So all the posts from this week have been from tales from my own life. And the best part is . . .
they are all part of the same bad date.
The biology major studying fungi who liked linux asked me out via email and dropped me off in front of my house.
Good good times.
Friday, March 20, 2009
Thursday, March 19, 2009
How to Win Friends--or Dates: part 2
After the chicken delivery incident, I gave up the "how to win friends" tactics and returned to my own natural, awkward conversation skills . . . until about a year and a half later.
I was at institute and decided to be a nice person and talk to a boy I had been vaguely acquainted with in high school. I didn't actually 'know' him in high school, but we had been in a class or two together. So, anyway, I decided to practice my conversational question asking skills again, and it was chicken delivery all over again.
I started with, "What's your major?"
"Biology." I majored in English. Biology was actually the very last class I took as an undergraduate. But I guess it could be interesting . . . animals, plants, people, they're all interesting . . .
We continued on to discussion of jobs, and it turned out he worked in a biology lab.
"So," I followed up, "what exactly do you study at the lab?"
"Fungus."
Well, I impressed him with my ability to use the correct plural form, 'fungi,' and found out something about world about stopping world hunger, but really, fungi.
A few weeks later we were on a date.
Our ride-to-the-concert conversation was okay. I found out he knew a south east Asian language and wanted to hear all about it. But on the ride home, I searched for a new topic. None of my questions sparked a good conversation, and all I got were brief responses.
Finally, I asked, "So what do you like to do?"
"Biology."
"No, I mean what do you like to outside of school."
"I study fungi."
"So when you're not doing school, or studying the fungus, or doing anything else related to science, what do you do? Like in your spare time?"
I was expecting him to talk about sports or music or books. Even if it were geeky sci-fi books or some weird Star Trek obsession, I could deal with it. His response, "I like Linux."
Long pause from me.
"Oh, what's Linux?"
"It's an operating system."
"Huh."
Another long pause. I recovered from my dismay and asked, "What do you do with Linux?"
"Well, I like to write code and figure different stuff out with it."
Shoot me now.
And that was the end of our conversation. Pretty much for the rest of the ride home.
The end. The end of us being friends or going on dates. And the end of me trying to win friends and influence people.
I was at institute and decided to be a nice person and talk to a boy I had been vaguely acquainted with in high school. I didn't actually 'know' him in high school, but we had been in a class or two together. So, anyway, I decided to practice my conversational question asking skills again, and it was chicken delivery all over again.
I started with, "What's your major?"
"Biology." I majored in English. Biology was actually the very last class I took as an undergraduate. But I guess it could be interesting . . . animals, plants, people, they're all interesting . . .
We continued on to discussion of jobs, and it turned out he worked in a biology lab.
"So," I followed up, "what exactly do you study at the lab?"
"Fungus."
Well, I impressed him with my ability to use the correct plural form, 'fungi,' and found out something about world about stopping world hunger, but really, fungi.
A few weeks later we were on a date.
Our ride-to-the-concert conversation was okay. I found out he knew a south east Asian language and wanted to hear all about it. But on the ride home, I searched for a new topic. None of my questions sparked a good conversation, and all I got were brief responses.
Finally, I asked, "So what do you like to do?"
"Biology."
"No, I mean what do you like to outside of school."
"I study fungi."
"So when you're not doing school, or studying the fungus, or doing anything else related to science, what do you do? Like in your spare time?"
I was expecting him to talk about sports or music or books. Even if it were geeky sci-fi books or some weird Star Trek obsession, I could deal with it. His response, "I like Linux."
Long pause from me.
"Oh, what's Linux?"
"It's an operating system."
"Huh."
Another long pause. I recovered from my dismay and asked, "What do you do with Linux?"
"Well, I like to write code and figure different stuff out with it."
Shoot me now.
And that was the end of our conversation. Pretty much for the rest of the ride home.
The end. The end of us being friends or going on dates. And the end of me trying to win friends and influence people.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
How to Win Friends--or Dates: part 1
This is the preface to the date. This is a series of events that happened before I even met the boy, but which play an important role in understanding the events of the date. So.
When I was living in the Philippines (as a missionary), my brother read "How to Win Friends and Influence People." He wrote to me about what a great book it was, etc etc and gave me a few suggestions. He said that the key to making people like you is to make them think you're interested in them, and the best way to show interest is to ask people lots of questions about themselves. Then my brother told me that the next time I go to dinner at a Filipino home, I should talk to the father about his work and the mother about her cooking; if they didn't have much to say at first, I should just keep asking questions until they started talking more. He assured me that everyone has something interesting to say.
This sounded like pretty good advice, especially since I'm not a very good conversationalist. And it just so happened that we had been invited to dinner that week by a family I didn't know well.
When we got to the family's home for dinner, I decided to try my brother's suggestions and asked the father what he did for work. I expected him to be a farmer or a taxi driver like everyone else I knew and figured I could discuss those occupations at length. But he was not a farmer or a taxi driver. He delivered chickens.
"You deliver chickens?" I said.
"Yes. I deliver chickens?"
