I’ve got this TERRIBLE shyness and nervousness around women I really like! I swear to god, I will sit there when I know I am supposed to ask for a kiss and I just won’t ask, my stomach will start doing somersaults and I’ll get sweaty palms and I am sure there should be some kind of medication for it but I haven’t been on one that works yet. I will get back to you when I find out what it is.
I have recently discovered because of a long standing “crush” (though I suspect there is much more to it than that) that I do exactly the same thing writing an email as I do talking to a girl I like. I hyperventilate in type form, too many exclamation marks and too little substance. I end up feeling like an airhead, a bicep butch instead of a brainy butch. I feel like I want to say all these deep and meaningful things and instead I talk about some other trivia about my life which I am sure she doesn’t care about. But then the deep and meaningful things seem too intense to be discussing over email, it seems like I should be talking about them face to face. And until such a time as we do come face to face, I should just hint at meaning. I think. I mean, what do I know? You can’t think very clearly when you are type-hyperventilating!
It can take me four hours to write her a three paragraph email! No lies!
It’s nearly Christmas time, and every Christmas that rolls around when I am single I have all these morose mooney thoughts about what it would be like if I had a partner I could bring home. It gets so damned maudlin torturing myself with imaginary relationships with various women over the years. And the reality of what that Christmas would look like is so different. For one thing all the women wake up and start working in my family all freakin’ day! It’s definitely not a laid back experience, and by the time dinner rolls around everyone (the women, specifically) is stressed out. So who knows, maybe I am imagining going sledding with someone Christmas afternoon but really we’d end up in the closet under the stairs arguing about whose family is more dysfunctional.
Oh man, Christmas time! And I have an intangible present of a thing that this person loves to do (nothing weirdo) and I don’t know how to wrap it. I mean, I would like to put it under the tree, but I didn’t bother with a giftcard solution to this dilemma. I could be total Grade 1 Mother’s Day Gift and draw out a little certificate, hmm. Since the present IS to my mother, and since I am a reasonably decent drawer, maybe I should do that.
I was called my mother’s “Spinster Daughter” today and maybe that is freaking me out a little. I am 32 years old and I have yet to live with a lover or even bring one home for ANY of the 3 main Anglican Holidays. I’ve never even introduced a girlfriend to my Grandma, or Grandpa. My Mum has met some though. She secretly wanted to rabbit punch a couple of them, I know that for a fact! But she has never punched anyone.
I think it’s all the damn Christmas shows that are doing it to me, any reasonable attractive (read straight white folks, according to tv) person my age in all these shows has a partner and 2.5 children, the .5 often being a baby. And they are all learning some deeper grander Christmas message through this hilarious adventure that could spell the end of ALL CHRISTMASES FOREVER if they don’t right this through family love. It’s pretty barfy, and I don’t think I can expect to learn a grander Christmas message this year through having a wacky adventure with my poor osteoporosis suffering Grandmother where we end up in either a VW Bug in the hinterlands or somehow have to go on a rollercoaster. Oh yeah, and Santa helps us along the way.
“Why yes Chris, I have new spinal bones for you in my bag! Ho ho ho!”
My sister on the other hand loves Christmas. She keeps laughing when ever I say “Ho ho hold the payments!” or “Ho ho ho, Green Giant!” Oh, she loves ho ho hoing but she HATES Santa Claus, with a passion! She goes into a terror if she sees him. Today my Mum and I saw Mum’s friend’s baby getting a picture with Santa and she just suddenly squinched up and cried like, well like a baby! Poor baby!
Santa doesn’t scare me, but I do find him highly suspicious.