My Own Worst Enemy (Miss TMI)

Yeah, this is really me - just a little more haggard.

I think one of my greatest faults is my lack of diplomacy and tact. I am Miss TMI (Too Much Information). I guess it stems from a fear of being seen as dishonest or shady, but if I'm telling a story or giving information, I always tend to go waaaaaaaay beyond the point where I should shut up. Paradoxically, I'm also one of the most secretive people I know. There are things about me that NO ONE knows...not my closest friends, not First Love, not my dad - no one. I guess that's why I'm the Simplenigma. I'm destined to live a life of extremes, with no gray area.

So a few weeks ago, this need to give all the details ended up biting me in the butt. I was out at a club; this guy beside me starts chatting me up. He was attractive - not typically my type, but since I've been diversifying, I was open to it. He was very friendly and was engaging me and my friend in pleasant conversation; the club started getting hot, so I went outside for some air. He followed me. We got to chatting, and I really started feeling dude. I was presenting like a sonofagun - long stares and all (ok, maybe not 2 minutes, but they were long enough for him to get the idea).

The end of the night came; I shook his hand and told him it was nice to meet him.
"Likewise," he responded. I smiled.
"Maybe we should do this again?" he asked.
"Sure, I'd love to." I responded. He asked for my phone number.

Now I have a house phone and a cell phone. Typically my house and cell phone are connected, which means when you call me at home, it also rings on my cell so I can answer it if I'm out. But since my dad has been staying with me, I've turned off that feature so I wouldn't keep getting his calls during the day. But I'm used to giving people my home number, so that's what I started to give this dude.

Then I stopped; "No, no...that's not the right number... Nine-one-seven..."
He gave me a skeptical look. I started to babble...
"Well, I usually give people my house number, which is hooked up to my cell phone, but because my dad is staying with me, I took off the feature and now I forget that they're not hooked up..." Out came the whole story. With each sentence, I saw the possibility of him calling me melt away, but I couldn't help myself. I explained it to the end. I knew he wasn't gonna call; it was just waaaaaaaaaay too much information - and unnecessary information at that.

Needless to say, I haven't heard from him. LOL.

******

Recently, in a fit of boredom, I decided to calculate my annual sexual average for the last 6 years (i.e. the average number of times I've had sex per year for the last six years). Actually, I wasn't bored - it was something I really wanted to know, but I feel like if I said that I did it because I was bored would sound a lot better and less pathetic. Anyway, the result was depressingly low.

So I'm discussing these depressing results with a couple of friends (one male, one female), which leads to another conversation, and before I know it I'm delving into the reason my annual average is so low. I mean I was really delving and theorizing, much to my male friend's chagrin. Too late, I realized I had made him uncomfortable - eerily reminiscent of when I used to walk around the house butt nekkid with no regard for my roommates' discomfort at having to see me naked all the time. Once again, TMI.

I could think of a host of examples where me saying too much has cost me a date. Mentioning the blog has definitely not helped either. LOL.

I wish I had an alarm that would send me an electric shock when I was going past the point of enough information...