"What do mean, you 'deliver chickens'?" I asked.
"I deliver chickens."
I searched and struggled to find a follow-up question to his response, but this was totally out of my league of question-asking skills.
"Are they live chickens? Or dead?"
"Dead."
"Are they fresh? Or frozen?"
"Frozen. Why are you asking these questions?"
"I just want to get to know you better. So do people pre-order these chickens, or do you sell the chickens door-to-door?" I asked. I kept hoping he would start really talking at some point instead of just answering the questions and being done.
"I just sell them to whoever wants them." He didn't continue on.
So I tried an open-ended prompt. "So on a typical day, what do you do?"
"I sell chickens." (So frustrating.)
"But I mean, tell me about your day, start to finish. What the steps and procedures for selling the chickens."
"I sell chickens. What more can I tell you about it?"
I kind of wanted to die. Worst possible scenario for trying out this "How to Win Friends" business, but eventually I convinced the father to tell me all about his day and about chickens and a bunch of other stuff. After dinner, I decided to talk to the mother--she couldn't possibly be as frustrating. Besides, I love cooking and the dinner had been delicious, so I was happy to discuss it with her.
I went to the kitchen where she was cleaning up, "That arroz caldo was delicious. It really was the best arroz caldo I've had. How did you make it?" My compliments were sincere: it really was the best arroz caldo (sort of a soupy casserole with rice and chicken) I'd ever eaten.
Unlike the father, she was eager to talk, "Well, I start by browning the chicken like this." She showed me the pan and the chicken and made some cooking gestures. Then she showed me seasonings and few other tricks.
"But the key to good arroz caldo," she told me, "is liver."
Wait--what? I hate liver. Liver is pretty much the only weird food I didn't learn to love in the Philippines. The smell, the texture, the taste. Liver is disgusting. I mean, the liver is part of the digestive system. It detoxifies the body. How can you possibly want to eat the part of the body that takes in the all the sludgy stuff that isn't good for the body? Sick.
The mother continued on about the liver. And on and on and on. She showed me how much liver she had used and how she had cooked it and told me again how delicious liver is and how it's like the star of the arroz caldo. I wanted to die then even more than when I was trying to get her husband to tell me about delivering chickens. I cursed my brother for giving me advice. I cursed myself for following his advice. I could have spent the evening commenting on the weather. And I cursed what's-his-name for writing a stupid book about winning friends (who needs friends) and influencing people (so overrated).
Despite my inadequacies (and the whole ridiculousness of the situation), it worked. The whole asking questions to show you're interested in people thing worked: they invited us to come for Christmas.
When I was living in the Philippines (as a missionary), my brother read "How to Win Friends and Influence People." He wrote to me about what a great book it was, etc etc and gave me a few suggestions. He said that the key to making people like you is to make them think you're interested in them, and the best way to show interest is to ask people lots of questions about themselves. Then my brother told me that the next time I go to dinner at a Filipino home, I should talk to the father about his work and the mother about her cooking; if they didn't have much to say at first, I should just keep asking questions until they started talking more. He assured me that everyone has something interesting to say.
This sounded like pretty good advice, especially since I'm not a very good conversationalist. And it just so happened that we had been invited to dinner that week by a family I didn't know well.
When we got to the family's home for dinner, I decided to try my brother's suggestions and asked the father what he did for work. I expected him to be a farmer or a taxi driver like everyone else I knew and figured I could discuss those occupations at length. But he was not a farmer or a taxi driver. He delivered chickens.
"You deliver chickens?" I said.
"Yes. I deliver chickens?"
"What do mean, you 'deliver chickens'?" I asked.
"I deliver chickens."
I searched and struggled to find a follow-up question to his response, but this was totally out of my league of question-asking skills.
"Are they live chickens? Or dead?"
"Dead."
"Are they fresh? Or frozen?"
"Frozen. Why are you asking these questions?"
"I just want to get to know you better. So do people pre-order these chickens, or do you sell the chickens door-to-door?" I asked. I kept hoping he would start really talking at some point instead of just answering the questions and being done.
"I just sell them to whoever wants them." He didn't continue on.
So I tried an open-ended prompt. "So on a typical day, what do you do?"
"I sell chickens." (So frustrating.)
"But I mean, tell me about your day, start to finish. What the steps and procedures for selling the chickens."
"I sell chickens. What more can I tell you about it?"
I kind of wanted to die. Worst possible scenario for trying out this "How to Win Friends" business, but eventually I convinced the father to tell me all about his day and about chickens and a bunch of other stuff. After dinner, I decided to talk to the mother--she couldn't possibly be as frustrating. Besides, I love cooking and the dinner had been delicious, so I was happy to discuss it with her.
I went to the kitchen where she was cleaning up, "That arroz caldo was delicious. It really was the best arroz caldo I've had. How did you make it?" My compliments were sincere: it really was the best arroz caldo (sort of a soupy casserole with rice and chicken) I'd ever eaten.
Unlike the father, she was eager to talk, "Well, I start by browning the chicken like this." She showed me the pan and the chicken and made some cooking gestures. Then she showed me seasonings and few other tricks.
