November 16, 2013
Last night I went out dancing with my friends. This isn't that unusual. I do this most Friday nights. No, what was different on this particular dancing night was that I decided to stop by my favorite coffee shop and grab a 12 oz. mocha with whip cream before I went. (The whip cream part is important; it makes every beverage infinitely better). Since you, dear audience, are not privy to my dietary proclivities, I'm going to share a little secret. I don't handle caffeine well.
In fact, if we are going to be sharing secrets, I actually don't like coffee all that much in the first place. This coffee shop which I found in college, called Cold Smoke, has produced the first coffee beverage that I actually find delicious. It should also be noted that I am also not a big fan of pop, and never have been. What this all adds up to is that I have an incredibly low tolerance for caffeine. One cup of single-shot coffee has me so wired you would think I was wasted. Since I don't drink and really don't have the inclination to ever pick up the habit, I've decided that this is going to become my new form of drunk. I shall dub it... "Coffee Drunk"!
Let me describe to you the symptoms of my state of "coffee drunk." For starters, I have a ridiculous amount of excess energy, to the point where I am physically incapable of sitting still (this comes in handy when you go dancing straight afterwards; this is less helpful when trying to stay awake and study for an exam). Second, I can't focus on anything. (Again, no help with the studying. Are we beginning to see why I am an abysmally atypical college student?) Third, I am able to talk just as fast as I can think. And that's pretty darn fast. Surprisingly enough, if you can keep up with the pace my conversation is fairly coherent. I feel a little like Hammy the Squirrel off of Over the Hedge. Except I like to think that I'm a little less scraggly. And finally, all my usual censors are lost. Well, not all of them. But a majority of the things that I would normally screen in my mind before deciding if they are a suitable topic for conversation... Well, they're fair game.
All of these symptoms add up to a me that is significantly different than my normal, suave self. Typically, I'm a fairly reserved, sarcastic individual. The sarcasm stays with the caffeine; it just becomes a little more blunt and a lot more giggly. Which I'm not proud of. I despise giggles.
So last night, coffee in hand, I went to campus to do some swing dancing. Oh boy. Turns out that you actually need to be able to focus in order to follow well in swing dancing. Don't even get me started on leading. So, the end result is that all of the extra energy I gained from the coffee was negated by the inability to apply it in a structured format, a.k.a. dancing. This translates to an excess of swivels, rock steps, and bruised toes. Luckily all of the leads were perfect gentlemen about it and chose to be amused at my chipmunk-like demeanor. If I were to hazard a guess, I think that I was called either "cute," "adorable," or "amusing" over twenty different times. I was of course mortally offended. I'm not cute. I'm ferocious. Get it right.
But that isn't the point of this whole conversation. The point is that the coffee got me talkative enough that I lost all my inhibitions and talked up this guy who I always have a hard time talking to. This isn't because I'm desperately in love with him or anything (come on, I don't read that many romance novels...) or even that I find him to be uncomfortable or uninteresting. It just seems like every time we have a conversation, I end up being Atlas and he gets to be Perseus. What I mean is, I get to be the person who holds the weight of our conversation on my shoulders. On days when I have an abundance of energy (like when I'm all jacked up on coffee and can't keep my mouth shut) this isn't a problem. But on the days when I'm feeling like a normal, sane person, this can be occasionally frustrating. Okay, more than occasionally.
I don't know if any of you out there in my audience have ever had this experience. I find that it happened to me quite frequently in high school, especially with boys. Always with boys. They say "Hey, what's up?" and then the remainder of their side of the conversation is constituted of "cool," "sweet," "awesome," "yes," no," and "yeah, me too."
Oh. My. Goodness.
I can't handle it. I just can't handle it. The inane inevitability of it all. The feeling that the only way this person is going to continue wanting to associate with me is if I'm being the Atlas of the conversation makes me feel both infuriated and inadequate. What, am I not interesting enough to talk to for you to give me an answer that's longer than one sentence? One word? Thank you for that ego boost.
And that's how it always was with this guy. Don't get me wrong, he's a pretty cool guy and a really good friend. But talking to him, especially while at dancing, makes me want to extract all of my toenails with a pair of pliers. And the most frustrating part is that the awkward silences and the stilted conversation is constantly juxtaposed against the intimacy and partnership of dancing. Maybe I'm one of the only people in my age group who analyzes social interaction like an English paper, but it still bugs the crap out of me. And that is a legitimate emotion that no one has the right to minimize. Don't rain on my weird parade.
You want to know what the crazy thing was though? He was aware of it too! He actually said to me, after our first dance of the night, "I think you just said more to me in one dance than you've said to me in the whole last year!" NO SHIT SHERLOCK! It's because every time I try to have a conversation with you, you never respond to anything! I'm not a person to go beating a dead horse. I'd much rather go talk with someone who participates in the conversation, thank you very much!
So I guess my question for the day is... Is this a normal guy-girl thing? Because I have the sneaking suspicion that this is not the case. But apparently it is for me, because every guy I talk to seems to be afflicted with this particular conversational quirk. Maybe I'm just boring... Ouch.
Well, whatever the problem is, apparently it can be solved by being coffee drunk. Because although I'm still Atlas, at least I'm pretty darn psyched about carrying the conversation around on my shoulders.
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