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.
Showing posts with label First dates. Show all posts
Showing posts with label First dates. Show all posts
Thursday, March 19, 2009
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.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Creepy Weird Clueless: Part 2
Friday evening came. I was in my apartment alone and contemplating not answering the door, and leaving my phone on the kitchen table, in view from the front window, and not answering that either while hiding in my room. But I was too nice, and answered the door.
We got in his car and he informed me that he needed to stop at the bank inside Albertsons to make a withdrawal. He parked in the Albertsons parking lot and went in, I stayed in the car - contemplating if I should get out of the car and run like mad. But again, I was too nice to ditch out and I stayed.
Next we went to his apartment and made a cake for the group date, but he didn't have any frosting, so it was plain cake in a metal pan. Actually he made the cake, while I sat in the living room watching TV with his roomate. After that we got in his car and drove to his work. He worked for some medical transportation company, they would drive old people from their home to the hospital and back. He told me that he needed to pick up a patient and take her home. He got the keys to the big work van and we got in. We drove to the hospital where we waited for half an hour for the old lady to finish dialysis. When she was done, he wheeled her out to the van and loaded and buckled her in. He introduced us, slightly awkward. We drove to her house and I sat in the van as he unloaded her and took her in. We drove back to his work to switch back to his car.
Now the date actually begins. We drove to Devin's house, the guy who put together the group date. We brought the cake in, and everyone thought it was so weird and they just put it aside. We ate pizza and played card games, after which we went downstairs to watch a Halloween movie. As soon as the lights went out he was all over me; trying to cuddle with me, laying on my lap, sitting so uncomfortably close. I painstakingly waited for the movie to finish. When we were leaving he noticed no one ate the cake so he cut half of out and left it for everyone to eat later. We got in the car and he proceeded to drive me home.
We get to my apartment, he opens my car door, I step out and he tells me to bring up the cake so we can eat some. We get into my apartment, none of my roommates are home. Steve and I sat at the table talking for a long time. I really wanted him to leave so I stopped talking as much, giving as short as possible answers hoping he would get the hint. Nope. One of my roommates finally came home, but went straight to her room and closed the door. Thanks for the privacy. I stood up and walked towards the door, Steven followed, but then stopped to continue blabbing.
After a while of that I finally opened the door and went outside, he sat on the steps and continued to talk my ear off, forever. Like he was stalling cause he probably wanted to kiss me or something. Sick. Finally I just told him that I had to get up really early the next morning (which was a complete lie). So he hugged me and left.
A few days later he called and invited me to do something, to which I declined and told him I was too busy (complete lie, I learned my lesson the hard way). The next few days he continued to call, all of which I ignored and did not answer. After a few weeks he quit calling. Fast forward to New Years Eve. I was out shopping with my roommate, and guess who calls, Steve. Of course I did not answer. He left a message asking what I was doing and wishing me a Happy New Year. Whatever, he wanted a New Years kiss and he wasn't getting one.
A while later I was talking with Carrie (who knew the whole date story and phone calls). She told me that Steve had talked to Doug saying, "I totally don't understand why she's not answering, I thought our first date went so well". Doug then informed him of his wrongs. Hopfully Steve has learned his lesson.
We got in his car and he informed me that he needed to stop at the bank inside Albertsons to make a withdrawal. He parked in the Albertsons parking lot and went in, I stayed in the car - contemplating if I should get out of the car and run like mad. But again, I was too nice to ditch out and I stayed.
Next we went to his apartment and made a cake for the group date, but he didn't have any frosting, so it was plain cake in a metal pan. Actually he made the cake, while I sat in the living room watching TV with his roomate. After that we got in his car and drove to his work. He worked for some medical transportation company, they would drive old people from their home to the hospital and back. He told me that he needed to pick up a patient and take her home. He got the keys to the big work van and we got in. We drove to the hospital where we waited for half an hour for the old lady to finish dialysis. When she was done, he wheeled her out to the van and loaded and buckled her in. He introduced us, slightly awkward. We drove to her house and I sat in the van as he unloaded her and took her in. We drove back to his work to switch back to his car.
