It's like Sex and the Suburbs and 30 Rock all rolled into one…
It’s pretty must established that I love a good party, a great gathering of friends, or even coffee with some family. I’m an extrovert; I get energy from being with people, talking and doing things with them. Groups make extroverts like myself feel invincible, and we all like to feel that way every once in awhile. And when I’ve dated I’ve had to balance my desire to go out, have drinks with friends, blow up the dance floor with my few girl friends and network with the great people of the Capital District with the fact that I inevitably end up with an introvert. Someone who refuels by spending time typically at home, alone or with one or two people. You know who they are – they are the people who don’t go out on a Friday night, preferring to watch Friday Night Lights live rather than letting the DVR pick it up. There’s nothing wrong with a frozen pizza and a bottle of wine and the comfy chair, but I’m an extrovert and I get antsy all night in my living room.
There is one thing that no matter how much I love the night life and to boogie, I just can’t get enough of it. I love to read in bed with my partner. There is nothing better than after a long day, slipping into bed with a great book and the person you care about and engaging your mind. A few years ago I dated someone who was as avid a reader as I; we had a continuous book swap. We eventually got to reading the same book – Harry Potter and the Deadly Hallows. It seemed as if we would rush through dinner to get into our PJs and begin reading. And while we read, we’d chat about what we were reading. We promised to only read at the same time, so rarely any spoilers were revealed. It was fantastic and was so without going out, without being in a large group painting things neon orange. The two of us, opposite on the Myers-Briggs spectrum, were able to enjoy ourselves.
My parents were bedtime readers; it was sometimes the only time they could get face time with a book. They would stay up late, reading and talking about what they read. It fostered for them an intellectual intimacy that I am certain keeps their marriage together through trials, tribulations and tedium. We all learn how to be in relationships from our parents successes and their failures. I also tend to fall for the smartest guy in the room. Not the must successful, or the most handsome, but the smartest. Because while I do tend toward trivialities sometimes, I am in my own less than humble opinion intellectual about them. (Come on, I might have written a thesis on artificial intelligence and the soul and effectively manage 100 people daily, but I write a freaking fashion blog for fun.) It’s no surprise that I am attracted to falling asleep next to my partner, book in hand after a great discussion.