The longer I'm out of the whole dating scene (after a half lapsed Mormon and a man who insisted on talking about himself in the third person.. you would be too) the worse I get with men. I don't know if it's just because I'm out of practice.. but dear sweet Jesus crackers, this is horrible.
I have this Feminist Philosophy class, which I'm enjoying quite a bit. My proffessor is brilliant, and unfortunately.. kind of handsome. Ok. Really handsome. Which actually bears no relevance to my liking the class.. but does completely relate to this story.
We all had to chose a particular article in our text to interpret and present on. I've always had a periphery interest in Simone de Beauvoir, so I chose her - unfortunately, she's the very first article, and hence.. the very first presentation. Which isn't a bad thing. I'm all for setting the bar high for everyone else. Which would have been a lot easier had my brain not disconnected from my mouth when I went to get help from my prof.
I started sweating. Honest to goodness, sweat running down my back and my nose. And stuttering. I'm trying to impart my thesis in an intelligent and cohesive matter, and the only thing I could think of was the fact that it really seemed liked the room was getting smaller. And then, after talking about his education history, I blurted out "Are you old?". Damn it! To which he replied, "No, I'm only 30." Do you know what I SAID to that? "Oh, you're only 12 years younger than my last boyfriend!". SHIT! Trying to ignore that, we went back to talking about my paper, then talked about public speaking, making reference to the fact that I am always afraid I'm going to pee myself. DAMN!
I'm sure he was giving me some great advice in the meantime, but I was so friggin' nervous, that I could barely hear what he was saying over the roar of "STUPID STUPID STUPID" in my brain. So I walked out of the office without any help at all. I did well. But I'm pretty sure he gave me points for not spontaneously urinating in front of the class.
I have this Feminist Philosophy class, which I'm enjoying quite a bit. My proffessor is brilliant, and unfortunately.. kind of handsome. Ok. Really handsome. Which actually bears no relevance to my liking the class.. but does completely relate to this story.
We all had to chose a particular article in our text to interpret and present on. I've always had a periphery interest in Simone de Beauvoir, so I chose her - unfortunately, she's the very first article, and hence.. the very first presentation. Which isn't a bad thing. I'm all for setting the bar high for everyone else. Which would have been a lot easier had my brain not disconnected from my mouth when I went to get help from my prof.
I started sweating. Honest to goodness, sweat running down my back and my nose. And stuttering. I'm trying to impart my thesis in an intelligent and cohesive matter, and the only thing I could think of was the fact that it really seemed liked the room was getting smaller. And then, after talking about his education history, I blurted out "Are you old?". Damn it! To which he replied, "No, I'm only 30." Do you know what I SAID to that? "Oh, you're only 12 years younger than my last boyfriend!". SHIT! Trying to ignore that, we went back to talking about my paper, then talked about public speaking, making reference to the fact that I am always afraid I'm going to pee myself. DAMN!
I'm sure he was giving me some great advice in the meantime, but I was so friggin' nervous, that I could barely hear what he was saying over the roar of "STUPID STUPID STUPID" in my brain. So I walked out of the office without any help at all. I did well. But I'm pretty sure he gave me points for not spontaneously urinating in front of the class.
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