Now the date actually begins. We drove to Devin's house, the guy who put together the group date. We brought the cake in, and everyone thought it was so weird and they just put it aside. We ate pizza and played card games, after which we went downstairs to watch a Halloween movie. As soon as the lights went out he was all over me; trying to cuddle with me, laying on my lap, sitting so uncomfortably close. I painstakingly waited for the movie to finish. When we were leaving he noticed no one ate the cake so he cut half of out and left it for everyone to eat later. We got in the car and he proceeded to drive me home.
We get to my apartment, he opens my car door, I step out and he tells me to bring up the cake so we can eat some. We get into my apartment, none of my roommates are home. Steve and I sat at the table talking for a long time. I really wanted him to leave so I stopped talking as much, giving as short as possible answers hoping he would get the hint. Nope. One of my roommates finally came home, but went straight to her room and closed the door. Thanks for the privacy. I stood up and walked towards the door, Steven followed, but then stopped to continue blabbing.
After a while of that I finally opened the door and went outside, he sat on the steps and continued to talk my ear off, forever. Like he was stalling cause he probably wanted to kiss me or something. Sick. Finally I just told him that I had to get up really early the next morning (which was a complete lie). So he hugged me and left.
A few days later he called and invited me to do something, to which I declined and told him I was too busy (complete lie, I learned my lesson the hard way). The next few days he continued to call, all of which I ignored and did not answer. After a few weeks he quit calling. Fast forward to New Years Eve. I was out shopping with my roommate, and guess who calls, Steve. Of course I did not answer. He left a message asking what I was doing and wishing me a Happy New Year. Whatever, he wanted a New Years kiss and he wasn't getting one.
A while later I was talking with Carrie (who knew the whole date story and phone calls). She told me that Steve had talked to Doug saying, "I totally don't understand why she's not answering, I thought our first date went so well". Doug then informed him of his wrongs. Hopfully Steve has learned his lesson.
Monday, March 2, 2009
This Really Did Happen
Setting: It is July 3, 2005. I moved into a new apartment. It is my first Sunday afternoon. The phone rings.
Me: Hello.
Caller: Hello. This is Ryan. Is Mary there?
Me: Nope, sorry.
Caller: Ok. Is Emily there?
Me: No.
Caller: How about Kate?
Me: No. I'm the only one home actually.
Caller: Well, who is this?
Me: This is Rachel. I just moved in.
Caller: Oh. I met you in church today. Right before Sacrament meeting. What are you doing tomorrow?
He was looking for a date to go to his FAMILY REUNION on the 4th of July. UMM . . . no. Luckily I had plans.
Two weeks later he calls on a Tuesday evening to see if I want to go play laser tag on a Saturday night. I figure everyone deserves one chance (unless they are a creep), so I said yes.
Friday, the day before the date, he calls again.
Ryan: You aren't by chance endowed are you?
Me: Nope.
Ryan: Oh. Well the reason I asked is because I just found out my cousin is getting married tomorrow, and I was going to see if you wanted to go. Do you care if we go to their reception for our date instead?
To your cousins SEALING? The RECEPTION?
Me: You know, I have a work party, so I'll just go to it, you go to your reception, and we can go out another time.
Nathan: Oh! I'll go with you. Then you come with me. We'll do both.
(Note to single boys: your cousin's wedding reception is NEVER a good idea for a first date.)
This story gets better.
So we get to my work party and, of course, I'm feeling very awkward. My friend Chris, who I can tell is going to tease me about this later, says:
Chris: So Ryan. What are you studying?
Ryan: I'm studying computer science, but I should be doing public relations.
Chris: Yeah, because people that do computer science generally don't have very good people skills. (Snicker Snicker)
NEXT, we get in the car and I ask: Where is this reception?
Chris: Oh. It's in Bountiful.
BOUNTIFUL?!?!?! ARE YOU KIDDING????
BOUNTIFUL IS OVER AN HOUR AWAY!
So we drive up and have awkward conversation. Then we get there and he walks me around to every table and introduces me to every single person.
"This is Rachel. We're on a first date."
Then he asks if I want to dance, while ONLY THE BRIDE AND GROOM are dancing and everyone else is standing around taking pictures and crying.
THEN! We drive home and he tells me about his health problems. One of which, I might add, include YEAST!
I didn't realize boys could have problems with yeast.
