Wednesday, September 1, 2010
I knew I shouldn't have had that pasta with all the garlic yesterday. My breath reaks and I can't brush or swish it away. I just have to give it the 3 day grace period it requires, but, I don't have time. Is my shirt too revealing? Oh wait, I don't have a chest to reveal anyway. Phew. Did I act too interested? And why did I ramble on that way? Holy crap. I wonder if I have cilantro in my teeth from that amazing salsa. Great first impression Marie! And the clock is ticking.
I have been off the circuit for about 5 years now. The duration of time we lived in Colorado. Sure, I'll meet someone interesting every once in a while and want to give it a whirl. But the truth is, I have lots of numbers in my cell phone and I'm not sitting home alone every friday night. I know who to call if I want to hike. Who makes me laugh. Who I can have a quiet dinner with and talk into the night. But all those numbers? They're for my best girlfriends in Colorado and right now they're a half a world away. I need friends here in Morocco and I need them now.
Normally, I'm a girl who likes to take her time and stalk her target. Because, I've done this whole fast friending thing before and made some mistakes. It's hard to back out gracefully and not hurt someone's feelings when you need to revoke their status in your life. When you do, you're on the rebound again. Searching for "the one". Or ones, if you're polyamorous like most women are. People who will love me and support me for who I am. And of course, I'll do the same for them. In expat life this is all too familiar and every time you move, the process starts all over again. If you have an outgoing personality and a seasoned expat, it can look seamless. Even if it's not. But me? I'm terminally shy and awkward, so all my seams show for everyone to see.
Ok, I'm going to do it. I'm going to give her my number. But, maybe she didn't ask me for my number cause she thinks I'm a complete dork. A dork with cilantro stuck in my teeth and garlic breath. She probably can't wait to have an excuse to escape and talk to someone else. That or she thinks I'm moving way too fast because we just met. I'm sure she already has lots of friends and isn't shopping for new ones. Ok, enough excuses. That's it. I'm just giving her my number. That's all I have to do. Then all the pressure's on her and she either calls or she doesn't.
Shit, I can't remember my 15 digit long Moroccan phone number.
I feel like a 16 year old boy asking out the hot chick who's totally out of his league. Which would be my league. I can't even speak in coherent sentences I'm so nervous. And seriously? Who forgets their phone number? Kindergarteners know their phone number. I'll have to look up my own phone number on my cell phone. First, I'll have to rummage through my purse to find my reading glasses so I can read it. Where did I put my purse?
"You probably have plans and everything tomorrow. But, I was wondering if you wanted to go to the medina with me. I'm looking for illegally trademarked crap made in China by slave children that's infused with lead that will probably make me deaf. Did you know that they determined that was what caused Beethoven to become deaf? Lead poisoning, not slave labor, that is. Anyway, I thought maybe you'd like to come along and show me where the best eggplant is that you made that delicious zaalouk with." Clearly, I'm not very well practiced at this. Or smooth. I think every put together woman needs a self depreciating Janeane Garafalo-ish sidekick. And that's where I come in. CALL ME!
I'm currently reading: Click: The magic of instant connections by Ori Brafman and Rom Brafman