There is a blog with updates of baby Tate. It is so tender. I invite you all to look.
http://www.tatumsangels.blogspot.com/
There is also a link to donate through Pay Pal that is up and coming. I am sure any little bit can help.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
miraculous love-- keep on fighting!
This post is dedicated to a little baby boy I have never met, but is very close to my tender heart. Tatum Christensen was born 5 days ago with several severe health complications. His entire extended family is rallying behind this strong baby{the son of Hunter's cousin} to pull through. I heard through Simone {Hunter's sister} the circumstances of this cute little baby boy and immediately had a place for him in my heart and prayers.
My brother helped operate on baby Tate. Of his 4 years in medical school, and of his many rotations at various hospitals, he just so happened to start his surgery rotation {which only lasts 3 weeks!} at Primary Children's hospital Monday morning, and helped assist yesterday in baby Tate's surgery. Miracles do exist, and I feel so much more love for and connection to this baby. My brother was not aware of any family connection with Hunter's family until our conversation on the phone today. The surgery went wonderfully to repair his esophagus, with the baby in the excellent and skilled hands of a surgeon who saved his frail little life. Baby Tate still has a long way to go, but I believe in miracles, and I believe that if it is God's will he will pull through. Keep fighting little man-- you can do it!
didn't your mother teach you not to stare?
It’s one of those things every child is taught: don’t pick your nose, don’t talk to strangers, don’t run with scissors, don’t point, don’t talk with your mouth full, and definitely do not stare.
I know every boy has a mother… but I wonder if a certain mother missed out on teaching her son this key social norm, or, more probable, that he choose to disregard her counsel. Either way, today resulted from either neglect or willful disobedience.
I’m standing at register 2 in my didn’t-have-time-to-shower-today glory preparing to take a nibble at breakfast—a lovely glazed doughnut. Luke {a lot attendant} is watching me. I can feel his gaze. My eyes shift to the side where he’s standing with his arms crossed across his flabby chest and dirty apron, his gaze disconcerting and a subtle smile even more so. I take a bite and can tell in my peripheral he’s still staring. How long has he been focused on my eating habits?
My phone rings- it’s Leigh at register 1- merciful girl to rescue me from the situation! {she did this twice more- bless the phones at the Depot}
Me: “Why?”
Leigh: “Because Luke is staring at you. He’s worse than James”
Me: “James stares?”
Leigh: “Yes. You’re just too cute for your own good”
Me: “I don’t know! You saw, right?”
Lindsay: “Yeah, he’s been staring at you for 5 minutes. He’s still staring at you.”
Weird start to a morning. Perhaps his stoner-stare was just directed at me in a semi-creepy way. Then I overhear Luke and Jessie talking, and I distinctly hear my name.
Jesse: “Oh nothing. Just guy talk.”
Then Jessie stands directly in front of me, closely, intently focusing on my apron, right around the chest region.
Me: “What are you doing?!?
Jesse: “I just wanted to look at your apron today.”
Riiiight. I know it’s not much to look at but please redirect your gaze to my eyes, up here, rather than below my neck. Thanks. No luck… so I redirected his gaze to the beautiful silver and white hammer on the lower pocket of my orange apron. What is with these boys today?!
Ring ring. Once again Leigh saved me with a phone call.
So please, do as your mother taught and don’t stare. Not only is it impolite, it’s really really eerie.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
school's for fools, look at me!
I have lost my motivation for school. More specifically, to go to statistics. According to my reasoning it makes no sense to go to stats because a. I'm already behind, b. I haven't read the material, c. I will simply waste two hours of my life, and d. I will just feel more lost, hopeless, and sad. So I skipped it today. Again.
Last Thursday I skipped all my classes. I needed a mental health day-- that's a good alibi, right? After not making it to my morning class because my back hurt and I wasn't feeling too hot, I treked up to campus fully intending on going to stats. Chelsea and I met up for lunch in the fishbowl, as usual. Sitting there gazing at the other studious people I realized I did not want to go to statistics, or do anything really, for that matter, because I had zero energy. As luck would have it, neither did Chelsea! (we're besties for a reason) So we left. We just packed up our things and away we were to P.F. Changs. Eating Mongolian Beef, Lo Mein, and Lemon Chicken lounging on her couch while watching/ridiculing New Moon was SO phenomenally better than attempting to master alpha and beta! She then took me to the wondrous place called The Chocolate {cafe?} with the most adorable and delicious little cupcakes. Not to worry, the entire day wasn't wasted in superfluous activities-- I will have you know we went back to campus at 4 so she could attend class and I could conduct a review session {the joys of being a TA}. It sure was grand "sluffing".
Today I couldn't find it in me to go to stats for the above mentioned reasons ranging from A to D. Following my morning class I cunningly persuaded Chelsea to skip her class too (I can be quite persuasive when occasion calls). I bought us Taco Bell -- we really like our ethnic foods-- and dessert from Sugar & Spice. Mmmmmm. The BYU Bookstore was having a sale... so we had to look. After making fun of enough dresses and ruffle shirts and ridiculously expensive ($40!) flip-flops we meandered over to the crafty-area and then into the book section. Amidst the calenders and millions of copies of Twlight Chelsea discovered a true gem-- a Baby Name book! Recognizing the true value potentially contained within we simultaneously slid down a sturdy column to settle in for a good read-- oh and was it good!
In this book they had hundreds- literally- of baby names for little boys and little girls. After discovering nearly every boy name means, {in a proper voice} "a red haired man", we flipped to the many lists: Most Popular names in France, Denmark, Spain, Texas, Oregon, Wyoming, Maryland, and so on with all countries and states, in addition to Most Popular names according to time periods: 1900's; 20's; 50's; 70's; 80's; 90's' 2000's; 2007.
We huddled there like giggly little school girls snickering over unfortunate names. For your entertainment here follows a list of names (last names omitted) which Celebrities have bestowed legally upon their unfortunate helpless children. And no, I did not mispell:
Here we can learn the valuable lesson that joys such as these can not be found in classrooms or taught by a professor-- these treasures come from skipping class. Moral of the story: Play Hookie.
Last Thursday I skipped all my classes. I needed a mental health day-- that's a good alibi, right? After not making it to my morning class because my back hurt and I wasn't feeling too hot, I treked up to campus fully intending on going to stats. Chelsea and I met up for lunch in the fishbowl, as usual. Sitting there gazing at the other studious people I realized I did not want to go to statistics, or do anything really, for that matter, because I had zero energy. As luck would have it, neither did Chelsea! (we're besties for a reason) So we left. We just packed up our things and away we were to P.F. Changs. Eating Mongolian Beef, Lo Mein, and Lemon Chicken lounging on her couch while watching/ridiculing New Moon was SO phenomenally better than attempting to master alpha and beta! She then took me to the wondrous place called The Chocolate {cafe?} with the most adorable and delicious little cupcakes. Not to worry, the entire day wasn't wasted in superfluous activities-- I will have you know we went back to campus at 4 so she could attend class and I could conduct a review session {the joys of being a TA}. It sure was grand "sluffing".
Today I couldn't find it in me to go to stats for the above mentioned reasons ranging from A to D. Following my morning class I cunningly persuaded Chelsea to skip her class too (I can be quite persuasive when occasion calls). I bought us Taco Bell -- we really like our ethnic foods-- and dessert from Sugar & Spice. Mmmmmm. The BYU Bookstore was having a sale... so we had to look. After making fun of enough dresses and ruffle shirts and ridiculously expensive ($40!) flip-flops we meandered over to the crafty-area and then into the book section. Amidst the calenders and millions of copies of Twlight Chelsea discovered a true gem-- a Baby Name book! Recognizing the true value potentially contained within we simultaneously slid down a sturdy column to settle in for a good read-- oh and was it good!
In this book they had hundreds- literally- of baby names for little boys and little girls. After discovering nearly every boy name means, {in a proper voice} "a red haired man", we flipped to the many lists: Most Popular names in France, Denmark, Spain, Texas, Oregon, Wyoming, Maryland, and so on with all countries and states, in addition to Most Popular names according to time periods: 1900's; 20's; 50's; 70's; 80's; 90's' 2000's; 2007.
We huddled there like giggly little school girls snickering over unfortunate names. For your entertainment here follows a list of names (last names omitted) which Celebrities have bestowed legally upon their unfortunate helpless children. And no, I did not mispell:
- Reignbeau-- yes, it's Rainbow, just spells fancifully
- Moxie Crimefighter
- Pilot Inspector
- Zuma Nesta Rock
- Daisy Boo
- Heaven Rain
- Zolten Pen
- Fifi Trixibell
- Kal-el Coppola-- Clark Kent {aka Superman}'s dad
- Everly Bear
- Enzo
- Audio Science
- Tallulah Pine
- Keelee Breeze
- Maximillian
- Kyd
- Bluebell Madonna
- Alchamey
- Speck Wildhorse
- Darby Galen
- Story Elias
- Alabama Gypsy
- Seargeoh
- Zephyr - same parents of Moxie Crimefighter
- Ever Gabo
Here we can learn the valuable lesson that joys such as these can not be found in classrooms or taught by a professor-- these treasures come from skipping class. Moral of the story: Play Hookie.
Monday, March 29, 2010
chin up mate
To add a little cheer to my not-so-cheery Monday morning a boy at work whipped up a poem, about and for me. Not gonna lie, it made me feel a little bit special.
You stroll through the day
Like the way a warm summer breeze
Caresses the blades of grass of the green fields
And makes them dance.
Short, sweet, and not too flowery. Just the way I like my poetry.
confessions of a shopaholic
Hi. My name is Becky, and I'm a shopaholic.
I remember hearing somewhere that you shouldn't go shopping when you're tired, hungry, or emotional. Well, today was my lucky day because I was all 3 of those when I went in exploration of a hat. I ended up buying half the mall.
Truth of the matter is, I'm an emotional shopper. Some people gorge themselves on maraschino cherries or something else really disgusting-- I shop. It's not that I drop $500 on a Burberry bag or True Religion jeans {neither of which I have because the price tag on those babies makes my eyes burn}. My mother's daughter, I excel at bargain shopping-- if there was a competition, I would get at least a bronze. And even though I realize I could save 100% by not swiping my card to obtain those special deals, the allure of discounts and the seductive "sale" signs placed in store windows draw me to browse, and from there I'm a gonner and voluntarily hand over my card.