"But the key to good arroz caldo," she told me, "is liver."
Wait--what? I hate liver. Liver is pretty much the only weird food I didn't learn to love in the Philippines. The smell, the texture, the taste. Liver is disgusting. I mean, the liver is part of the digestive system. It detoxifies the body. How can you possibly want to eat the part of the body that takes in the all the sludgy stuff that isn't good for the body? Sick.
The mother continued on about the liver. And on and on and on. She showed me how much liver she had used and how she had cooked it and told me again how delicious liver is and how it's like the star of the arroz caldo. I wanted to die then even more than when I was trying to get her husband to tell me about delivering chickens. I cursed my brother for giving me advice. I cursed myself for following his advice. I could have spent the evening commenting on the weather. And I cursed what's-his-name for writing a stupid book about winning friends (who needs friends) and influencing people (so overrated).
Despite my inadequacies (and the whole ridiculousness of the situation), it worked. The whole asking questions to show you're interested in people thing worked: they invited us to come for Christmas.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
A Date without a Doorstep Scene
Tales from the life of the Keeper of the Blog
One night, at the end of a date, a boy dropped me off at my house.
And when I say 'dropped off,' I mean he stopped the car and just waited for me to get out. It was like we hadn't even been on a date, like we just happened to be going to the same concert that night and decided to carpool.
I have never been a fan of the doorstep scene, but can I tell you, the 'drop off' is worse. True, you avoid all decisions about whether or not to engage in super awkward post-date physical contact, and you skip the painfully long 'I had a great time' conversation, but walking yourself to the door after a date is just lame--I mean, if you're a girl--I guess guys do it all the time.
At first, I wasn't sure what was going on. He stopped the car in front of my house (not in the completely empty driveway?) and just sat there. So I sat there. I said a few "thank you's" (which I actually did mean because the concert we went to was completely awesome) and then sort of waited. He didn't move. So I put my hand on the door handle. He didn't move. I opened the door part way. He didn't move. I opened the door the rest of the way. I looked at him, waiting for him to say something, do something. He did nothing. I set one foot out the door. Still nothing. I got all the way out of the car. He was a statue.
"Well, goodnight," I said.
"Goodnight."
I shut the car door and walked across my lawn. It was dark outside, and I generally avoid going out by myself in the dark--it totally creeps me out--but apparently a date is no guarantee that you will be safely escorted to your front door. So I got to my porch, pulled out my keys, unlocked my door, and walked inside, still a little stunned. I looked back, and he was already gone.
One night, at the end of a date, a boy dropped me off at my house.
And when I say 'dropped off,' I mean he stopped the car and just waited for me to get out. It was like we hadn't even been on a date, like we just happened to be going to the same concert that night and decided to carpool.
I have never been a fan of the doorstep scene, but can I tell you, the 'drop off' is worse. True, you avoid all decisions about whether or not to engage in super awkward post-date physical contact, and you skip the painfully long 'I had a great time' conversation, but walking yourself to the door after a date is just lame--I mean, if you're a girl--I guess guys do it all the time.
At first, I wasn't sure what was going on. He stopped the car in front of my house (not in the completely empty driveway?) and just sat there. So I sat there. I said a few "thank you's" (which I actually did mean because the concert we went to was completely awesome) and then sort of waited. He didn't move. So I put my hand on the door handle. He didn't move. I opened the door part way. He didn't move. I opened the door the rest of the way. I looked at him, waiting for him to say something, do something. He did nothing. I set one foot out the door. Still nothing. I got all the way out of the car. He was a statue.
"Well, goodnight," I said.
"Goodnight."
I shut the car door and walked across my lawn. It was dark outside, and I generally avoid going out by myself in the dark--it totally creeps me out--but apparently a date is no guarantee that you will be safely escorted to your front door. So I got to my porch, pulled out my keys, unlocked my door, and walked inside, still a little stunned. I looked back, and he was already gone.
Monday, March 16, 2009
Email? Seriously?
Tales from the life of the Keeper of the Blog
One day, a boy asked me out via email.
He had my phone number--I had given it to him for non-dating, social purposes. And we saw each other every week at institute--except he didn't show up the week he asked me out.
We were both in our early/mid twenties, not new to the dating scene.
So I gasped in shock--and I mean a gasped audibly and sort jumped away from my desk--when I opened up my email at work on a Friday morning and found an invitation from this boy to go to a thing on the following Saturday (like 8 days later). It took me until Tuesday to recover enough to respond.
Do I even need to tell you that the date did not go very well?
One day, a boy asked me out via email.
He had my phone number--I had given it to him for non-dating, social purposes. And we saw each other every week at institute--except he didn't show up the week he asked me out.
We were both in our early/mid twenties, not new to the dating scene.
So I gasped in shock--and I mean a gasped audibly and sort jumped away from my desk--when I opened up my email at work on a Friday morning and found an invitation from this boy to go to a thing on the following Saturday (like 8 days later). It took me until Tuesday to recover enough to respond.
Do I even need to tell you that the date did not go very well?
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