Friday, September 10, 2004

The Weekend, Or Why I’m a Bad Girlfriend:

* I’m totally uncomfortable being a couple in public (and I’m a little icky about it in private, too).

That’s about it; that’s the source of everything. I don’t like being identified as part of a couple. It's like living in a glass bowl. I thought everyone was looking at us. I was looking at us. I kept mentally checking in with where we were on the Couple Scale: are we touching each other enough? Can people tell we're together? Is it bad that we're just reading - shouldn't we be in the throes of how much we like each other? Why aren't we talking? Are we walking too far apart? Should I wait to see where he wants to sit on the bus? I became a mental case.

I couldn’t even relax enough in front of my own roommate to hang out with Dewey unless alcohol was involved. After the afterfest set at the Jazz Showcase, I was tanked – I chatted a storm. But after poker I was sober and was as silent as a monk.

It wasn’t as if there was anything wrong with him. There wasn’t. He was totally great – dry, funny, polite, used all the towels which was weird but whatever; all my friends liked him – they thought he was the right height, the right humor, the right intelligence; they thought he had beautiful eyes (which he has). He was attentive, frolicsome, passionate, generous, patient, and everything a guy on a long weekend should be – he helped me cook!

Why was I such a dud? I could blame it on PMS mood swings, bloating and such but that’s a bit lame. I just shut off. Huh. Strange.

Debriefing it later, A— said that I wasn’t like that when I brought previous flames over – even the ones who were plainly short termers. I was bright, funny, flirty – ON. But this time, I was OFF.

This does not bode well for this or other relationships.

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