Before you judge though, listen to my findings of the day-- they're pretty incredible:
*Disclaimer: I'm really not a shopaholic-- I go on really really long stretches where I don't shop at all {other than for tampons and contact solution, and bananas and cookie dough and milk-- the necessities}. And I have a job so it's slightly feasible for me to shop occasionally. And due to the declining amount of time I spent "getting ready" in the mornings I was in dire need of another hat. I just ended up with 2.
I remember hearing somewhere that you shouldn't go shopping when you're tired, hungry, or emotional. Well, today was my lucky day because I was all 3 of those when I went in exploration of a hat. I ended up buying half the mall.
Truth of the matter is, I'm an emotional shopper. Some people gorge themselves on maraschino cherries or something else really disgusting-- I shop. It's not that I drop $500 on a Burberry bag or True Religion jeans {neither of which I have because the price tag on those babies makes my eyes burn}. My mother's daughter, I excel at bargain shopping-- if there was a competition, I would get at least a bronze. And even though I realize I could save 100% by not swiping my card to obtain those special deals, the allure of discounts and the seductive "sale" signs placed in store windows draw me to browse, and from there I'm a gonner and voluntarily hand over my card.
Before you judge though, listen to my findings of the day-- they're pretty incredible:
- 2, count them 2, jackets for $15. That is unheard of. Granted they aren't the nicest things on the planet but dang are they cute!
- 2 shirts for $12
- 2 hats for under $20
- And the long coveted kacki jacket from The Gap now belongs to me... because it was $30 off.
*Disclaimer: I'm really not a shopaholic-- I go on really really long stretches where I don't shop at all {other than for tampons and contact solution, and bananas and cookie dough and milk-- the necessities}. And I have a job so it's slightly feasible for me to shop occasionally. And due to the declining amount of time I spent "getting ready" in the mornings I was in dire need of another hat. I just ended up with 2.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
failed IKEA love
Ever wonder why there are those unwritten rules? I hypothesize that people long ago from a distant land {or yesterday in America, whatever} concocted such laws because, whether through disaster or triumph, they learned that despite their undocumented nature some things must be heeded. The mere publication of such unwritten rules runs the risk of their importance being negated and might potentially incline idiotic imbeciles to be a rebel, live on the edge by breaking a rule or two, just because there isn't a giant handbook of unwritten rules somewhere in this universe. The unwritten rule about unwritten rules is that they really should never ever ever be broken.
Case in Point--
Going on a date with your home teacher.
Unwritten rule about case in point:
Don't. Do. It.
I thought that this silly inconsequential unwritten rule didn't apply to me. Turns out, I should have heeded the cosmos' supreme knowledge.
Date #1
He asked me. It was marvelous. Truly, it shocked me how well things went; it might potentially be in the top 3 of great first dates in my dating-life. We went to a Mexican grill. We chatted endlessly and I was astonishingly comfortable with this man, my home teacher, who although he had sat in my living room for the past 6 months chit chatting and offering his services as a home teacher, I was discovering more about him in 6 hours than the previous 6 months.
We were getting along lovely-- same sense of humor, we laughed at the same ridiculous people during the Volleyball game, came up with great hypothetical situations... fantastic. Lots of eye contact and joking around. The game ended with victory and since the night was still young, at his request, we decided to hit up Red Box. Turns out they had nothing, so we borrowed 500 Days of Summer and watched that at his apartment. On his couch. Where half way through he nonchalantly put his arm around me and we casually-but-not-claustrophobically cuddled. I was envisioning us falling in love in IKEA one day (not really--reference to movie). The date ended with a walk to my door and quick hug.
Inside my apartment I felt content. Yes. That's how a date should be. Contentment, not indifference. Content is good. I can handle content.
Actually I can't. Because my imagination went warp speed and I decided I wanted a second date. I wanted to feel contented again.
Date #2
I asked him. I haven't asked a boy in...too long to recall. Needless to say, it was nerve-racking. Chelsea was planning this grand Asian dinner with married couples and engaged couples and... Me. So I needed a date. I knew it was ensuing and knew I wanted to ask Home Teacher man. Long story short, my deadline arrived Saturday to ask or forever hold my peace. I worked up enough nerve Saturday (after our first texting convo Friday) to ask. However, I knew if I called him I would get all flustered... So I settled on a text. Don't reprove, it was all I could muster.
He said yes.
Sunday dinner came, rather quickly. I picked him up, he was kind and funny and charming. He got along with everyone and here follows my favorite/most embarrassing part of the evening:
Chelsea: "So you're Becky's home teacher, right?"
- all eyes turn and stare at us. I start turning red.
Home Teacher man: "You could have just gone with friend"
......... laughter............
Home Teacher man: "Home teaching for the month: DONE!"
- we all laughed REALLY hard and I nearly choked on my potsticker. Fortunately I escaped the choking but still managed to turn quite red.
We cleaned up and ate cherry brownies and played Buzz Word. It was fun. There was nothing wrong with the evening.
But I was getting the vibe, all night long {apart from the moment where Ryan asked if we were married and Home Teacher man pulled me in close and said we were pretty serious. I amended pretty serious for a second date}. Maybe I'm just hypersensitive.. Maybe I'm delusional... Maybe I'm just over-analyzing... but I really don't think he likes me, or at least not the way that I was hoping he might because my vision of us in IKEA is still dancing in my head.
I felt friend-zoned. That the entire evening and our previous date, including the semi-cudddling, was not a big deal to him and I was just another girl and we probably wouldn't go out/hang out again-- other than home teaching, of course. After I walked him to his door and gave him another quick hug I left discontent-- not at all feeling the way after the first date. And it wasn't that he did anything wrong- he just hadn't lived up to my unrealistic expectations of IKEA love. I escaped the apartment to ward prayer, where he was not in attendance to. Upon my return who should be sitting on my couch but Home Teacher man and his companion. Ugh.
The home teachers asked about the goings-on in our lives and a few comments were made about Home Teacher man being my "escort to a Chinese escapade". Half way through their spiritual thought I had to bite my lip to hold back the tears which had spontaneously accumulated-- not because the Spirit was strong {as great of a message as it was}-- but because I realized that I actually cared. This "caring" thing hasn't happened in some time. And when I say some, I mean a long time. Seated across from me on my lumpy plaid couch sits a boy that I could actually have the potential to like, not because he's just "there" but because he's great and hilarious and charming and memorable. These tears sprung up because despite my caring, he doesn't care to the same degree, or at least in any perceivable way.
So in addition to feeling slightly rejected {granted, through my own reasoning of the situation} I don't want to be home taught again. Stupid Home Teacher man.
Which brings me back to my main point: there are unwritten rules for a very good reason, and they must be followed. Otherwise you form a crush on your home teacher, fantasize about holding hands in IKEA, and are sorely disappointed when they give you the standard, "is there anything we can do for you?" at the close of Home Teaching without a hint of regard.
If ever breaking one of these unwritten rules seems appealing, don't do it. And be sure to remind me not to either.
Case in Point--
Going on a date with your home teacher.
Unwritten rule about case in point:
Don't. Do. It.
I thought that this silly inconsequential unwritten rule didn't apply to me. Turns out, I should have heeded the cosmos' supreme knowledge.
Date #1
He asked me. It was marvelous. Truly, it shocked me how well things went; it might potentially be in the top 3 of great first dates in my dating-life. We went to a Mexican grill. We chatted endlessly and I was astonishingly comfortable with this man, my home teacher, who although he had sat in my living room for the past 6 months chit chatting and offering his services as a home teacher, I was discovering more about him in 6 hours than the previous 6 months.
We were getting along lovely-- same sense of humor, we laughed at the same ridiculous people during the Volleyball game, came up with great hypothetical situations... fantastic. Lots of eye contact and joking around. The game ended with victory and since the night was still young, at his request, we decided to hit up Red Box. Turns out they had nothing, so we borrowed 500 Days of Summer and watched that at his apartment. On his couch. Where half way through he nonchalantly put his arm around me and we casually-but-not-claustrophobically cuddled. I was envisioning us falling in love in IKEA one day (not really--reference to movie). The date ended with a walk to my door and quick hug.
Inside my apartment I felt content. Yes. That's how a date should be. Contentment, not indifference. Content is good. I can handle content.
Actually I can't. Because my imagination went warp speed and I decided I wanted a second date. I wanted to feel contented again.
Date #2
I asked him. I haven't asked a boy in...too long to recall. Needless to say, it was nerve-racking. Chelsea was planning this grand Asian dinner with married couples and engaged couples and... Me. So I needed a date. I knew it was ensuing and knew I wanted to ask Home Teacher man. Long story short, my deadline arrived Saturday to ask or forever hold my peace. I worked up enough nerve Saturday (after our first texting convo Friday) to ask. However, I knew if I called him I would get all flustered... So I settled on a text. Don't reprove, it was all I could muster.
He said yes.
Sunday dinner came, rather quickly. I picked him up, he was kind and funny and charming. He got along with everyone and here follows my favorite/most embarrassing part of the evening:
Chelsea: "So you're Becky's home teacher, right?"
- all eyes turn and stare at us. I start turning red.
Home Teacher man: "You could have just gone with friend"
......... laughter............
Home Teacher man: "Home teaching for the month: DONE!"
- we all laughed REALLY hard and I nearly choked on my potsticker. Fortunately I escaped the choking but still managed to turn quite red.
We cleaned up and ate cherry brownies and played Buzz Word. It was fun. There was nothing wrong with the evening.
But I was getting the vibe, all night long {apart from the moment where Ryan asked if we were married and Home Teacher man pulled me in close and said we were pretty serious. I amended pretty serious for a second date}. Maybe I'm just hypersensitive.. Maybe I'm delusional... Maybe I'm just over-analyzing... but I really don't think he likes me, or at least not the way that I was hoping he might because my vision of us in IKEA is still dancing in my head.
I felt friend-zoned. That the entire evening and our previous date, including the semi-cudddling, was not a big deal to him and I was just another girl and we probably wouldn't go out/hang out again-- other than home teaching, of course. After I walked him to his door and gave him another quick hug I left discontent-- not at all feeling the way after the first date. And it wasn't that he did anything wrong- he just hadn't lived up to my unrealistic expectations of IKEA love. I escaped the apartment to ward prayer, where he was not in attendance to. Upon my return who should be sitting on my couch but Home Teacher man and his companion. Ugh.