Then, thankfully, he dropped me off at 10 pm because he is never in bed past 10 pm.
The next two weeks were followed by random text messages that said, "Hey, do you want to go play catch sometime?"
Me: Hello.
Caller: Hello. This is Ryan. Is Mary there?
Me: Nope, sorry.
Caller: Ok. Is Emily there?
Me: No.
Caller: How about Kate?
Me: No. I'm the only one home actually.
Caller: Well, who is this?
Me: This is Rachel. I just moved in.
Caller: Oh. I met you in church today. Right before Sacrament meeting. What are you doing tomorrow?
He was looking for a date to go to his FAMILY REUNION on the 4th of July. UMM . . . no. Luckily I had plans.
Two weeks later he calls on a Tuesday evening to see if I want to go play laser tag on a Saturday night. I figure everyone deserves one chance (unless they are a creep), so I said yes.
Friday, the day before the date, he calls again.
Ryan: You aren't by chance endowed are you?
Me: Nope.
Ryan: Oh. Well the reason I asked is because I just found out my cousin is getting married tomorrow, and I was going to see if you wanted to go. Do you care if we go to their reception for our date instead?
To your cousins SEALING? The RECEPTION?
Me: You know, I have a work party, so I'll just go to it, you go to your reception, and we can go out another time.
Nathan: Oh! I'll go with you. Then you come with me. We'll do both.
(Note to single boys: your cousin's wedding reception is NEVER a good idea for a first date.)
This story gets better.
So we get to my work party and, of course, I'm feeling very awkward. My friend Chris, who I can tell is going to tease me about this later, says:
Chris: So Ryan. What are you studying?
Ryan: I'm studying computer science, but I should be doing public relations.
Chris: Yeah, because people that do computer science generally don't have very good people skills. (Snicker Snicker)
NEXT, we get in the car and I ask: Where is this reception?
Chris: Oh. It's in Bountiful.
BOUNTIFUL?!?!?! ARE YOU KIDDING????
BOUNTIFUL IS OVER AN HOUR AWAY!
So we drive up and have awkward conversation. Then we get there and he walks me around to every table and introduces me to every single person.
"This is Rachel. We're on a first date."
Then he asks if I want to dance, while ONLY THE BRIDE AND GROOM are dancing and everyone else is standing around taking pictures and crying.
THEN! We drive home and he tells me about his health problems. One of which, I might add, include YEAST!
I didn't realize boys could have problems with yeast.
Then, thankfully, he dropped me off at 10 pm because he is never in bed past 10 pm.
The next two weeks were followed by random text messages that said, "Hey, do you want to go play catch sometime?"
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
As cheap as they get . . .
I (age 21) just moved into a new apartment complex and, naturally, the most obnoxious 19 year old in the complex happened to notice me. We’ll call him Bob. Bob was notorious for trying to put the moves on all of his dates. So I was anything but ecstatic when he asked me out. Although being stuck in this situation was anything but lucky, fate kindly smiled down on me; his roommate decided to double with my roommate an hour before we left.
Because of this little change in plans, we had to leave later than expected since my roommate needed time to get ready. Leaving later meant another change in plans. No big deal. We attempted to go to this Indian restaurant for dinner, only to find it was no longer there. (And I later found out that Bob would take all his dates there and insist on sharing a meal because it’s less expensive that way.) So, instead we drove around for an hour trying to find a place to eat. Every time we drove past a restaurant he’d ask how much it would cost because he was worried about pricing. Finally we decided on a diner in Springville which averaged at $8 a meal. His last words before going in were, “That’s kind of expensive. I’m a poor college student!” Really?! If you’re that poor you shouldn’t offer to take a girl to dinner (because let’s remember that $8 a plate is NOT bad unless you’re going for something like Burger King). After that remark, I ended up getting the cheapest thing on the menu which was about $5. Then I was mocked for it.
After plenty of awkward conversations at the restaurant, we went to the Hare Krishna temple where Bob somehow bargained our entrance fees (because apparently $5/person is TOO much). We were there for about 15 minutes before we decided there was not much to do, so we left.
