I’m awkward AF, and it’s never more apparent than when I’m on a date with someone new. So many women have this knack for being sultry and flirtatious when they’re out with a new guy, but no matter how hard I try, I always end up turning right back into an even more clumsy version of myself. And it’s becoming an issue.
I try to just ‘be cool’, but nerves always get the better of me.
Obviously, being a weird, socially awkward lady isn’t gonna cut it here. So from the first time I meet a guy, I try to be chilled out. Before the actual date, I’m as cool as a freakin’ cucumber. I feel sassy and ready to take on any BS the world has to throw at me. Sadly, the minute I see this dude’s face, all that confidence melts away and I turn into a nervous wreck.
I get all weirded out about how I’m sitting.
It doesn’t matter where we go — the theater, a bar, a cafe — I make things seriously weird. The moment I get to my seat, it’s like I’ve forgotten how I usually sit. I spend most of our dates trying out about fifty different positions and doing my best to make them look natural. Spoiler: I’m pretty sure that they don’t. It doesn’t matter how I shuffle things around, nothing quite feels right. It’s like I’m an actress and I’ve suddenly forgotten my stage directions. Oh, and of course, the audience can totally tell.
I spill things, knock things over, and, yes, trip up.
I’m a pretty clumsy person at the best of times. On an average day, there’s no doubt in my mind that I absolutely will knock something over by accident. It’s a fact that I’ve come to accept I just can’t change. Still, when I’m around a guy I like, my spillage ratio goes up about a million percent. Every five minutes, I knock something over, trip over my own feet (yeah, that really happened – twice), or spill my drink. I’m a walking, stumbling disaster.
I down booze to chill me out.
Wanna know how I cope — or, at least, try to cope? Well, it’s pretty simple, actually: I get hammered. I’m sure you’ll agree that this is a seriously healthy way to deal with the problem. (I’m kidding – of course, it’s not.) The worst part is that it doesn’t even seem to be working. It doesn’t matter how many glasses of rioja I have — I feel a sober bag of nerves.
When he asks me questions, I feel like I’m in an interview.
It’s not that this guy is putting me on the spot or asking me searching questions. No, he could ask me what I had for lunch and I’d still stumble. Even though I know deep down that he’s not judging me, the problem is that I’m so obsessed with impressing him that I can barely think. I get that awkward, freaked out feeling that most people get at interviews when I go out with a guy.
I end up rambling and spilling my life’s secrets.
This guy could ask me how my day’s been, and I’ll sit there and start telling him about my family history and where my mother was born. Even as my lips are moving, I know I’m making a huge mistake. I know that I should keep things casual, but as Cady says in Mean Girls, the ‘word vomit’ just keeps on coming out. Gross.
I stutter instead of speaking normally.
I swear, I never used to stutter. Even when I was in high school and I had to give embarrassing public presentations, I could hold my act together. Well apparently, not anymore. The last time I was chatting with this guy, he asked me about my work, and I full-on stuttered. I heard it. I tripped over my words like I nervous teenager. He pretended not to notice, but it happened – and we both know it.
I lie about things I like just to impress him.
As if the rest weren’t bad enough, I’ve taken to lying to guys I really like. Not about the big stuff, of course, but sometimes I’ll be sitting across from some dude saying “Yeah, I love Star Wars” when I haven’t seen a single film (Or are they called ‘episodes’? I don’t even know!). That’s right — I’m that dumb chick who agrees with everything a guy says just to get him to like her. Only, I’m not doing it on purpose — it just comes out.
I can never figure out if he actually likes me.
Confession time: I still have no way of knowing whether or not a guy is into me. You’d think for all the suffering, stumbling, and stuttering I do, I’d at least be able to figure out if any of my nervous habits were huge turn-offs for guys, but a surprising number of them have actually stuck around. Are they just doing it out of sympathy? Amusement? Or could it be — gasp — that maybe my awkwardness isn’t the dealbreaker I so often think it is?
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