The home teachers asked about the goings-on in our lives and a few comments were made about Home Teacher man being my "escort to a Chinese escapade". Half way through their spiritual thought I had to bite my lip to hold back the tears which had spontaneously accumulated-- not because the Spirit was strong {as great of a message as it was}-- but because I realized that I actually cared. This "caring" thing hasn't happened in some time. And when I say some, I mean a long time. Seated across from me on my lumpy plaid couch sits a boy that I could actually have the potential to like, not because he's just "there" but because he's great and hilarious and charming and memorable. These tears sprung up because despite my caring, he doesn't care to the same degree, or at least in any perceivable way.
So in addition to feeling slightly rejected {granted, through my own reasoning of the situation} I don't want to be home taught again. Stupid Home Teacher man.
Which brings me back to my main point: there are unwritten rules for a very good reason, and they must be followed. Otherwise you form a crush on your home teacher, fantasize about holding hands in IKEA, and are sorely disappointed when they give you the standard, "is there anything we can do for you?" at the close of Home Teaching without a hint of regard.
If ever breaking one of these unwritten rules seems appealing, don't do it. And be sure to remind me not to either.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
silver lining
I have come to the realization that in everything, there is a silver lining. Little nuggets of happiness in oppression, flakes of gold in the dirt, sunshine peeking through the drizzly sky {oh Utah weather}, $20 in your jeans, a compliment on a day you didn't have time to shower, that email from around the world that makes the rest of the week alright, and realizing the power of God's hand in creating miracles, whether big or small, throughout the day, every single day.
It's impossible to fully convey the numerous insights I have gained in retrospect to potentially the most difficult year to date. Merely pondering on my countless blessings, including friends, family, roommates, and the current state of my life sheds some glorious light on the impracticality of how everything has slipped into place for a reason, completely unbeknownst and beyond me. Whether practically reasonable or not, however, I have found that little miracles {"tender mercies" if you will}, occur and I do delight in discovering the slivers of a silver lining daily.
Life is not perfect. Life is unpredictable and sometimes frightening. The moment is constantly changing. But when I forget my worries it overwhelms me how much I have been given, how much I am loved, and how much God directs my path each day when I put my trust in Him.
Sappy? Slightly. But today I don't care much about being a sap, I am just happy to be me.
It's impossible to fully convey the numerous insights I have gained in retrospect to potentially the most difficult year to date. Merely pondering on my countless blessings, including friends, family, roommates, and the current state of my life sheds some glorious light on the impracticality of how everything has slipped into place for a reason, completely unbeknownst and beyond me. Whether practically reasonable or not, however, I have found that little miracles {"tender mercies" if you will}, occur and I do delight in discovering the slivers of a silver lining daily.
Life is not perfect. Life is unpredictable and sometimes frightening. The moment is constantly changing. But when I forget my worries it overwhelms me how much I have been given, how much I am loved, and how much God directs my path each day when I put my trust in Him.
Sappy? Slightly. But today I don't care much about being a sap, I am just happy to be me.
Monday, March 22, 2010
zing!
Remember Dan Dan the Creeper Man?
(how could you possibly forget?)
Well... had another incident. Not as bad as last week though. You can breathe again, and then prepare yourself to gape in awe/horror/hysterical disbelief at his unobservant-ness and terrible awkwardness.
Get this-- I'm staring at my laptop, intently writing a paper (one of the gazillion things to do in the next 48 hours). Of course I am alone in Psych Central. Of course. I hear a voice,
"Hey Becky"
Without turning I just know its him, and I can tell he's smiling. Gross.
He's trying to have a conversation with me. I don't let my eyes stray from my screen and keep on typing, saying one word answers. I'm busy-- how annoying can you be? I don't want to talk about my love life, about my weekend, or about how I'm doing because I'm f.i.n.e., and I especially do not, for that matter, want to talk about any of the above mentioned things in relation to you. I'm trying to focus on my paper. I'm in a time crunch. Go away.
"How are you?
"How was your weekend?
"How are the boys?
S-T-O-P with the incessant questions!
***I have a serious flaw-- it is near physically impossible for me to be intentionally mean to someone's face. It takes a LOT to push me to that point. Perhaps that's not necessarily a flaw but at a time like this I wish I could spring open my "pandora's box" like Joe Fox just to "zing" people... But instead I'm Kathleen Kelly. Which darling as her little jumpers and bouquets of newly sharpened pencils and perfect hair-cut are, my mind goes _________ {blank} in response to outlandish comments. I wish I could evolve into "Mr. Nasty" because in the case of Dan Dan the Creeper Man, I don't think remorse would inevitably follow if I was to zing him.
Dan Dan the Creeper Man: "You look especially gorgeous today"
Me: "Oh. I didn't shower"
Dan Dan the Creeper Man: "Must be the pheromones"
Me: Gape in Horror! Pick. up. jaw. from. floor.
HERE is where I need to be Joe Fox.
Just zing 'em-- ZING!
Remember how I'm more like Kathleen Kelly? ... I went ______.
He broke my personal bubble last week with the sneak-attack side hug. Now he keeps touching my arm and back even though I make no attempt to establish even a small percentage of eye contact or respond in a reasonable way to his terribly awkward attempts at conversation.
It freaks me out. And makes me want to coil into the corner. And horrible as this may be to say, I know he wants me. He thinks I'm some grand creature that would be the perfect little girlfriend because I'm "so awesome", and eventually, one day, {which day will never come, even after hell freezes over and swine fly} I'll realize dating other boys is fruitless when he's before my eyes. I'll come around or something {his past implies a l-o-o-o-n-g line of rejection he misperceives as, "sure, we'll date and I'll fall in love with you"}. Gag me with a spoon.
Perhaps I should request to be relinquished from my duties to "man" psych central-- avoid all future contact with him? That sounds like the perfect solution. Or excuse myself whenever I see him for the next month. Or wear a fake ring, say the date with my home teacher went marvelously and we're getting married at the end of the semester and having a million babies. OR endure a drastic make-over/disguise-- don an actual cape {rather than just the feminist man-hating one}, "join" Medieval Club, wear Harry Potter glasses, give myself a scar, and carry a wand. But... would that make me more appealing to him? ...It's hard to say.
One more month one more month one more month.
Perhaps I'll gain the courage to ZiNG him, thereby avoiding the hassle of buying a diamond, cape, and wand. Not to mention drawing on a lightning scar with eyeliner every morning.
(how could you possibly forget?)
Well... had another incident. Not as bad as last week though. You can breathe again, and then prepare yourself to gape in awe/horror/hysterical disbelief at his unobservant-ness and terrible awkwardness.
Get this-- I'm staring at my laptop, intently writing a paper (one of the gazillion things to do in the next 48 hours). Of course I am alone in Psych Central. Of course. I hear a voice,
"Hey Becky"
Without turning I just know its him, and I can tell he's smiling. Gross.
He's trying to have a conversation with me. I don't let my eyes stray from my screen and keep on typing, saying one word answers. I'm busy-- how annoying can you be? I don't want to talk about my love life, about my weekend, or about how I'm doing because I'm f.i.n.e., and I especially do not, for that matter, want to talk about any of the above mentioned things in relation to you. I'm trying to focus on my paper. I'm in a time crunch. Go away.
"How are you?
"How was your weekend?
"How are the boys?
S-T-O-P with the incessant questions!
***I have a serious flaw-- it is near physically impossible for me to be intentionally mean to someone's face. It takes a LOT to push me to that point. Perhaps that's not necessarily a flaw but at a time like this I wish I could spring open my "pandora's box" like Joe Fox just to "zing" people... But instead I'm Kathleen Kelly. Which darling as her little jumpers and bouquets of newly sharpened pencils and perfect hair-cut are, my mind goes _________ {blank} in response to outlandish comments. I wish I could evolve into "Mr. Nasty" because in the case of Dan Dan the Creeper Man, I don't think remorse would inevitably follow if I was to zing him.
Dan Dan the Creeper Man: "You look especially gorgeous today"
Me: "Oh. I didn't shower"
Dan Dan the Creeper Man: "Must be the pheromones"
Me: Gape in Horror! Pick. up. jaw. from. floor.
HERE is where I need to be Joe Fox.
Just zing 'em-- ZING!
Remember how I'm more like Kathleen Kelly? ... I went ______.
He broke my personal bubble last week with the sneak-attack side hug. Now he keeps touching my arm and back even though I make no attempt to establish even a small percentage of eye contact or respond in a reasonable way to his terribly awkward attempts at conversation.
It freaks me out. And makes me want to coil into the corner. And horrible as this may be to say, I know he wants me. He thinks I'm some grand creature that would be the perfect little girlfriend because I'm "so awesome", and eventually, one day, {which day will never come, even after hell freezes over and swine fly} I'll realize dating other boys is fruitless when he's before my eyes. I'll come around or something {his past implies a l-o-o-o-n-g line of rejection he misperceives as, "sure, we'll date and I'll fall in love with you"}. Gag me with a spoon.
Perhaps I should request to be relinquished from my duties to "man" psych central-- avoid all future contact with him? That sounds like the perfect solution. Or excuse myself whenever I see him for the next month. Or wear a fake ring, say the date with my home teacher went marvelously and we're getting married at the end of the semester and having a million babies. OR endure a drastic make-over/disguise-- don an actual cape {rather than just the feminist man-hating one}, "join" Medieval Club, wear Harry Potter glasses, give myself a scar, and carry a wand. But... would that make me more appealing to him? ...It's hard to say.
One more month one more month one more month.
Perhaps I'll gain the courage to ZiNG him, thereby avoiding the hassle of buying a diamond, cape, and wand. Not to mention drawing on a lightning scar with eyeliner every morning.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
9 jalapenos out of 10
I may or may not have just experienced the most awkward 15 minutes of my life. I wished for an invisibility cloak, wished I could run away. But instead, I was trapped, in Psych Central.
Boys are dense. Really dense. How many times have I come to this conclusion?
There is a boy named Dan. I met him last Fall semester in my Women's Studies class (there's a hint for ya-- he admitted to only taking the class to meet girls). I have had constant and unwanted contact with him because of my requirement to "man" Psych Central for office hours. He's creepy, really creepy, only he doesn't know he's creepy. Thus he just digs himself deeper and deeper, until you may as well dump a coffin on his thick skull because there's no way he's getting resurrected out of that mess.
