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.

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?"

Beethoven

Jukeboxes are fun, but not for more than 15 minutes. I learned this from experience.

I was on a double blind date, and we had just ordered dinner at a famous Provo landmark: The Malt Shoppe. So far, so good. Then the jukebox caught my date's eye--he rushed over to put all of his life's savings in the machine, gushing that there were so many good songs to choose from. "Whatever," I thought, "I just hope they'll turn off the other elevator music coming over the restaurant's speakers." (They didn't.)

The dinner conversation consisted of my date telling us the title, artist, album, year released, genre, and history of each song he had chosen. Glares ensued if we didn't get trivia correct--"I mean, come on! Don't you guys know this one?!"

Fast forward a half hour: three of us were ready to move on to the next activity. My date, however, had other plans. "Wait, we still haven't heard all the songs I paid for yet!" We continued the "conversation," but this time without the distraction of dinner.

It finally got interesting when my date asked us, "Ok, guys, what's the best song--with lyrics--ever written?" We each gave a deer-in-the-headlights look and shrugged. Knowing by now he couldn't elicit a better response, he exclaimed, "Beethoven's 5th Symphony!" Now, I don't pretend to be any sort of music guru or snob, but I'm pretty sure that that "song" doesn't have lyrics, so I boldly spoke up. "Uh . . . sorry, but I'm pretty sure that Beethoven's 5th does not have words to it." He promised me that it did, and again I disagreed, until he retorted with, "The Trans-Siberian Orchestra plays it with words!!"

Ah. Excuse me, then--I stand corrected.

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.

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.”

Wait--is this a date?

Submitted by B-52

I should have known. The fact that he was on the other end of that phone (yet again) should have clued me in. Alas, I am dense, and could therefore be tricked into going on a date with a boy I was completely uninterested in.

"Hey, some of our friends are hanging out tonight, wanna come?"

We're still friends, I thought. The talk was good, we agreed not to date, but he's nice and we're friends. Heck, why not?

And I said yes.

J showed up with two other guys in a four-door sedan. As I climbed in the back seat, friend A casually asked friend B how to get to B's date's home. Tactless as usual, I blurted out, "Wait, this is a date?"

. . . silence . . .

Friend A: "You didn't tell her?!"

As if it wasn't bad enough that I was on a date against my will, the evening had no redeeming qualities. The dates the other two guys had chosen were still sophomores in high school. Four years their senior, I had nothing in common with them. However, we did spend a fair amount of time getting to know each other in close proximity -- remember the four door sedan? Three guys plus their dates makes six people total. A four door sedan seats five. My date was thrilled with this result, as I was halfway on his lap the entire hour-long drive. Me, not so much.

The photos documenting the evening are on facebook somewhere. I'm always on the fringe of the group, trying to maintain a decent amount of space between J and me, with a fake grin plastered on my face, the two other 'couples' cute and cuddly. Standing in the cold at a soccer game, it's clear I'm having the time of my life.

Conversation topics for the evening:

"Um...which body type can pull off skinny jeans?" "They don't make you look fat." "Oh, good, I was worried."

"So, what's the point of this game? Trying to make fieldgoals?" "No, just goals. And you have to do it without touching the ball with your hands." "But how do they run and kick the ball at the same time?"

"Guys, Tide pens are such miracles. I just can't live without them, but I've never been able to figure out how on earth they work. Is it just some kind of white paint you're putting on your clothes?" "I think it's just straight acid." "Well, that's better."

Intellectually stimulating, no?

Finally, the game had ended, I had at least gotten a burger and root-beer float out of the fiasco, and we had driven back. I thought I was home free.

"We saved the best for last. Let's go up to make-out point and shine lights on steamy cars. Maybe we can get some good photos!"