Monday, Jun. 07, 2004 - 2:13 p.m.

10:58 p.m. I just got it. That feeling you get when you know you have absolutely no interest in the person you�re cozied up next to on the couch. That sudden feeling of something tingling your skin as it creeps down your arms to find its way to the small of your back before shooting straight up your spine sending your neck into spasm just prior to exploding out the top of your head. I hate it when I get it, especially if up until that point he had so much potential. But once the ton of bricks falls there is no going back. In fact, it�s pointless to try. The only thing worth trying is to excuse yourself from the situation as gracefully and quickly as possible before its too late and you are forced to go through with sex. Ick!

11:02 p.m. I never really know when it�s about to strike. The "Ick Factor." That little thing that makes it�s way into your mind contaminating the lust or attraction or interest you have towards someone you�re dating. Sometimes it�s simply finding back-hair stubble or ball stubble or absolutely no semblance of stubble, anywhere, and the "ick" comes from the image that you�re getting romantic with a giant hairless dog.

11:03 p.m. Tonight�s "ick" came from an annoyingly simplistic source. All I asked was "What�s your favorite movie?" The answer I received from this extremely handsome man was "Who�s Afraid of Virginia Woof." Woof? Huh? Ick, ick, and ick. Woof? Okay, I used to say "woof"�when I was six. However, one poorly timed "big bad woof" while reading aloud in kindergarten is enough to break anyone of the lazy speech. Sitting here on the couch, staring in mortified disbelief, jaw unhinged (and not for a good reason) and at a loss for anything to say but, "Wasn�t Wisabeth Taylor phenomenal? Gotta go."

11:05 p.m. As I ran down the stairs away from the source of my eerie shivering skin sensation it crossed my mind that just maybe I�m a smig shallow.

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