He was asking about the confusion/lack of/pandemonium of my dating life-- our typical conversation now-a-days. I expressed my intense desire to stop dating in general because a.) it's exhausting b.) it wastes the boys' time and money since I am clearly not interested and quite thoroughly in love with someone else and c.) I'm busy. {which while these are all very true and valid I have to put up my defenses around him, take on the attitude of feminist man-hater, because, unless I blatantly say "I don't want to date anyone, especially you!", he will think that "no" means "yes" and "get lost" means "take me, I'm yours"-- quoting from lovely Meg in Hercules}
Well. He got the gist of the facade of feminist man-hater {which is quite an easy cloak to don when you've taken a Women's Studies class}. But he continued on lamenting of why girl after girl turned him down or would stiffen after he asked if he could put his arm around him, and made several, several {did I mention several?} comments that either caused me to want to vomit or hide underneath my chair, including:
"You are like 9 jalapeno peppers out of 10"
"You are one of the girls on my list that I wanted to ask out, but I understand your situation." {one other girl being a gorgeous former cheerleader who just broke up with her boyfriend! Daniel, you've gotta learn where you fall in the scheme of things. Don't be asking out "10"s when you yourself are... let's not get into that}
"In Women's Studies, you were in the top 5 hottest girls in the class. No joke."
"I've always thought you were cute Becky. Very cute."
"You're in such great shape. What are you, 135, 140?"
"You're so awesome Becky."
*THEN he sneaks up and gives me a side hug while I'm staring at the computer screen. AH! Personal bubble, please!
Me: "Being an RM doesn't mean what it use to be. There are several RM's I wouldn't be alone with"
Dan: "Well I guess you trust me then, since we're alone"
Umm... not quite. More due to the fact that I'm assigned to be here and you've cornered me, awkwardly.
Throughout our painful conversation I tried to be sympathetic but then it got to the point where I just wanted to die so I wouldn't have to endure his worries of, "I hate not being able to read people" {really? kinda like how you're creeping me out and you don't get it as I draw further and further away from you in my rolley-chair?} and "I just want to be in a relationship. I need dating experience". Then maybe you should stop hitting on Freshman babies! His follow-up: "You know it's bad when the girls who shouldn't know better still say 'no'." Wow. Wh-oa-aow.
I gathered my things up, saying I had to visit teach.
"Oh great, I'll walk you home then. I think we live close"
"Oh, it's only 3? I thought it was 3:30. I should stay and do some more research."
Whew! Escaped out of that one. Barely. I think he got that I was trying to end our encounter.
Question: Did someone inconspicuously place a neon sign on my back or install a magnet in my spinal chord to attract anything creepy and male that moves? or do men just discombobulate the vibes of "get away from me" to "please, I'm begging you, hit on me profusely"?
I seriously wonder. Gosh. Some days I just wish I didn't have to encounter the opposite sex. I will don the feminist man-hater cloak any day of the week if it means I can escape being trapped in Psych Central, alone, with Dan.
Boys are dense. Really dense. How many times have I come to this conclusion?
There is a boy named Dan. I met him last Fall semester in my Women's Studies class (there's a hint for ya-- he admitted to only taking the class to meet girls). I have had constant and unwanted contact with him because of my requirement to "man" Psych Central for office hours. He's creepy, really creepy, only he doesn't know he's creepy. Thus he just digs himself deeper and deeper, until you may as well dump a coffin on his thick skull because there's no way he's getting resurrected out of that mess.
He was asking about the confusion/lack of/pandemonium of my dating life-- our typical conversation now-a-days. I expressed my intense desire to stop dating in general because a.) it's exhausting b.) it wastes the boys' time and money since I am clearly not interested and quite thoroughly in love with someone else and c.) I'm busy. {which while these are all very true and valid I have to put up my defenses around him, take on the attitude of feminist man-hater, because, unless I blatantly say "I don't want to date anyone, especially you!", he will think that "no" means "yes" and "get lost" means "take me, I'm yours"-- quoting from lovely Meg in Hercules}
Well. He got the gist of the facade of feminist man-hater {which is quite an easy cloak to don when you've taken a Women's Studies class}. But he continued on lamenting of why girl after girl turned him down or would stiffen after he asked if he could put his arm around him, and made several, several {did I mention several?} comments that either caused me to want to vomit or hide underneath my chair, including:
"You are like 9 jalapeno peppers out of 10"
"You are one of the girls on my list that I wanted to ask out, but I understand your situation." {one other girl being a gorgeous former cheerleader who just broke up with her boyfriend! Daniel, you've gotta learn where you fall in the scheme of things. Don't be asking out "10"s when you yourself are... let's not get into that}
"In Women's Studies, you were in the top 5 hottest girls in the class. No joke."
"I've always thought you were cute Becky. Very cute."
"You're in such great shape. What are you, 135, 140?"
"You're so awesome Becky."
*THEN he sneaks up and gives me a side hug while I'm staring at the computer screen. AH! Personal bubble, please!
Me: "Being an RM doesn't mean what it use to be. There are several RM's I wouldn't be alone with"
Dan: "Well I guess you trust me then, since we're alone"
Umm... not quite. More due to the fact that I'm assigned to be here and you've cornered me, awkwardly.
Throughout our painful conversation I tried to be sympathetic but then it got to the point where I just wanted to die so I wouldn't have to endure his worries of, "I hate not being able to read people" {really? kinda like how you're creeping me out and you don't get it as I draw further and further away from you in my rolley-chair?} and "I just want to be in a relationship. I need dating experience". Then maybe you should stop hitting on Freshman babies! His follow-up: "You know it's bad when the girls who shouldn't know better still say 'no'." Wow. Wh-oa-aow.
I gathered my things up, saying I had to visit teach.
"Oh great, I'll walk you home then. I think we live close"
"Oh, it's only 3? I thought it was 3:30. I should stay and do some more research."
Whew! Escaped out of that one. Barely. I think he got that I was trying to end our encounter.
Question: Did someone inconspicuously place a neon sign on my back or install a magnet in my spinal chord to attract anything creepy and male that moves? or do men just discombobulate the vibes of "get away from me" to "please, I'm begging you, hit on me profusely"?
I seriously wonder. Gosh. Some days I just wish I didn't have to encounter the opposite sex. I will don the feminist man-hater cloak any day of the week if it means I can escape being trapped in Psych Central, alone, with Dan.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
i forgot how these things work
Home Teaching: a priesthood duty. Being the church's first source of help to families and individuals. Called upon to visit {at least monthly} and serve those you are assigned to by your bishop, and take such single sisters on dates.
Wait. . . that's not in the pamphlet.
Tuesday Night, 10:45 p.m:
My phone rings.
It's my home teacher.
Huh. Way to be on the ball, setting up an appointment and we're only half way through the month!
"Hello?"
"Hi"
Random chit-chatting for a minute, laugh a little (which is odd, even though we're friends-ish)
Slight awkward silence.
Okay home teacher man, what is the purpose of this call? I know you didn't call to just chat.
This Sunday would probably work for you and your companion to swing by and teach us lovely ladies.
"Do you have plans Friday?"
"No, I don't think I have anything going on"
Friday night? That doesn't seem like it would be convenient for anyone to home teach or be home taught.
"I was wondering if you wanted to go to the Volleyball game with me?"
Oh! . . A date! It's been so long I forgot how these things work. Hurry brain, process a reply!
. . . . . . .
"Oh. Sure. What time?"
Is this even allowed? Home teacher and home teachee... Is there a rule against this? Probably an unwritten one.
"Seven. Want to get food before?"
It's definitely a date.
. . . Yata yata yata . . .
Yeah, I was ToTaLLY caught off guard.
I think we'll have a fun, grand, casual time.
But I'm slightly dreading it. Because my roommates hypothesized, after I hung up the phone and informed them I had just been asked out by our home teacher, "what if you mess things up?" -- I do have a slight track record of doing such a thing-- because if I mess things up with this boy it's not like I'll never see him again. I will. At church, and when he comes to home teach me and my roommates to fulfill his priesthood responsibility. What have I agreed to?!
Oh well. Worst case scenario it's awkward for 15 minutes, 20 max.
Wish me luck!
*unrelated side note: my 75 year old co-worker, Jesse, approached me at self-checkout today. He draped his arm around my shoulder to give me a side hug, said "I just wanted to tell you I love you", and kissed my forehead. He's so darling! Made my day.
*another unrelated side note: today at work I was called: doll, punkin, honey, sweetheart, and baby. By customers, mind you. Gotta love the Depot.
Wait. . . that's not in the pamphlet.
Tuesday Night, 10:45 p.m:
My phone rings.
It's my home teacher.
Huh. Way to be on the ball, setting up an appointment and we're only half way through the month!
"Hello?"
"Hi"
Random chit-chatting for a minute, laugh a little (which is odd, even though we're friends-ish)
Okay home teacher man, what is the purpose of this call? I know you didn't call to just chat.
This Sunday would probably work for you and your companion to swing by and teach us lovely ladies.
"Do you have plans Friday?"
"No, I don't think I have anything going on"
Friday night? That doesn't seem like it would be convenient for anyone to home teach or be home taught.
"I was wondering if you wanted to go to the Volleyball game with me?"
Oh! . . A date! It's been so long I forgot how these things work. Hurry brain, process a reply!
. . . . . . .
"Oh. Sure. What time?"
Is this even allowed? Home teacher and home teachee... Is there a rule against this? Probably an unwritten one.
"Seven. Want to get food before?"
It's definitely a date.
. . . Yata yata yata . . .
Yeah, I was ToTaLLY caught off guard.
I think we'll have a fun, grand, casual time.
But I'm slightly dreading it. Because my roommates hypothesized, after I hung up the phone and informed them I had just been asked out by our home teacher, "what if you mess things up?" -- I do have a slight track record of doing such a thing-- because if I mess things up with this boy it's not like I'll never see him again. I will. At church, and when he comes to home teach me and my roommates to fulfill his priesthood responsibility. What have I agreed to?!
Oh well. Worst case scenario it's awkward for 15 minutes, 20 max.
Wish me luck!
*unrelated side note: my 75 year old co-worker, Jesse, approached me at self-checkout today. He draped his arm around my shoulder to give me a side hug, said "I just wanted to tell you I love you", and kissed my forehead. He's so darling! Made my day.
