Flirting is Hard and I'm Bad at It

When A and I broke up, I thought the world was pretty much over. I was convinced that I was going to die alone with twenty cats in a tiny walk-up apartment in hel- I mean Scranton, Pa. Like, seriously. I was sure that no one else could love me ever again because I was weird and awkward and really really liked playing the Sims.

After a few months, I decided it was probably time for me to start looking at other guys. Not dating other guys, per se, but looking at other guys. Romantically. It was super weird at first. I'd spent the last two years looking at one person, thinking he was the be-all, end-all of my life and, suddenly, there were other people that I was allowed, nay, encouraged to "check out." What does that even mean?

I moved out west a few months later. I was determined to get over A. I made a concentrated effort to talk to boys, but it was hard and I usually gave up before I actually got around to the talking part. I would have really great imaginary conversations with all kinds of guys. I think my brain took it the wrong way, though, because when I finally got to the point where I was cool with talking to a cute boy, my brain was working on overdrive to sabotage me. 

It usually went like this:

Me: Oh, look, a male specimen that is suitably attractive. I wish to engage in flirting activities with him. Brain, ready my mental faculties for flirtation. 

Brain: On it boss. Let's just steer you right over there... And we're good. Commence operation.  

Me: Okay. I said hi and he didn't run away screaming. That's a good sign right? 

Brain: We're doing great. Oh, look. He's saying something funny! 

Me: Wow, he's pretty cool. Run the laughter program, please. 

Brain: Running.  

Me: [laughter] He's saying something funny again. Can we impress him with a witty reply? 

Brain: Naw, man. I've got a better idea. I'm gonna run the laughter program again.

Me: Wait...what- [laughter] 

Brain: Mmm... I can do better. Let's amp up the volume and the pitch. Good. Now try snorting as unattractively as possible. Ooo! Idea! Let's inhale some of our own spit and then hack it up like we have an infectious lung disease! Charming. Wheeze, Micaela, wheeze. 

Me: [dying] ... Wait, he's leaving... He's literally sprinting away.  

Brain: Oh, it's cool. Now it's just you and me. Forever and ever and ever and ever...

You get the idea. And it still happens a lot more than I care to admit. And it's way awkward. Texting is my friend. I have time to override my brain's automatic response with witty responses. And I can do it wearing my pajamas. Texting was invented for the sole purpose of giving people like me the chance to find love, I swear. 

Another problem I have with flirting is that I suck at it, especially when I really like someone. They'll say something cute and I'll laugh way too loud because on the inside, I'm screaming "I am a little bit in love with you. Please read my thoughts and love me also. Thank you."But then with people I don't like as much, I can be a flirting machine. It's a paradox.

That last bit wasn't as relevant as I thought it would be, but I felt like it needed to be said. 

Long story short, I'm not going to die alone unless I end up choking to death on my spit while I'm trying to seduce someone. 

This post kind of sucks. If you made it to this point, I'm really proud of you.

x,

   m