“Come with me
and you’ll be
in a world of pure imagination…”
–Willy Wonka
_ _ _
I’ve always thought that my imagination was a bit overactive. As an example – I can’t actually watch The Walking Dead because I get realistic nightmares about being in a zombie apocalypse. And my reaction to that, anytime someone asks what I would do in a zombie apocalypse, is to say that I will immediately shoot myself in the head. Not even kidding.
My brain has always had a way of incorporating fears and anxieties into fantastical scenarios. And it’s also really good at turning my optimism into unrealistic expectations and fanciful scenarios, too.
What an ass.
But in some ways, my imagination is boring, cliche, and absolutely stupid. The most notable would be when it comes to dating and attraction.
Let me explain…
I’m a big fan of the idea of “dating your own species”. This can mean any number of things, whether it’s about poly vs. monogamy, or life priorities, etc.
If you’re an avid outdoorsy type – chances are, you would not be happy dating a couch potato who would rather marathon Gilmore Girls and eat take-out food on a Friday night.
If you’re a gym type, the same is likely true.
So when approaching dating, I have sort of self-selected my range of guys who I find attractive, who would likely also find me attractive. And with that second part, I am absolutely making the choice for them.
Which, if you aren’t aware, is kind of stupid and isn’t giving anyone the ability to decide for themselves.
But the thing is – I haven’t learned how to turn that part off. It’s obviously rooted in insecurity about myself.
I’ve always been this way, for as long as I can remember.
Someone conventionally attractive is showing me attention that I might be able to construe as flirting and/or interest? Well, obviously this is a Josie Grossy scenario from the movie Never Been Kissed, and I’m going to end up being egged by this hot guy and his equally hot date as they slow roll my house.
Girls like me aren’t supposed to date conventionally attractive guys. It doesn’t matter how nerdy or dorky they are. I’m a large woman (tall, previously muscular, and yes a little fat), and thus I should only be dating fat guys. Anyone who is of a healthy BMI is off limits, says my brain, don’t even THINK about it! You can get away with a guy who has a nice face, but that’s IT!
So, I just sit there, and look at a ridiculously attractive guy, who is saying that he finds me attractive, and my brain is all “DANGER, WILL ROBINSON! DANGER! DANGER!” and I just make this face the whole time:
And I look at myself from the outside, and imagine how RIDICULOUS it must look for someone like me to be actively flirting or trying to maintain the interest of this actual attractive guy.
Girl, you ain’t sexy, wtf are you doing?
Oh god, you didn’t just say that?!
Come on, you look like an idiot…
Oh, now you’re biting your lip? Great move! Now they’re going to assume you’re hungry or something…
And I proceed with caution (if at all). And eventually my seeming lack of interest (due to crippling anxiety about my obvious inadequacy) crushes any hopes of a connection. Because my actions are basically calling this person a LIAR! And who wants to be thought of as a liar? Or have their motives questioned?
And my brain does this every. single. time.
Boring. Cliche. Stupid.
My brain definitely needs new source material, because it’s obviously not creative enough to come up with its own script.
Fuck you, Drew Barrymore.
Gigglepig Slappyhams 