*another unrelated side note: today at work I was called: doll, punkin, honey, sweetheart, and baby. By customers, mind you. Gotta love the Depot.
Monday, March 15, 2010
run away, run far far away
Rejuvenated and Refreshed. A little R and R. That is the glory and purpose of a vacation. This past weekend I went to Bear Lake with 4 of my 5 roommates. Vacationing at Brandi’s beautiful lakehouse was fantastic, and not only the most darling “cabin” I have ever seen but the perfect atmosphere to do some serious bonding and recharge my emotional batteries.
In the beautiful yellow room I was privileged to call my own for 3 days I acquired adequate sleep—a first since Christmas break! The ladies of Northwoods 4 shook off our sleep with Yoga for Athletes, nourished our bodies with delectable German Pancakes and candy galore, bundled up in 4 layers to speed along the windy lake shore aboard 4-wheelers, entertained ourselves with several card games and Scattegories, and looked through old pictures from the 80’s laughing at the fly-away bangs, shoes that tie over socks, as well as floral leggings and outfits I cannot even begin to describe the ridiculous-ness of. We talked and laughed and talked and laughed, and took some great pictures.
Sunday I felt ready to face Provo. I can handle this! Just 5 more weeks. I am feeling phenomenal, ready to handle all the couples of Provo, my major meltdown of last week seeming an eternity away and my concerns and troubles inconsequential.
Even pulling into the parking lot I felt content and happy to be back at my apartment-- a real first, I will have you know.
And then… I walked through that maroon door.
I still felt cheerful but… I was not ready for my vacation to be over, in addition to the fact that I am a terrible person. Truly. I have tried to be kind, I have prayed for charity beyond what is reasonably comprehensible for a person to pray for. But there are some situations when your environment has such a huge impact that you have to run. And that’s precisely what I did. Because the grinding of my roommate’s voice and the echo of her laugh and her odd platonic-but-not interaction with her 37 year old fiancée magnified the oppressive feeling I can’t help but feel being around her, and the positive feelings of the weekend were nearly driven away in an instant. I had to leave. So I unpacked, repacked, and headed to Sandy.
Blogging really is my outlet—so here goes. I love, dearly and deeply, my roommates. They are wonderful and funny and caring and so fantastic to be around. I lived with them last year, as well as this, and we have never had drama or problems. They are my support system in Provo and I don’t know what I would do without them. Seriously. We have made so many memories that, cliché as it is, I will treasure forever. We’re the roommates that 20 years from now we’ll leave our husbands and children and have a weekend get-a-way, a roommate reunion! Love them!
There is one… that has made for a challenge to live with (mentioned earlier, 2 paragraphs up). Living with her was not by choice, and as luck would have it she’s my room roommate. We’ll call her Shannon. She is one person that try as I might, I have extreme difficulty getting along with. It’s not that she’s disagreeable-- No-- it’s that she has no personality, or at least not one I have been able to decipher in the 7 months we have shared a room smaller than my freshman dorm room, because she does not interact on a competently social level, with me or any of the roommates.
I have tried. How I have tried to extend an effort at establishing some sort of roommate-relationship. I have tried to open up, tried talking, tried to be supportive, tried to be excited that she got her Masters and got engaged, and prayed like crazy. I have tried everything I can imagine, and yet… I have no warm feelings towards her. Thus, the reason I am a terrible horrible person. She is non-responsive. And I don’t know quite what to do with that. I’m still trying to figure it all out, 7 months after our initial introduction. Our biggest conversations now-a-days revolve around the girls we visit teach. Our longest conversation on record is probably 40 minutes. And that was a miracle.
She’s always in the room. Always. I don’t even feel comfortable in my room besides the rare occasion I’m alone. I avoid it as often as possible, praying she’ll leave and go be with her old-man lover.
There is a routine, every morning: her alarm goes off. She sloowwwllllyyyyy turns it off. She sniffles—not a regular sniffle, a nasally sniffle that continues for at least 10 minutes until she blows her nose. Then, she opens her computer and the gentle hum of it rings in my ears and drums at my sanity. Sniffle. The clicking of her mouse and the pitter-pat of the keyboard, the opening of the blinds and swinging of the door open and closed repeatedly and loudly causes me to pull my polka-dot covers over my disheveled bed head in an attempt to block out the sound, praying I can fall back asleep until my alarm goes off, silently pleading I can get decent sleep. Sniffle. But then it gets really hot huddled beneath those covers and I realize in my half-dream state that I’m starting to suffocate, so I reluctantly lower the sheets and endure the sounds until she finally leaves. And then my alarm goes off. Yes, every morning.
Which leads into the meltdown of last week—the big major sobbing meltdown of the year. My mother, the wise woman that she is, got to the root of the problem-- recognizing the toxic (harsh word, but true) effect of my environment and the resultant oppressive feeling that seemes impossible to shake, coupled with extreme sleep deprivation. She sympathized with the reality of bad roommates (fortunately only one in this case, I love the others) and encouraged me to limit my interaction for the next 5 weeks as much as possible. She’s not going to change, but I can do something about it. So that is my new resolution-- sleep over in Sandy, study at the library, sleep on someone’s couch, on my own couch perhaps, go shopping, stay far away and just get through the next 5 weeks in one piece. Run away, run far far away. Fight or flight—I am choosing flight.
A quote from our beloved quote wall freshman year has been running through my head as of late:
‘I could be that girl you read about in the newspaper— “Roommate Kills Roommate”.’
Funny as this was at the time, and I’m 99% positive everyone can reflect that sentiment at some moment in their life with regard to a roommate, sibling, or spouse, I do not want to be that girl on the front page of the newspaper. Thus (I love that word) to counteract the natural man I am going to do everything possible to endure the last 5 weeks of the semester before moving into a NEW place with my own room and a swimming pool! Yes, I can do hard things—I can do this.
I will not be a product of my environment.
I will rise above and conquer.
I will not kill my roommate.
And I will try, try, and try again to love her and not be such a horrible person in my flight.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
the quiet stealth of indifference
Indifference: The state or quality of being indifferent.
Indifferent: 1. Having no particular interest or concern; 2. Having no marked feeling for or against; 3. Being neither too much nor too little; moderate; 4. Not active or involved; neutral.
There is a moment. Everyone encounters it. Before that moment the logical processing of your brain is skewed and you think something will be great, something will fix everything that's wrong, something will make you happy. Even though your true rational knows this is not true, just before that moment you want to believe it is. In the actual moment, in the very midst of that moment, is when you acknowledge that you just conjured a logical fallacy and, what's worse, you're indifferent.
You know you should have more interest and concern, you should have marked feelings, you should have too much or too little, you should be active and involved rather than Switzerland! For heavens sake, you need to have a feeling one way or the other!
And yet... you can't help indifference. No one can. And that's the stealth and danger such neutrality springs on its victim.
I am indifferent, thus I am dangerous.
Indifferent: 1. Having no particular interest or concern; 2. Having no marked feeling for or against; 3. Being neither too much nor too little; moderate; 4. Not active or involved; neutral.
There is a moment. Everyone encounters it. Before that moment the logical processing of your brain is skewed and you think something will be great, something will fix everything that's wrong, something will make you happy. Even though your true rational knows this is not true, just before that moment you want to believe it is. In the actual moment, in the very midst of that moment, is when you acknowledge that you just conjured a logical fallacy and, what's worse, you're indifferent.
You know you should have more interest and concern, you should have marked feelings, you should have too much or too little, you should be active and involved rather than Switzerland! For heavens sake, you need to have a feeling one way or the other!
And yet... you can't help indifference. No one can. And that's the stealth and danger such neutrality springs on its victim.
I am indifferent, thus I am dangerous.
Monday, March 8, 2010
statistics-- 100% probability i detest it
I have been awake for 20 hours. That can not be healthy.
I woke up at 4:45 this morning to leave Sandy by 5:15 to make it to work by 5:45 where I worked until 11:45, and then proceeded to shop at Old Navy for an hour before studying all day where I bought a darling white eyelet skirt {$15!}-- my other one is too small and bordering immodest-- it was most necessary, and then I drove with the windows down blasting OneRepublic, which really isn't music you blast but I'm no Cholo so I blasted it away-- because I don't care about Provo boys with their windows half down staring at me belting out OneRepublic with my hair whipping wildly in the wind. Whew.
That was perhaps the world's longest run-on sentence, except maybe in the scriptures because I swear there is nearly a full page without any punctuation to signify the ending of a sentence. I suppose that's what happens when you're too tired to sleep and you write to unwind-- long run-on sentences. Regardless, the real purpose in my run-on sentence was to lead into Statistics.
I'm in Psych 301-- Psychological Statistics. Yes, it's just as gross as it sounds. Perhaps my most un-favorite class of all time. Keyboarding with Miss. Graham was better than this; Career choices with Mr. Stark might even have been better. Why do I hate Stats? Because I feel dumb, in a very depressing give-up-now there's-no-point kind of way.
I am not a math girl-- I have accepted that fact of my life and moved on. Obviously I am not a math major. BUT for my major of psychology I'm forced to endure statistics. And it's not my professor that makes the class terrible-- if anything he makes it less putrid and almost bearable with his jokes and random tangents-- it is the subject itself + the impossibility of my mind to comprehend linear regression and binomial whatevers and understanding the "sign test"-- which, by the way, can we please stop the use of double negatives, dear statisticians? It just complicates matters worse.
So today... I studied stats for-EV-er. I had a minor freak-out about Type 1 and Type 2 errors, so I called my Papa. As I'm telling my dad that I don't get it, this Asian boy next to me laughs. At me. The nerve. I wanted so badly to say,
"Hey! Not only am I not Asian, I'm a girl too! If you do the math the odds of me being a brilliant mathematician are stacked WAY up against me-- so stop laughing".
But I didn't say that. Because that little outburst would result in being shunned by library personnel and students, and it would require energy that I did not have, energy that was being supplied by the slowly dwindling effect of Diet Coke in my system.
Well long story short after hours and hours of studying I felt quite prepared and confident marching to the testing center... until I got my exam-- then I realized that I cannot regurgitate a math textbook on paper. Let alone reason which is the correct answer out of A, B, C, D, E (A & C), N (all of the above), P (none of the above), or Z {let's just make designs with the scantron bubbles and blow this joint-- this test cannot be worth all the tears and torment and torture}.
