#NerdsUnite: Confessions of an Overdreamer (Sometimes I Miss My Imaginary Boyfriends)

 

<editorsnote> Nerds, meet my buddy Megan. (Yes, another one!) I met her at the #20SB summit in Chicago, and she's a really really really rad chica. She's here today to tell you about a little problem that she has. Megan is what we would call an over-dreamer. Not an overachiever because an overachiever actually achieves something ... Megan dreams, and that's it. And these are her stories ... HIT IT MEGAN!! </editorsnote>

#TalkNerdyToMeLover's @mahannay

Up until my early twenties, I was scared to talk to most boys. Literally. Scared. Frightened. Afraid of. Red-faced. Shaky. Stammery. Unwitty. Like – I’d rather talk to a hungry T-Rex or Charles Manson than a halfway decent-looking boy my age. And the cute ones? Oh dear god.

I know this is a common problem for kids and teenagers. Everyone gets a little nervous around the opposite sex. But for me, it was beyond that. I didn’t date until I was 21 because I was … let’s call it “below grade level” …  at communicating with boys. 

Every time a guy would talk to me, some part of my brain would turn off. One time, in 10^th grade chemistry class, I my crush-of-the-year, Richard stood next to my desk and said “what’s up?” I couldn’t think of anything to say back, so I just stammered and stared. He never asked me “what’s up?” again.

Another time, I found myself repeating a very unfunny joke, very loudly about ten times to my girlfriend (who kept not getting the bad joke), just hoping that my church crush would overhear. And when I say “found myself,” I really do mean that. It’s like the common sense side of Megan went to sleep, and when she woke up, she was yelling a bad joke in the middle of youth group.

Okay, self-deprecating part over. I promise this whole post isn’t about what a loser shy girl I was in high school and most of college.

It’s actually more about what being an overdreamer and a shy girl did to my perception of boys and dating.  Just because I didn’t date any of the boys in my high school doesn’t mean I didn’t like any of them. In fact, I really liked some of them. And since we weren’t having real conversations, most of my early interactions with boys occurred in my imagination.

Many girls still do this. We see a hot guy and wonder what he’d be like on a date or what he’d be like in bed. We start dating a guy and think “what if we were married?” – even if we’re years away from marriage. (I mean, if you’ve been dating a dude for four months, and the thought of one day walking down an aisle with him at the end of it is enough to send you into vomiting spasms of horror, you may want to reconsider the seriousness of the relationship.)

But the one thing we all learn pretty quickly is that the imaginary conversations are nothing like the real ones. Most girls learn this around age 15. I had to wait until age 21. So, at 24, I’m sometimes still getting used to it.

Imaginary boys never leave conversations ambiguous. They always know just what to say, and how come their hair always looks amazing too? You know another thing about imaginary boys? They always agree with me! They’re always on the same page! Amazing, they are. Was I hoping for a surprise trip? Imaginary boy was planning one!  

Sometimes I think that spending so many years speculating about dating led me to having ridiculously high expectations for non-imaginary boys. By the time I actually started dating, I was a romantic to the core. Sweet gestures, lovely words, special songs – they were my kryptonite. I actually ended up dating a guy who was perfectly wrong for me just because his charm was almost at imaginary boy level (lesson learned – in real life, always be a bit wary of the charmers).

In my next posts, I’ll explain how my imagination has dominated each of my three major romantic relationships. From the first love I could never leave (even after he broke up with me on Valentine’s Day) to the current long-distance boyfriend that I still have an imaginary version of (healthy? too much? you can judge).

In the meantime, I say to my (maybe not-so) imaginary audience – Happy Friday!

#nerdsunite

Want more from Megan? Check out her blog over yonder!

Click here to follow Megan on twitter

#NerdsUnite: Confessions of an OverDreamer (The Crazy)

<editorsnote> Nerds, meet my buddy Megan. (Yes, another one!) I met her at the #20SB summit in Chicago, and she's a really really really rad chica. She's here today to tell you about a little problem that she has. Megan is what we would call an over-dreamer. Not an overachiever because an overachiever actually achieves something ... Megan dreams, and that's it. And here is her story ... HIT IT MEGAN!! </editorsnote>

#TalkNerdyToMeLover's @mahannay

I’d like to spend this post writing about a subject that often goes hand-in-hand with being an overdreamer. In some ways, she’s the other side of the coin. The negative to the neurosis, if you will.

We’re going to call her: THE CRAZY.

Because she is batshit crazy.

Let’s say ‘boy’ and I have a Skype date at 10pm. I’m on at 10. 10:06pm, he texts to say he’s still eating dinner, and he’ll call soon. At 10:26, he’s still not around. Logical Megan says ‘it’s okay – he got tied up. Whatevs.’ But then there’s THE CRAZY. And THE CRAZY – she’s mad.

(Why do I have Skype dates instead of real dates with ‘boy’ to begin with? That’s a post for another day. Just go with it.)

THE CRAZY does not like standing on the left side of the escalator behind other people standing on the left side of the escalator because everyone knows that you’re supposed to walk on the left side of the escalator and stand on the right (this goes for airport walkways as well).

THE CRAZY gets really weirded out when she forgets earrings. I’m really not sure what’s up with this. It’s like no earrings = naked or something. It’s odd.

THE CRAZY always kind of wonders if the taxi driver isn’t purposely taking the wrong way around (this one in particular is bad – I normally pride myself in my ability to trust people).

THE CRAZY does not like if she thinks someone is upset with her; she doesn’t like following the directions on the back of the box; she doesn’t like waiting to order drinks at crowded bars (ASIDE – do you ever wonder if bartenders get tired of being stared at for hours straight by patrons who can’t wait for more drinks?); she doesn’t take well to not being ‘in the know’ – at work, with friends, etc.

When you meet Megan, THE CRAZY is usually nowhere to been seen. But she’s always just a little bit there, just waiting for life to be a little less than perfect.

Someone once told me that no one can make you irritated or upset or stressed. You can only make yourself feel those things. I think it was my dad who told me that actually. Definitely sounds like something he would say.

That’s the real battle. THE CRAZY is no one else’s fault – she’s mine to own. I can succumb to it – go all HULK on someone’s ass or write a really nasty journal entry that I really hope, despite all odds, the perpetrator will somehow find and read later. Or…I can just… let. It. Go.

To combat THE CRAZY, I need to embrace the imperfections life brings. I can do some of those breathing exercises. Look at the bigger picture. The one in which I remember that the bartender is tired and overworked and stressed and probably just spilled beer on his pants, and he’s been up since 6am and he has a huge blister on his left foot.

I can remember to love people.

I’m not going to hate ‘boy’ forever (though I may need to logically explain to him that some of us have to keep 11pm bedtimes). And remember that being ‘in the know’ isn’t always the greatest – especially when what you know is bad news bears.

I hear it’s better for the heart rate this way. And probably relationships, too. Sorry CRAZY, I’m going to have to phase you out.

#nerdsunite

Want more from Megan? Check out her blog over yonder!

Click here to follow Megan on twitter