awkward, party of one, your table is constantly ready.

I am awkward.

This is nothing new to anyone who knows me. Though I’m really pretty outgoing, this doesn’t mean that I don’t say things and people who don’t know me don’t look at me and make that quizzical, “what-the-hell-did-she-just-say-what-a-weirdo” face.

My awkwardness can either come off as twee-cute, bitchy, or socially inept. For some reason, I’ve lucked out in the past couple of weeks leaning on the twee-cute one. I’ve come to this circumstance in dating.

Dating is weird. Going from being in a relationship for six years with someone that you’re comfortable enough going to the bathroom with the door open with to getting nervous about making some sort of bodily function noise over a plate of food is weird. I don’t think I’ve got it down, but I do know that my nervous habits of hair twirling, thumbnail biting, and self-lower lip nibbling is awkward enough to be attractive, at least I think it has been…this is where socially inept Alison may come out, again, I’m not sure, I’m even awkward to myself.

I truly hope that when I get back to Denver and my friends are former NCCCers and I live with two dudes who, if you don’t know them, could come off as protective and pretty hard (Jeff and Brandon will be my anti-wingmen if I need them to be, and this is why I love living with them) that I at least go a little balls to the wall and meet new people. Date awkwardly, go home semi-disappointed and lay on one of those roommates’ laps while watching my Sunny DVDs and eating something salty (ice cream is for sissies.)

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