And computations-- ooooh don't even get me started! This test has been a source of much stress and 3, count them, 3 major break-downs Sunday alone. Some computations I totally owned-- I even knew which equation to use out of the 15 in the formula bank! Some meaning like 5 out of 20. The rest I just stared blankly at the page or wrote Ross, my professor, notes of how I was really trying but after attempting 3 equations on one problem and still coming out with the Correlation equaling well above 1, as in the ballpark of 250, I was giving up. I also left him a note on the next problem, where I was suppose to use the answer from the previous question-- guess I'm going to miss those points too. Then at the end there was a glorious BONUS question! But... as luck would have it, the bonus question related to the two problems I knew I missed earlier and had left notes on-- to keep with the trend I wrote him another note -- "My mind is not made to understand statistics, I'm sorry."
Maybe he'll give me points for trying hard and being witty. I did show my work, even if it was wrong.
Disgruntled and near tears I trudged downstairs fully expecting to see a 18% next to my student I.D number... and by some miracle I still can't fathom {most likely due to my fervent prayer and pleading, or the wild possibility the computer is dyslexic} the screen flashed an 81%!
There I stood with my head cocked to the side, oblivious to others coming and going as I stared at that screen, trying to process that, "yes that is my ID number. And yes, that does say 81%, not 18%".
After the long, excruciating, nearly-tearful but ultimately surprising test I felt incredibly incredibly relieved.
In a little over a month I will never again need to compute Z scores or determine when to use the addition or multiplication rule regarding probability- not ever ever again! {I'm crossing my fingers!} So although there is a 100% probability I detest statistics, one day when I'm in grad school I'll look back and laugh at my gigantic anxiety over stats and sigh with a smile that that is one phase of my life past and gone.
I woke up at 4:45 this morning to leave Sandy by 5:15 to make it to work by 5:45 where I worked until 11:45, and then proceeded to shop at Old Navy for an hour before studying all day where I bought a darling white eyelet skirt {$15!}-- my other one is too small and bordering immodest-- it was most necessary, and then I drove with the windows down blasting OneRepublic, which really isn't music you blast but I'm no Cholo so I blasted it away-- because I don't care about Provo boys with their windows half down staring at me belting out OneRepublic with my hair whipping wildly in the wind. Whew.
That was perhaps the world's longest run-on sentence, except maybe in the scriptures because I swear there is nearly a full page without any punctuation to signify the ending of a sentence. I suppose that's what happens when you're too tired to sleep and you write to unwind-- long run-on sentences. Regardless, the real purpose in my run-on sentence was to lead into Statistics.
I'm in Psych 301-- Psychological Statistics. Yes, it's just as gross as it sounds. Perhaps my most un-favorite class of all time. Keyboarding with Miss. Graham was better than this; Career choices with Mr. Stark might even have been better. Why do I hate Stats? Because I feel dumb, in a very depressing give-up-now there's-no-point kind of way.
I am not a math girl-- I have accepted that fact of my life and moved on. Obviously I am not a math major. BUT for my major of psychology I'm forced to endure statistics. And it's not my professor that makes the class terrible-- if anything he makes it less putrid and almost bearable with his jokes and random tangents-- it is the subject itself + the impossibility of my mind to comprehend linear regression and binomial whatevers and understanding the "sign test"-- which, by the way, can we please stop the use of double negatives, dear statisticians? It just complicates matters worse.
So today... I studied stats for-EV-er. I had a minor freak-out about Type 1 and Type 2 errors, so I called my Papa. As I'm telling my dad that I don't get it, this Asian boy next to me laughs. At me. The nerve. I wanted so badly to say,
"Hey! Not only am I not Asian, I'm a girl too! If you do the math the odds of me being a brilliant mathematician are stacked WAY up against me-- so stop laughing".
But I didn't say that. Because that little outburst would result in being shunned by library personnel and students, and it would require energy that I did not have, energy that was being supplied by the slowly dwindling effect of Diet Coke in my system.
Well long story short after hours and hours of studying I felt quite prepared and confident marching to the testing center... until I got my exam-- then I realized that I cannot regurgitate a math textbook on paper. Let alone reason which is the correct answer out of A, B, C, D, E (A & C), N (all of the above), P (none of the above), or Z {let's just make designs with the scantron bubbles and blow this joint-- this test cannot be worth all the tears and torment and torture}.
And computations-- ooooh don't even get me started! This test has been a source of much stress and 3, count them, 3 major break-downs Sunday alone. Some computations I totally owned-- I even knew which equation to use out of the 15 in the formula bank! Some meaning like 5 out of 20. The rest I just stared blankly at the page or wrote Ross, my professor, notes of how I was really trying but after attempting 3 equations on one problem and still coming out with the Correlation equaling well above 1, as in the ballpark of 250, I was giving up. I also left him a note on the next problem, where I was suppose to use the answer from the previous question-- guess I'm going to miss those points too. Then at the end there was a glorious BONUS question! But... as luck would have it, the bonus question related to the two problems I knew I missed earlier and had left notes on-- to keep with the trend I wrote him another note -- "My mind is not made to understand statistics, I'm sorry."
Maybe he'll give me points for trying hard and being witty. I did show my work, even if it was wrong.
Disgruntled and near tears I trudged downstairs fully expecting to see a 18% next to my student I.D number... and by some miracle I still can't fathom {most likely due to my fervent prayer and pleading, or the wild possibility the computer is dyslexic} the screen flashed an 81%!
There I stood with my head cocked to the side, oblivious to others coming and going as I stared at that screen, trying to process that, "yes that is my ID number. And yes, that does say 81%, not 18%".
After the long, excruciating, nearly-tearful but ultimately surprising test I felt incredibly incredibly relieved.
In a little over a month I will never again need to compute Z scores or determine when to use the addition or multiplication rule regarding probability- not ever ever again! {I'm crossing my fingers!} So although there is a 100% probability I detest statistics, one day when I'm in grad school I'll look back and laugh at my gigantic anxiety over stats and sigh with a smile that that is one phase of my life past and gone.
Saturday, March 6, 2010
here's to little old men
I believe the world is wonderful, in part, because of little old men. These darling crinkled gentlemen are charming and endearing, sweet and goofy. The twinkle in their eye can't help but cheer your heart. Their wrinkled worn elbows, quick grin, and leisurely walk focus your gaze and soften your heart. At times these dear aged men mumble a compliment or flash a smile that ebbs away the storm clouds and allows sunshine to radiate through to your soul. One such little old man said to me, unhurried and matter-of-factly:
"Becky, you're too cute to work at Home Depot. You need to quit and move to Hollywood where you can make some real money".
So here's a toast-- to all the adorable ancient men out there-- thank you for being so darn cute!
"Becky, you're too cute to work at Home Depot. You need to quit and move to Hollywood where you can make some real money".
So here's a toast-- to all the adorable ancient men out there-- thank you for being so darn cute!
Friday, March 5, 2010
today
today I saw huntman.
today i saw a cowboy with wranglers, boots, and a hat.
i saw his jawline and sideburns, his nose.
i saw the curling of his smile.
i saw his broad shoulders.
i saw his strong hands.
today i saw a perfect stranger. today that perfect stranger resembled huntman so much I thought it was him. i did a double take, and then a triple. and then i stared. when my rational caught up with my senses it hit me that hunter is half way around the world.
today my heart felt raw. this young man who might have been his twin stared right back, no recollection of who i am because we have never met. and yet, for a split second I expected he would, that he would know me, what i was feeling and how much he looked like huntman. but he did not, he could not.
“dear john” is not the movie to see right after you thought you just saw the man you love who you have not seen in almost 8 months. no. that is a terrible terrible thing to do. because the characters have long absences from one another, because they write letters, because they talk about missing each other so much it hurts, because these actors convey an inkling of what i am feeling. because watching them made me remember things I have not allowed myself to think about in 8 months, things I have shoved so far back into my subconscious Freud would have a hard time recovering them: promises before i left wyoming, our final hug, kiss, and glance, his voice, how I feel completely at home and safe when i am with him.
today i am not okay. most days i’m tough, i’m strong, i’m independent.
today i am not.
today i just miss huntman and want to be with him. today i want these 2 years to be over so i don’t have to wait anymore.
tomorrow i will be okay. tomorrow will be better. and after 500 and something more tomorrows, hunter will be home.
today i saw a cowboy with wranglers, boots, and a hat.
i saw his jawline and sideburns, his nose.
i saw the curling of his smile.
i saw his broad shoulders.
i saw his strong hands.
today i saw a perfect stranger. today that perfect stranger resembled huntman so much I thought it was him. i did a double take, and then a triple. and then i stared. when my rational caught up with my senses it hit me that hunter is half way around the world.
today my heart felt raw. this young man who might have been his twin stared right back, no recollection of who i am because we have never met. and yet, for a split second I expected he would, that he would know me, what i was feeling and how much he looked like huntman. but he did not, he could not.
“dear john” is not the movie to see right after you thought you just saw the man you love who you have not seen in almost 8 months. no. that is a terrible terrible thing to do. because the characters have long absences from one another, because they write letters, because they talk about missing each other so much it hurts, because these actors convey an inkling of what i am feeling. because watching them made me remember things I have not allowed myself to think about in 8 months, things I have shoved so far back into my subconscious Freud would have a hard time recovering them: promises before i left wyoming, our final hug, kiss, and glance, his voice, how I feel completely at home and safe when i am with him.
today i am not okay. most days i’m tough, i’m strong, i’m independent.
today i am not.
today i just miss huntman and want to be with him. today i want these 2 years to be over so i don’t have to wait anymore.
tomorrow i will be okay. tomorrow will be better. and after 500 and something more tomorrows, hunter will be home.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
thai food... you complete me
It appears my blog has been somewhat cynical as of late. Mixed in there's a wee bit of wit and my brand of humor but definitely bordering (okay, way over) the line of dripping with sarcasm. So I thought I would write about something which I am completely genuine about-- food. Specifically, Thai food.
My love for this ethnic food is... perhaps indescribable. If I had to eat one meal every day for the rest of my life (other than Saltines) it would be yellow curry for the entree and mangoes and sticky rice for dessert. If you haven't experienced Thai food, whoa! You are missing out and need to rectify that sore grievance pronto! Thai food has this quality of spiciness and sweetness. And, *Bonus*, not only that it’s high percentage of vegetables used and coconut milk means it is, in fact, somewhat beneficially healthy as well as delectable in your mouth and tummy.
