just screams nerd. And not the Yes-I-like-computers-and-play-fantasy-sports-but-otherwise-I’m-really-cool kind of nerd but the I-play-computer-role-playing-games-and-attend-Star-Trek-conventions kind of nerd. It's a brand of geek that emanates from the core of one’s soul and can’t be disguised by wearing contacts and throwing away your pocket protector. Regardless of how hard you try to hide it, eventually this form of geekdom will always come out. White socks are a woman’s only early warning signs alerting her to a life of sex while wearing a Klingon costume. I wasn't sure I was prepared for that.

The more serious threat to my relationship with The Boyfriend was the effect his mannerisms had on me. It’s not that his tendencies are offensive or repulsive. They are not. The problem was my overactive imagination.

After spending months talking on the phone to someone you’ve never met, you start to develop an idea in your head of how that person’s face must look when they say certain things and what hand motions they use to accentuate their words. More importantly, you start to fall in love with those make-believe characteristics. When you are finally face-to-face with that person, you discover that the daydreams that had become your reality were anything but real. In a long-distance relationship, that can take months to get over. It wasn't until the third visit, when I had enough tangible knowledge of The Boyfriend’s actual mannerisms, that I was able to replace the images that were created in my head with something more real.

Incidentally, this is about the time that I became more physically comfortable around The Boyfriend.

(To be continued)

Low Carnal Intelligence Quotient

I like to think of myself as an intelligent person. In elementary school, I always scored above my grade level on standardized tests. And in high school, I was enrolled in a college preparatory program where the course work was more academically advanced than the average student's. So, despite what I am getting ready to tell you, I am not an idiot. Really, I'm not. It's just there are some things that traditionally I have been slow to grasp, particularly things of a sexual nature. I have what you could call a low carnal intelligence quotient. If there is a colloquial term referring to anything sexual, chances are I will not only fail to pick up on the innuendo but I will have to have it spelled out for me as well. And maybe even have a picture drawn.

My naivety can partially be explained by my Bible belt upbringing but mostly my carnal ignorance comes from spending my youth being a goody two shoes. As a teenager, I did all the "right" things. I didn't drink, didn't smoke, didn't cut school, didn't sneak out of the house and never hung around with people who did. While most kids my age were out partying, losing their virginity in the back seats of cars and generally being educated in the ways of the world, I was doing my Calculus homework. This trend continued until I reached young adulthood but, by this time, I was so far behind that there was no catching up.

The Boyfriend often chuckles at my innocent nature (I think he thinks it's endearing) and bears much of the responsibility of explaining sexual references to me. Recently he had to point out that a Prince Albert wasn't just a tobacco product. And he practically had to pull out charts and graphs when he mentioned that an ex-girlfriend of his was into water sports and I responded, "You mean like scuba diving?"

My ignorance doesn't stop at sexual terms. When it comes to songs with sexually suggestive lyrics, I often give the impression that I rode the short bus to school.

Not too long ago, The Boyfriend explained that Mtume's Juicy Fruit is not about chewing gum. Only recently it was brought to my attention that Grace Jones' Pull Up To My Bumper is not about cars. While listening to the radio several years ago, my mom and I both realized the meaning of the song Afternoon Delight a full quarter century after the song was made.

Apparently, this affliction is hereditary. And that pretty much means there is no hope for me. I should just wear a bracelet that announces my handicap to the world and lets people know that if the subject of a conversation should change to a sexual nature then they need to speak slowly and plainly in my presence. And have a drawing tablet nearby. Then maybe, just maybe, I'll have a chance of catching on.