We headed back to Bob’s apartment to watch some TV. (Um . . . not a good date idea.) After some unsuccessful attempts at holding my hand, he decided to sit on me and tickle me. (Also not cool.) Bob apparently felt like our roommates were cramping his style, so he kept trying to get me to go outside with him to be alone; to, no doubt, try and hold my hand or something. I told him I didn’t want to go outside, so instead of giving up after a few “NO”s….he just decided to force me. He grabbed my arm and started trying to pull me off the couch. Because I was adamant about not going outside, I decided to go limp. Clearly, this too was not clue enough to stop. He dragged me across his apartment floor to the front door, at which time I told him I’d like to go home. Bob and his roommate walked us home, made some smart remarks about door step scenes, then left. Needless to say, he actually took a hint and never asked me out again! SUCCESS!
Monday, February 23, 2009
Doorstep Scenes Make the Date
After a date with a nervous, chattery guy (whom I had tried to put at ease the entire night), I found myself on the doorstep of my apartment. He quickly ended the conversation with, "Well, I guess it's customary at the end of a date to give a hug, so . . . " With that, he shot his arms around me and hauled my body into his, swiftly enough that I had about nanosecond to react--enough time, maybe, to blink in surprise. My face smashed into his chest and I stepped on his toes. I tried really hard not to laugh as he held me there for a moment, wondering if I should turn my face so I could breathe and/or step off his toes mid-hug.
That was the most memorable part of the date--awkward, yes, but definitely the highlight.
That was the most memorable part of the date--awkward, yes, but definitely the highlight.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Booted for Pizza's Sake
*This date story wins a gold star for badness
As freshmen in college you do stupid things. Or stupid things happen to you. Either way it's one of the well-known, unspoken rules that everyone must (or just plain does unknowingly) follow. Years later when you look back on it all--while some details may slip away--the big, fat, stupid, embarrassing memories seem to only get more pungent with time.
This just so happens to be such a memory.
In Britain they call it the boot to begin with. The trunk I mean. Keep this in mind, or nothing else in this story will seem wondrous... or you'll completely miss the pun in the subject line. One or the other.
*Mr. Beanpole was the crazy, funny, goofy one in his apartment. However, he was also the insincere, immature and somewhat awkward one as well. My roommates thought he liked me for a while. I don't have the slightest notion why they would think that. All he did was come over with his apartment for combined FHE and sing lyrics like "we should be lovers!" at the top of his lungs just three inches from my face. He was a classic flirt, but to me that didn't mean much in my direction. Turns out I was right when I answered the phone to hear this from him.
At first he stumbled along through a hello, mentioning that he wanted to know if one of us in the apartment--and it didn't matter who--would go with him to the planetarium that night. "You could call it a date," he said. He then emphasized again, "Anyone though, it doesn't matter who." (Seriously. If you want a girl to feel like a million bucks, say that you want to go out with her... not any one of the six girls in the house. Already I was not too impressed.)
So I laughed, played along with his flippant tone by saying sarcastically, "Oh, so you'll take anything that moves right?" I thought it a clever adaption of a Runaway Bride line. I mused, "I think there's a cat around here somewhere." He laughed back specifying that it had to be a person--a girl. So, being the kindest person in the entire world (forgive me I was a freshmen), I told him I would call him back when I found one of my roommates to go with him. In my mind I was thinking that was better option than having him hear how none of us wanted to go--me included. Being the clueless, but resilient (or desperate?) type he said that this was a really last minute thing, all his roommates already had dates, so he would be right over. Right over meant I had about thirty seconds to figure this out while he crossed the parking lot. Sure enough though, each of my roommates bailed so I ended up being the bait for the date. I should have bailed too, but instead I felt bad, grabbed my shoes and we left.
The planetarium show was already in progress. They wouldn't let us in since we were two minutes late. So backup plan B (that didn't really exist) kicked in: play "capture the flag" in one of the campus buildings. I hardly saw my date, but when I did he said things that were a little weird like how he liked watching me, wanted to hear me say that he was hot, or that he would be gracious enough to let me accept one of his kisses (appending that they were the chocolate kind of course--riiiiiiiiight). Interesting topics for a first date...
