Friday night has become an Applebees tradition. I think I've spent almost every Friday night there this month. And tonight I thought it was going to be just us girls. I haven't hung out with Caresse for a while now, because she started working, so I was looking forward to listening to her college tales. But I think Jorie mentioned something to D, so he ended up joining us ladies for a late night meal.

I thought I was past D. I told myself I was past him. I told myself he was just a passing fancy. What I didn't realize was that you often cannot control your fancies, or the extent to which they decide to linger in your life.

So the night started out subpar. Caresse and her hyper overtalkative self went on and on about her crazy roommate and the evil codenames she (and her friends) created for the socially inept girls in her dorm. We seriously wondered if she was on uppers, a thought that was negated by the fact that she's super straightedge. She refuses to ingest any form of toxin into her body, including alcohol and nicotine, but not including sugar and caffeine, which explains the hyperactivity.

It got interesting when we discovered that our friendly waiter was perhaps getting a little too friendly with me. Of all the times he stopped by our table, he pawed me in the shoulder five times, and once on my side (you know, the side of your body that everyone loves to tickle) as compared to a count of 0 for Caresse, 0 for D, and 1 for Jorie. I, apparently, was the winning target for touchy feely service. And by the end of the night, my party was reveling over how uncomfortable I was getting whenever our waiter passed.

And so on to the dillema. And it is no coincidence that it begins with a D. This is a product of fate, of the stars, of Moirae and all the threads they spin:

I haven't felt this anxious and uncomfortable about a boy since high school. It sounds so silly to admit that 1) I can't eat in front of him, 2) my social skills drop to below sea-level, where I have better luck conversing with killer whales, and 3) everytime he looks at me, or touches me in any way, even if it's an accidental shoulder graze, my heartbeat goesthisfast. Nopausesjustthumpthumpthump!

This physical reaction to D, which is how I reacted to certain food allergies, only means that I am definitely not past the fancy. In fact, I am still right smack in the middle of the fancy. It is fancy heaven. And I can't find the getting past button. It seemed to have disappeared that night when he started getting touchy feely.

Touchy feely. Gosh, it makes me both "bright and shiny" and "dark and twisty" inside. (as per Meredith on Grey's Anatomy!) It's a great rush when you're in any kind of physical contact with a crush, but not so great a rush when you realize that this innocent playfulness is as far as it can get. And it becomes a big D dillema when you want more.

I totally don't mean that in a rated-R way, well maybe just a little, maybe even a little NC-17 or X or uhhh, anyway, I just want more of the real thing. I like the playfulness. Don't get me wrong. I enjoy it. It's sweeet. It's cotton candy and a big box of Nerds. But I'd like the playfulness even more if it led to something, meant something.

I guess the core issue is that I want more right now. I'm not that girl who dates around or can be satisfied with the semi/half-ass relationship. And I definitely do not think he can offer me that whole complete package, so really, D is a lost cause. Yet, I still fancy. Fancy is fun. But is fancy good or bad? My head tells me to quit him. My heart is protesting with a thumpthumpthump!

And my course of action is best said by Meredith on Grey's Anatomy:

I could quit, but here's the thing. I love the playing field.

So I'll ride this crush wave for a little longer and see where it takes me. He asked me if we could do another photoshoot, so that event may be the deciding factor to the fancy's growth or death. Gosh, it sounds as though I'm talking about a tumor. Is my like for him benign or malignant? Will I need chemo and then need to smoke some medicated MJ? What is this going to do to my health insurance rates??? lol

Anyway, I might even just go for it and kiss him, well if he's cute enough that night, and if I'm confident enough, oh and if I have a few Amaretto Sours in me. It's all in the timing. All in the timing.

Labels: The Progression of D