Sunday, April 27, 2008

Shaking All Over

Something happened this weekend. Something I wasn’t prepared for, an absolute surprise in fact. Something that keeps floating back into my head, only to be quickly erased and dislodged, Etch-A-Sketch like.

A boy made my hands shake.

BTW, I realize a woman my age and experience should, perhaps, stop referring to men as “boys”. But it’s my blog and I’ll boy if I want to.

The weekend was chock full of fun, although the two week drought continues (while vacuuming today, I found a fully wrapped Trojan nudged between wall and nightstand. My last brought three upstairs. We used two. Points for believing he had that in him). Chaste male companionship abound in the past 48 – a two hour flirty phone chat, dinner downtown, coffee on 17th, more drinks, music. Good times for a girl (even discovered during a closet raid I’ve dropped two sizes). However, at one point during the festivities, I realized my hands were trembling. Only briefly, but obviously. My cheeks even may have been flushed. Nerves? Empty stomach? Bad shrimp? Nope. It was a boy.

I didn’t sign up for shakes. My hands betray me. They should be court marshaled, chopped from forearm in some odd ritual sacrifice.

I don’t know if I can fully and properly define the moment; it's a bit scrambled in my head, like a saucy blocked cable channel. Sitting with a glass of red, suddenly all too aware of hands afflicted, like Ali lighting the torch at the 1996 Summer Olympics. Where did it come from? What does it mean? Worse yet, I have an inkling (no, not an inkling but a pert near bonafide, period at the end of the story, he's just not that into me vibe coming from every pore) that I don’t do the same for him. I find him sweet and awkward. I like that he has a little belly; I want to rub it like Buddha.

The shake stops here. I don’t want it.

I don’t.

Why don’t I make his hands shake?

I don’t care.

Maybe it was bad shrimp after all, because it makes my stomach hurt.


/brandon\ said...

I have this same effect on women. Well, my grandmother, anyway. She says it's just Parkinson's, but I know I've got game.

Miz UV said...

LOL @ Brandon's comment!

I get that, and it seems so random, though I'm sure it isn't. I've been on many job interviews and taken many tests, always do great, but last summer I went to an agency on a whim and completely f'd up the typing tests. My hands were shaking too much to type at all. It was so weird! Now, of course, the idea of it freaks me out, so I'll never go again. Hah.

Jodie Kash said...

Oh no, no Paula...sadly mine wasn't random. I let one get under my skin. I need to loofah hard in the tub, scrub that away.

B - you got game, baby. Degenerative disorder of the central nervous system game, but game all the same.

Don said...

Under your skin? And how real is your vibe that mister sweet and awkward doesn't feel it too? I misspent most of my youth trusting neither my own feelings nor the signs given out by the ladies and remained distant and alone while they moved on to smarter young men. So I could believe your Buddha likes you plenty, maybe he just has a wall up. So long as it isn't so thick and wide as mine was, you should be able to pop over it and try again. He'll be grateful -- or he'll be creeped out but you never know till you try.

Jodie Kash said...

hmmm...grateful or creeped out?? Which to choooossseee ;)

I heart you, Don. You put my pointy shoe on the other foot and spared my ego a bit.

Jodie Kash said...

Oh, and yes, his is "thick and wide" ;)

His wall, you dirty birds! Although...

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