Later I got to talking to his roommate, *Texas, and his date, *Sandy, to avoid Mr. Beanpole's awkwardness. Turns out the others were better company. However that didn't stop me from getting nailed in the face with a pillow by that practically impaled my glasses into my brain later at their apartment. Or in other words, it hurt. The reason for the blow? It was "a game." I think it was because I dethroned Mr. Beanpole from being king in Scum. Take your pick.
As the date came to an end out in the parking lot, Mr. Beanpole's roommate, Texas, told me to stand still. Instantly my mind raced through what he or Mr. Beanpole could possibly be thinking to do. The options not being in my favor, I disapproved, and moved. One look at Sandy told me I had done the right thing. One look at the boys said that they too were quite disappointed. However, in a distracting conversation they spontaneously picked Sandy and I both up, and put us... in the trunk.
Yes. You heard me right. The trunk of the car. So much for chivalry.
Later Mr. Beanpole said he thought it would be a fun thing to do, but might have been a little awkward to have a girl and a boy in the trunk together. How considerate that he was thinking of things he could do that were not awkward. I mean driving around town to go get a pizza on the other side of town is the most natural thing to do… IN A TRUNK. Not comfortable no matter what way you do it. Trust me on this one. Getting out of the trunk in a public parking lot is a little embarrassing. People keep looking at you with wide eyes trying to make sure you're not being abducted or something. The boys graciously (insert a nice big eye roll here) allowed the two of us girls to ride in the back of the car.
Once back safe and sound on solid ground the boys tried to prank us with an empty pizza box or dropping things so that they "had to" bend over right in front of me as I'm walking behind him up the stairs. You know, to be funny. (Not very funny at this point, but at least we did get pizza out of it in the end. Nourishment does wonders when you're desperate to get out of there.)
When Mr. Beanpole finally dropped me off, he did not leave me at the door. Instead he decided that he wanted to come into the apartment to see how my roommates would react to hearing about the date. He wanted to see how girls "talk with their eyes without talking." Most likely our faces were a mixture of "deer in the headlights" and "utter horror" but he didn't seem to catch either sentiment. Honestly, I still don't remember how I described all this to my roommates. I mean, how do you tell people that your date (a FIRST date) locked you in their trunk? It's a little awkward...
The moral of this story for the girls: just say no. Really, letting them down from the start can't be as bad as this.
The moral of this story for the boys: put the pizza in the trunk--not the date. Please!
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Sometimes I'm the Problem
Tales from the life of the Keeper of the Blog
Sometimes I do weird things on dates. It can't really be helped, I'm just a weird person.
One Saturday evening, I rushed back to my apartment after spending the day at my parents' house. I was totally late getting ready for my date, so I threw all my stuff--laundry, homework, and groceries--on my bed. I thought the groceries were all non-perishables and would be fine sitting in my room until I got home later. Changed my clothes. Brushed my hair. Boy came over to pick me up.
It was a group date, and we walked up to campus for some kind of performance. Part way through the performance, I remembered the eggs. The eggs that were sitting on my bed with my groceries. The unrefrigerated eggs that were slowly rotting on my bed and would no longer be safe to eat by the time I got home from my date since we were planning to do some stuff at his apartment afterward--ice cream, games/movie, and the like.
I spent the rest of the performance worrying about the eggs.
On the way back to our apartment building, my date was talking about something, and I wasn't paying any attention because I was thinking about eggs.
Finally, I said, "Is it okay if I stop by my apartment really quick?"
The boy looked confused. "Is something wrong?"
"No. I just need to stop by my apartment for a minute, and then I can come back over to your apartment."
He still looked confused. "Okay. But why do you need to go to your apartment?"
"I have eggs on my bed."
"What?"
I said it more slowly: "I have eggs on my bed."
"What?"
"I went shopping, and I didn't have time to put my food away because I was late, so I just put all my food on my bed, and most of it will be okay, but I forgot that I bought eggs, and I left the eggs on my bed, and now they're going to rot, and smell bad, and I'll have to throw them away unless I go home and put them in the refrigerator right now, and it really won't take me very long, and the eggs should be fine still at this point, but by the time I get home later tonight the eggs might not be fine because there's only like a two-hour window for leaving out perishable foods, and I'll come right over to your apartment when I'm done." I said this in one breath.
He responded with,"oh," and then he changed the subject.
Sometimes I do weird things on dates. It can't really be helped, I'm just a weird person.