CuRRY
Curry is my favorite. Wherever I go I must order curry, or at least ensure someone else will (since we usually eat the dishes family style). My frequent-Thai-eating friends know me well in that I always always order yellow curry. Always. There are 3 "colors" of curry: yellow, green, and red. Yellow is the bomb.com and more on the sweet mellow side. I really can't get enough of it-- it always tastes perfect to me. Green is spicy and very flavorful, typically with lots of bell peppers (it's my second favorite). Red... I'm not a huge fan but it can be good. To me it just seems spicy and not very flavorful. There are endless combinations and types of curries: pineapple, masaman (its base is peanuts, giving a nutty quality to the taste), panang, and many others. Curry is best with chicken as the meat, in my opinion, because it doesn't overpower the flavor but adds protein.
oN The MeNu
There are many stir-fry type dishes when viewing a Thai menu. Some restaurants have close to 25! Vegetables are a huge part of every Thai dish. The sauces have a wide range and rarely disappoint. Noodles are another part of Thai food dishes. I do like pad-thai but, don't hate me, I am not a gigantic fan of pat-si-ew. The taste is wonderful… but the texture of the wide-egg noodles gets to me, quickly.
JaSMiNe
Another factor in the amazing-ness of Thai food is the prominence of jasmine rice with nearly every dish. I use to think “rice is rice”. Oh no. It is not. Compared to Rice-a-Roni or minute-rice, Jasmine slaughters them all. Only if you’ve truly experienced the subtle hint of sweetness can you fathom the incredibleness. Ah. Just thinking about it makes me happy. I could eat the rice plain.
DeSSeRT
Perhaps the best part of Thai food is the dessert. Oh. My. Heavens.
1. Mangoes and Sticky Rice: a sweet juicy ripe mango is cut in slices, served atop sweetened specially cooked rice (I think they combine sweet and condensed milk with coconut over the rice). There is always room for this dessert in my belly.
2. Coconut Ice Cream: creamy coconut milk is incorporated into pure ice cream, topped with slivers of real coconut and raspberries. Divine!
3. Roadies: crepe-like pancake tortilla thing drizzled with sweet and condensed milk or nutella. Gloria!
The other thing about Thai food is that I never get sick of it. Ever. My brother went to Thailand for medical school research and upon his return not only got me hooked on Thai food but taught me how to make a few dishes. One week during the summer I went a little crazy and had a curry binge, making and eating it 5 times within 7 days.
Also, I don’t get full. After a bowl of spaghetti or an enchilada I’m good. But Thai food I can shovel down like there’s no tomorrow, and still want more. I’ve mastered a smidgen of self-control over time and can tell when I should stop before my stomach explodes, but it is not an easy task.
To close I have recommendations of Thai places to try:
1. Spicy Thai. Provo, UT (on University Ave. up north by Magelby’s, before you hit Riverwoods). My brother and I went there earlier this week and it’s the best! Seriously. The curry was ah-mazing—spicy, good consistency, and well priced. They have lunch specials but dinner isn’t bad. For a bowl of curry and rice it was around $8.00. The mangoes and sticky rice was divine. The best I have ever had. Mmmm.
2. Thai Ruby. Provo, UT (south east of BYU campus). The great thing about this place is it’s within walking distance of my apartment. The food is good and atmosphere is seemingly authentic and cool. Unfortunately it is a little pricier, with dishes being around $11 or $12.
3. Simply Thai. Sandy, UT (by Seagull Book and Tape, off 10600 South exit). The owner of this place is adorable. She is the mother of one of my brother’s medical school friends so she loves when my family comes in. The curry is thicker but delicious, and you get a WHOLE lot for around $13. It isn’t as spicy as other Thai places I’ve tried and is slightly “Americanized” with sugar. This is where they have the coconut ice cream that makes you want to die and go to heaven. Or at least take another bite.
My love for this ethnic food is... perhaps indescribable. If I had to eat one meal every day for the rest of my life (other than Saltines) it would be yellow curry for the entree and mangoes and sticky rice for dessert. If you haven't experienced Thai food, whoa! You are missing out and need to rectify that sore grievance pronto! Thai food has this quality of spiciness and sweetness. And, *Bonus*, not only that it’s high percentage of vegetables used and coconut milk means it is, in fact, somewhat beneficially healthy as well as delectable in your mouth and tummy.
CuRRY
oN The MeNu
There are many stir-fry type dishes when viewing a Thai menu. Some restaurants have close to 25! Vegetables are a huge part of every Thai dish. The sauces have a wide range and rarely disappoint. Noodles are another part of Thai food dishes. I do like pad-thai but, don't hate me, I am not a gigantic fan of pat-si-ew. The taste is wonderful… but the texture of the wide-egg noodles gets to me, quickly.
JaSMiNe
DeSSeRT
Perhaps the best part of Thai food is the dessert. Oh. My. Heavens.
1. Mangoes and Sticky Rice: a sweet juicy ripe mango is cut in slices, served atop sweetened specially cooked rice (I think they combine sweet and condensed milk with coconut over the rice). There is always room for this dessert in my belly.
The other thing about Thai food is that I never get sick of it. Ever. My brother went to Thailand for medical school research and upon his return not only got me hooked on Thai food but taught me how to make a few dishes. One week during the summer I went a little crazy and had a curry binge, making and eating it 5 times within 7 days.
Also, I don’t get full. After a bowl of spaghetti or an enchilada I’m good. But Thai food I can shovel down like there’s no tomorrow, and still want more. I’ve mastered a smidgen of self-control over time and can tell when I should stop before my stomach explodes, but it is not an easy task.
To close I have recommendations of Thai places to try:
1. Spicy Thai. Provo, UT (on University Ave. up north by Magelby’s, before you hit Riverwoods). My brother and I went there earlier this week and it’s the best! Seriously. The curry was ah-mazing—spicy, good consistency, and well priced. They have lunch specials but dinner isn’t bad. For a bowl of curry and rice it was around $8.00. The mangoes and sticky rice was divine. The best I have ever had. Mmmm.
2. Thai Ruby. Provo, UT (south east of BYU campus). The great thing about this place is it’s within walking distance of my apartment. The food is good and atmosphere is seemingly authentic and cool. Unfortunately it is a little pricier, with dishes being around $11 or $12.
3. Simply Thai. Sandy, UT (by Seagull Book and Tape, off 10600 South exit). The owner of this place is adorable. She is the mother of one of my brother’s medical school friends so she loves when my family comes in. The curry is thicker but delicious, and you get a WHOLE lot for around $13. It isn’t as spicy as other Thai places I’ve tried and is slightly “Americanized” with sugar. This is where they have the coconut ice cream that makes you want to die and go to heaven. Or at least take another bite.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
stupid boys
I like to think that women in general have discovered the universal phenomenon that BOYS ARE STUPID. Plainly stated, that’s how it goes. Most of us came to that realization on the playground while primped in our flower dresses boys threw mud and taunted us with cooties, chucked paper planes and gum into our hair, and later found out it was because they… liked us?... But I digress… back to the “boys” in our lives who are of comparable ages: dense, cocky, perverted, hypocrites… etc.
Now I’m not talking here about the male species in general—please don’t misunderstand. No no no. We love the “actual men” who have learned to curb or extinguish the idiosyncrasies which pop into their manly minds and emulate genuine respect to the women they are surrounded by whether it be acquaintances, friends, or potentially a girlfriend or wife. They are wonderful, they are charming, they give us hope that little boys will one day grow up and stop throwing dirt clods and snapping our bra straps.
My observation, as of late, has been that although there are those magnificent men in the wide world (seen most observably in the form of our fathers and other such gentlemen who generally have had more life experience), some boys just never quite grow up. And if anything, they revert past their playground days to who knows where by establishing un-amiable attributes.
Example #1: Depot Boy
My bestie Chelsea recently transferred to another Home Depot store. At her work there is a lot attendant by the name of Tony (who instantly triggers an image of a dirty greasy Italian man). Anyways, he was consistently pestering my dear bestie to be set up with one of her “hot single friends”-- which I supposedly qualify as being. Following her plea to go on one date with this “winner” in order for him to leave her be, I acquiesced to let her give him my number.
She warned me he’s been inactive for a while and just recently started coming back to church, as well as the fact that he has gauged ears and a tattoo—totally totally not my thing! In fact, gross (on the gauged ears thing—tattoos are a little bit cool). BUT I figured, “Hey, I should get out every once in a while and one date won’t hurt, right? Maybe he’s a really cool guy. Maybe I can be a good influence”. Yata. Yata . Yata. Ai carumba being the end result.
So while I am working an 8 hour shift Chelsea is giving me the updates: “I gave him your number”, “He added you on Facebook!”. Of course I have to wait to see what he’s like, according to Facebook, for several more hours to ensure he’s not a complete crazy. Then I get the text of “Hey stranger”. Long story short, Tony and I text for the remainder of my shift trying to get to know each other through texting (I know, right? What is the world coming to?!) and he promises to call me the next day and we can set something up. Okay, whatever. I’m pretty indifferent to the whole thing. I check out his profile on Facebook since he “requested me as a friend”… and I just can’t see a date with this boy going well. I don’t hear from him all weekend—which honestly is fine by me, I’m the one dodging the bullet here.
THEN at lunch today I say to Chels, “You know I haven’t heard from Tony”. Apparently, once he found out I worked at Home Depot, he didn’t want to take me out. Wait a second. He works at Home Depot… Huh… Doesn’t that classify him as slightly hypocritical? Weird? Strange? Dumb-boyish-ness shining through? I think so.
As I let my mind wander I hypothesized Tony probably envisioned some dainty blonde cheerleader who googles over his muscles and can’t lift a gallon of milk. Once he found out I worked at Home Depot he was intimidated by the sheer ginormity of my arm muscles from lifting gallons of paint and packages of concrete and fertilizer. Or maybe he doesn’t like his girls in orange. . .
Regardless, to end this little fiasco and not let him get away with that complete load of crap I sent him a little text to end things the way they began.
I haven’t heard back. Peace out, Tony dear. Maybe one day you’ll be able to take out a Home Depot girl, but today is not that day and I am not that girl!
