FacesNicoleMakesWhenSheTalksToBoys.com

I’ve been watching too much Discovery Channel.  You know that show “Planet Earth”?  The one where they use macro filmography and such and it’s very National Geographic like, lookin’ at bugs and trees and stuff?  It’s narrated by Sigourney Weaver, whose calming presence makes you feel okay that a hyena is eating a baby monkey.

Anyway.  I’ve been watching that too much, I think.

I went to get some coffee and read this morning at a coffee shop.  A guy I know comes in, notices the chair empty beside me, and asks if he can sit with me.  Of course, I oblige.

MISTAKE, MENASCO!  VACATE THE PREMISES NOWWWWWWWW.

I don’t have particular feelings for this boy or anything, but I don’t know him that well and we aren’t independent friends or anything.  So, there’s a bit of… weird… that comes when you’re not quite familiar enough to be having coffee with someone.  And, for whatever reason, the small talk started, initiating the FacesNicoleMakesWhenSheTalksToBoys.com sequence.

You see, my friend Kayleigh once took a candid picture of me this one time when I was talking to a boy of the same familiarity as this one this morning.  She captioned it “FacesNicoleMakesWhenSheTalksToBoys.com”.  It said it all.  I look so… uncomfortable… So… emotionally unstable.  I’m not exaggerating.  I look crazy.  Like for real crazy.   Mainly, I’m transparent and any degree of discomfort shows up on my face.  What’s worse are the words that actually come out of that painfully awkward face.

So here we are, drinking coffees, talking.  Only, it’s more like him saying a sentence and then me gushing on for a solid 2 minutes about something similar but not quite like a Super Caffeinated Tween NIGHTMARE.  It’s very unbecoming.

It was in the middle of the second, uncontrollable stream of mindless dribble that I began to hear Sigourney Weaver narrating in my head.  At first, she was all like “STOP.  TALKING…. NOW.” And, of course, I couldn’t stop.  Each new train of thought led to something else that took me on a direct express journey to crazy.  After I would finish talking, we’d sit in silence for a while.  Then he’d bring something else up and there I’d go again.

Eventually, Sigourney changed her tune, after she’d completely given up on me, and started going on about how “survival of the fittest” was about to ween me out of the gene pool AND THIS IS WHY.

And it’s maybe kinda true.  I mean, girls who can’t talk to boys can’t get married and make babies.  That’s gotta be some sort of natural law.  And I can’t manage to sound much more than half my age when I talk to them.

Truthfully, there are only a handful of boys I can talk to among whom I do not turn into an Incessantly Awkward Adolescent.  And I don’t mean awkward like the purposeful awkward teens of today, I mean the ones who truly have some sort of social ineptitude.

Maybe this is why I’ve never had a real boyfriend, never been asked on a date, never kissed a boy.  Maybe.

In all honesty, with no hidden resentment, I am pretty okay with it.  I think a heart for celibacy is a blessing greater than a heart for marriage, I really do.  And remember when I took that online spiritual gifts test a few weeks ago and it said my number one gift is celibacy?

I mean, who knew I had a built in marriage deterrent?  It’s like “OFF” bug spray, but for relationships!  And I’m totally fine with “OFF”, if only it didn’t smell so bad, you know?  Like I’m totally cool if I don’t get married, but it would be pretty convenient if I could carry on a casual conversation with boys that wasn’t business related and didn’t end with Sigourney Weaver explaining how the world will be better without my genetic malfunctions tainting the future generations.

I’m just sayin’.

So, in summation, future procreators of the world will carry on the torch that lights the next generation… As for me?  I’ll be all like:

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