One Saturday evening, I rushed back to my apartment after spending the day at my parents' house. I was totally late getting ready for my date, so I threw all my stuff--laundry, homework, and groceries--on my bed. I thought the groceries were all non-perishables and would be fine sitting in my room until I got home later. Changed my clothes. Brushed my hair. Boy came over to pick me up.
It was a group date, and we walked up to campus for some kind of performance. Part way through the performance, I remembered the eggs. The eggs that were sitting on my bed with my groceries. The unrefrigerated eggs that were slowly rotting on my bed and would no longer be safe to eat by the time I got home from my date since we were planning to do some stuff at his apartment afterward--ice cream, games/movie, and the like.
I spent the rest of the performance worrying about the eggs.
On the way back to our apartment building, my date was talking about something, and I wasn't paying any attention because I was thinking about eggs.
Finally, I said, "Is it okay if I stop by my apartment really quick?"
The boy looked confused. "Is something wrong?"
"No. I just need to stop by my apartment for a minute, and then I can come back over to your apartment."
He still looked confused. "Okay. But why do you need to go to your apartment?"
"I have eggs on my bed."
"What?"
I said it more slowly: "I have eggs on my bed."
"What?"
"I went shopping, and I didn't have time to put my food away because I was late, so I just put all my food on my bed, and most of it will be okay, but I forgot that I bought eggs, and I left the eggs on my bed, and now they're going to rot, and smell bad, and I'll have to throw them away unless I go home and put them in the refrigerator right now, and it really won't take me very long, and the eggs should be fine still at this point, but by the time I get home later tonight the eggs might not be fine because there's only like a two-hour window for leaving out perishable foods, and I'll come right over to your apartment when I'm done." I said this in one breath.
He responded with,"oh," and then he changed the subject.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Match not Made in Heaven
Right after serving an LDS mission (two years, no girls), I was “invited” to ask out the daughter of a former teacher who liked me (the teacher, not the girl). My old girlfriend had gotten married while I was gone, and I hadn’t been out on a date of any kind since I’d gotten home; I hadn’t been out on a first date for nearly three years.
Lacey was described as a ‘babealicious hottie goddess.’ She was. I was also informed that she and I were perfect for each other. We weren’t. One particular exchange pretty much sums up the whole date. She found out that I’d recently returned from mission and got excited (as girls in Utah often do).
In her enthusiasm she exclaimed, “Wow, don’t you just wish you were back out there in the mission field?”
“No. No way. Absolutely not. It was great and all, but you have no idea how nice it is to be back.”
“Oh . . . well . . . maybe it’s just you because lots of my friends say that they wish they were still on their missions.”
“That’s nice.”
Lacey was described as a ‘babealicious hottie goddess.’ She was. I was also informed that she and I were perfect for each other. We weren’t. One particular exchange pretty much sums up the whole date. She found out that I’d recently returned from mission and got excited (as girls in Utah often do).
In her enthusiasm she exclaimed, “Wow, don’t you just wish you were back out there in the mission field?”
“No. No way. Absolutely not. It was great and all, but you have no idea how nice it is to be back.”
“Oh . . . well . . . maybe it’s just you because lots of my friends say that they wish they were still on their missions.”
“That’s nice.”
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
The Boggle Date: Part 2
Tales from the life of the Keeper of the Blog
*David and I doubled with his roommate (also weird) and his nearly-mute date. Though I had many mutual friends with the two guys, I had never met this girl. (And since she did not produce a full sentence through entire course of the evening, I can still say that that I have never really met her.)
First, the four of us made cookies. The boys had somehow failed to get a mixing bowl for making the cookies (they had no suitable vessels for mixing dough in their apartment), so we actually went back to my apartment to get a bowl, which I thought was incredibly awesome.
While the cookies were baking, we played some games. I was pretty happy about the prospect of playing games because I'm good at games. I am from a game-playing family and can win just about anything against non-game-players.
First game: Pit. Good. I was raised playing Pit. I can play Pit in my sleep. I can kick your trash at Pit.
I lost Pit.
I lost by a lot.
Silent girl won, and I was more than a little miffed because Silent Girl couldn't utter more than one word at a time (which may have worked to her advantage since you only need one-word utterances in Pit). So, sore loser that I am, I suggested we switch to Boggle. Everyone else agreed to this.