Example #2 Perverted Engaged Boy
There is a boy who epitomizes what every mother hopes their daughters never come across. A pretentious pervert who doesn’t think before he speaks and most certainly doesn’t think before he acts. No censorship on the mouth of his… he’s only got one thing on his mind. And I mean, one thing. Even the most innocent of girls can tell what that is by the way he stares you down and the innuendos he slips into conversation. Dirty dirty boy. He never quite outgrew the mud stage and decided he had better taint the rest of his life with filth.
My first encounter with this boy was several months back at my work. I had seen him around but hadn’t paid much attention. I went in one evening to check my schedule, therefore I was not on the clock. He called me into Tool Rental as I passed by. I sympathized; I know how boring work can be, especially by yourself on a week-night evening when there are all but 7 customers in the store. I did not know what kind of a boy he was or I never would have subjected myself to such an encounter.
He began the conversation by asking if I was single-- some people apparently had wanted to know. He then asked if I was a virgin. Um… not a typical question to ask during a first conversation… I promptly replied that yes, yes I was and yes I will remain until married! He pushed with a leer of “well, how good of a Mormon girl are you?” I don’t drink, do drugs, or have sex! Nor have I. By now I’m more than creeped out. I change the subject—inquiring about the ring he was wearing on his freaking ring finger!
He sighed, “Yeah... I’m engaged. Getting married in the SL temple in April”
Sweet. He’s engaged. This is good. I can run away now.
He then proceeded to tell me that he was sent home from his mission early for having sex with one of the members! (and no, this is not the girl he’s marrying) Keep in mind, this is well within the first 5 minutes of our conversation. BUT, he rationalizes, that it was because he had been “Dear Johned”, and his companion just “happened” to not wake up, and one thing led to another and… Ohhh… how do you react to that? If I recall correctly, isn’t there a rule you’re not really suppose to bring up past transgressions? And being sent home from your mission early by disregarding you own and another person’s chastity is not really something to be bragging about or telling some wide-eyed girl in your first conversation with her.
Then he says, and I quote:
“You know, if I wasn’t engaged I would so totally be hitting on you and we would so totally be going on dates”.
That’s when I giggled nervously, excused myself, and ran away from Tool Rental.
He still waves at me every time I go past and complains that I don’t come visit him. And just WHY would I subject myself to that again? After a time he stopped being completely creepy—you would just notice it as he stared at you and everything else female that moves—even though, might I remind you, he’s engaged!
Then on valentine’s day, that joyous love day, I was working. Sitting in the break room eating some Ritz, he came in to clock out. I decided I should take the high road, be nice, since it was Valentine’s and all. We began a casual conversation about the sugar cookies they had bought for us employees, specifically about the bright blue frosting on one of them. He was saying how sugar cookies were so rewarding. Mmm yes I mused.
“Do you know what else would be rewarding?... (eyebrow raise)… a lap dance from you”
“What?!?!”
“Nothing nothing…” and he clocked out and ran away.
Per. Vert.
How did we go from cookies to lap dances? One thing, and one thing only, I tell you is on his mind.
A few days later he brought in his fiancée. I was so tempted to say, "Hey, did you know your fiancee is an unmitigated disgusting little boy who basically requested a lap dance from me? Oh yes, and also that he hits on girls who are underage-- as in high schoolers?!? Yeah, you're planning on being sealed to him. Might want to rethink that one".
One more comment and I’m going to HR because he is ridiculous. Stupid perverted engaged boy.
Extreme examples? Perhaps. But boys are stupid. Men are wonderful.
We're far past kindergarten-- we can stop being jerk-faces, little boys. Want to be a man? Respect women by curbing crude thoughts that spring from your lips and extinguish the little lies you love to tell us. Be wonderful and charming-- maybe one day we"ll classify you as a man rather than a digressing little boy.
Now I’m not talking here about the male species in general—please don’t misunderstand. No no no. We love the “actual men” who have learned to curb or extinguish the idiosyncrasies which pop into their manly minds and emulate genuine respect to the women they are surrounded by whether it be acquaintances, friends, or potentially a girlfriend or wife. They are wonderful, they are charming, they give us hope that little boys will one day grow up and stop throwing dirt clods and snapping our bra straps.
My observation, as of late, has been that although there are those magnificent men in the wide world (seen most observably in the form of our fathers and other such gentlemen who generally have had more life experience), some boys just never quite grow up. And if anything, they revert past their playground days to who knows where by establishing un-amiable attributes.
Example #1: Depot Boy
My bestie Chelsea recently transferred to another Home Depot store. At her work there is a lot attendant by the name of Tony (who instantly triggers an image of a dirty greasy Italian man). Anyways, he was consistently pestering my dear bestie to be set up with one of her “hot single friends”-- which I supposedly qualify as being. Following her plea to go on one date with this “winner” in order for him to leave her be, I acquiesced to let her give him my number.
She warned me he’s been inactive for a while and just recently started coming back to church, as well as the fact that he has gauged ears and a tattoo—totally totally not my thing! In fact, gross (on the gauged ears thing—tattoos are a little bit cool). BUT I figured, “Hey, I should get out every once in a while and one date won’t hurt, right? Maybe he’s a really cool guy. Maybe I can be a good influence”. Yata. Yata . Yata. Ai carumba being the end result.
So while I am working an 8 hour shift Chelsea is giving me the updates: “I gave him your number”, “He added you on Facebook!”. Of course I have to wait to see what he’s like, according to Facebook, for several more hours to ensure he’s not a complete crazy. Then I get the text of “Hey stranger”. Long story short, Tony and I text for the remainder of my shift trying to get to know each other through texting (I know, right? What is the world coming to?!) and he promises to call me the next day and we can set something up. Okay, whatever. I’m pretty indifferent to the whole thing. I check out his profile on Facebook since he “requested me as a friend”… and I just can’t see a date with this boy going well. I don’t hear from him all weekend—which honestly is fine by me, I’m the one dodging the bullet here.
THEN at lunch today I say to Chels, “You know I haven’t heard from Tony”. Apparently, once he found out I worked at Home Depot, he didn’t want to take me out. Wait a second. He works at Home Depot… Huh… Doesn’t that classify him as slightly hypocritical? Weird? Strange? Dumb-boyish-ness shining through? I think so.
As I let my mind wander I hypothesized Tony probably envisioned some dainty blonde cheerleader who googles over his muscles and can’t lift a gallon of milk. Once he found out I worked at Home Depot he was intimidated by the sheer ginormity of my arm muscles from lifting gallons of paint and packages of concrete and fertilizer. Or maybe he doesn’t like his girls in orange. . .
Regardless, to end this little fiasco and not let him get away with that complete load of crap I sent him a little text to end things the way they began.
I haven’t heard back. Peace out, Tony dear. Maybe one day you’ll be able to take out a Home Depot girl, but today is not that day and I am not that girl!
Example #2 Perverted Engaged Boy
There is a boy who epitomizes what every mother hopes their daughters never come across. A pretentious pervert who doesn’t think before he speaks and most certainly doesn’t think before he acts. No censorship on the mouth of his… he’s only got one thing on his mind. And I mean, one thing. Even the most innocent of girls can tell what that is by the way he stares you down and the innuendos he slips into conversation. Dirty dirty boy. He never quite outgrew the mud stage and decided he had better taint the rest of his life with filth.
My first encounter with this boy was several months back at my work. I had seen him around but hadn’t paid much attention. I went in one evening to check my schedule, therefore I was not on the clock. He called me into Tool Rental as I passed by. I sympathized; I know how boring work can be, especially by yourself on a week-night evening when there are all but 7 customers in the store. I did not know what kind of a boy he was or I never would have subjected myself to such an encounter.
He began the conversation by asking if I was single-- some people apparently had wanted to know. He then asked if I was a virgin. Um… not a typical question to ask during a first conversation… I promptly replied that yes, yes I was and yes I will remain until married! He pushed with a leer of “well, how good of a Mormon girl are you?” I don’t drink, do drugs, or have sex! Nor have I. By now I’m more than creeped out. I change the subject—inquiring about the ring he was wearing on his freaking ring finger!
He sighed, “Yeah... I’m engaged. Getting married in the SL temple in April”
Sweet. He’s engaged. This is good. I can run away now.
He then proceeded to tell me that he was sent home from his mission early for having sex with one of the members! (and no, this is not the girl he’s marrying) Keep in mind, this is well within the first 5 minutes of our conversation. BUT, he rationalizes, that it was because he had been “Dear Johned”, and his companion just “happened” to not wake up, and one thing led to another and… Ohhh… how do you react to that? If I recall correctly, isn’t there a rule you’re not really suppose to bring up past transgressions? And being sent home from your mission early by disregarding you own and another person’s chastity is not really something to be bragging about or telling some wide-eyed girl in your first conversation with her.
Then he says, and I quote:
“You know, if I wasn’t engaged I would so totally be hitting on you and we would so totally be going on dates”.
That’s when I giggled nervously, excused myself, and ran away from Tool Rental.
He still waves at me every time I go past and complains that I don’t come visit him. And just WHY would I subject myself to that again? After a time he stopped being completely creepy—you would just notice it as he stared at you and everything else female that moves—even though, might I remind you, he’s engaged!
Then on valentine’s day, that joyous love day, I was working. Sitting in the break room eating some Ritz, he came in to clock out. I decided I should take the high road, be nice, since it was Valentine’s and all. We began a casual conversation about the sugar cookies they had bought for us employees, specifically about the bright blue frosting on one of them. He was saying how sugar cookies were so rewarding. Mmm yes I mused.
“Do you know what else would be rewarding?... (eyebrow raise)… a lap dance from you”
“What?!?!”
“Nothing nothing…” and he clocked out and ran away.
Per. Vert.
How did we go from cookies to lap dances? One thing, and one thing only, I tell you is on his mind.
A few days later he brought in his fiancée. I was so tempted to say, "Hey, did you know your fiancee is an unmitigated disgusting little boy who basically requested a lap dance from me? Oh yes, and also that he hits on girls who are underage-- as in high schoolers?!? Yeah, you're planning on being sealed to him. Might want to rethink that one".
One more comment and I’m going to HR because he is ridiculous. Stupid perverted engaged boy.
Extreme examples? Perhaps. But boys are stupid. Men are wonderful.
We're far past kindergarten-- we can stop being jerk-faces, little boys. Want to be a man? Respect women by curbing crude thoughts that spring from your lips and extinguish the little lies you love to tell us. Be wonderful and charming-- maybe one day we"ll classify you as a man rather than a digressing little boy.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)