However, I failed to mention that I am a Boggle champion. Unlike Pit, Boggle is a game of knowledge and skill. Boggle requires a good vocabulary. I have this vocabulary. I can beat nearly anyone I know at Boggle without even trying. Silent Girl had never played Boggle before--even better. I would crush her. And David. And his roommate. I would crush them.
I did crush them. I crushed them all. I more than crushed them. I pulverized them. I blew them out of the water. I blew them out of the solar system.
They were three of the four worst Boggle players I had ever seen. Silent Girl couldn't spell even basic words so most of the words on her page didn't even count.
At first, I was quick to tell the others when I had the same words as them. Quick to tell them when the word they found wasn't actually on the board. Quick to point out every word they should cross off their list. Then I read my word list, which was very long and included many very long words. They didn't question my words. They were in awe.
But as I pulled farther and farther ahead, I started to feel a little bad about how poorly they were all doing and a little guilty about having suggested the game I knew I would win without warning them that I would win. So I stopped making them cross out words. I stopped calling them out on misspellings. I did everything I could let Silent Girl get at least a point or two each round. I even handicapped myself, so that I only wrote down words with four or more letters (not just three). Toward the end of the game I imposed a five-letter handicap on myself. I still did awesome.
By the end of the game, I was so embarrassed for them for being so bad at the game and for myself for being such a jerk, that I refused to share my final score--it was more than double the other three players' scores combined. David found my paper and (since he is a very nice person) congratulated me.
The cookies baked into large, flat frisbees. They were the worst-looking cookies I had ever seen.
*David and I doubled with his roommate (also weird) and his nearly-mute date. Though I had many mutual friends with the two guys, I had never met this girl. (And since she did not produce a full sentence through entire course of the evening, I can still say that that I have never really met her.)
First, the four of us made cookies. The boys had somehow failed to get a mixing bowl for making the cookies (they had no suitable vessels for mixing dough in their apartment), so we actually went back to my apartment to get a bowl, which I thought was incredibly awesome.
While the cookies were baking, we played some games. I was pretty happy about the prospect of playing games because I'm good at games. I am from a game-playing family and can win just about anything against non-game-players.
First game: Pit. Good. I was raised playing Pit. I can play Pit in my sleep. I can kick your trash at Pit.
I lost Pit.
I lost by a lot.
Silent girl won, and I was more than a little miffed because Silent Girl couldn't utter more than one word at a time (which may have worked to her advantage since you only need one-word utterances in Pit). So, sore loser that I am, I suggested we switch to Boggle. Everyone else agreed to this.
However, I failed to mention that I am a Boggle champion. Unlike Pit, Boggle is a game of knowledge and skill. Boggle requires a good vocabulary. I have this vocabulary. I can beat nearly anyone I know at Boggle without even trying. Silent Girl had never played Boggle before--even better. I would crush her. And David. And his roommate. I would crush them.
I did crush them. I crushed them all. I more than crushed them. I pulverized them. I blew them out of the water. I blew them out of the solar system.
They were three of the four worst Boggle players I had ever seen. Silent Girl couldn't spell even basic words so most of the words on her page didn't even count.
At first, I was quick to tell the others when I had the same words as them. Quick to tell them when the word they found wasn't actually on the board. Quick to point out every word they should cross off their list. Then I read my word list, which was very long and included many very long words. They didn't question my words. They were in awe.
But as I pulled farther and farther ahead, I started to feel a little bad about how poorly they were all doing and a little guilty about having suggested the game I knew I would win without warning them that I would win. So I stopped making them cross out words. I stopped calling them out on misspellings. I did everything I could let Silent Girl get at least a point or two each round. I even handicapped myself, so that I only wrote down words with four or more letters (not just three). Toward the end of the game I imposed a five-letter handicap on myself. I still did awesome.
By the end of the game, I was so embarrassed for them for being so bad at the game and for myself for being such a jerk, that I refused to share my final score--it was more than double the other three players' scores combined. David found my paper and (since he is a very nice person) congratulated me.
The cookies baked into large, flat frisbees. They were the worst-looking cookies I had ever seen.
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