We've been there too, Beyonce...

We've been there too, Beyonce...

Wednesday, July 21, 2010

Public Service Message

Its been awhile since I last posted, and its definitely not for lack of things to talk about.  If anything, there's been too much.  I have a lot of stories to tell but I'm seeing an overall theme.  So instead of venting each story, I'd just like to take a page from early 2000's Christina Aguilera and write a little about what a girl wants.  Men, pay attention.

We want a guy with a plan.  He needs to be able to take charge, to be a leader.  All we see on TV these days are male figures who are little more than boys trapped in the bodies of men.  They're comically inept, and woefully unable to cope in the real world without their wives acting like their surrogate mothers.  

Do we want to be controlled or dominated? No.  But we do want you to make decisions.  There's nothing lamer than someone saying "Would you like to go out Friday night? Yes? Okay, awesome.  What do you want to do?"  If you can't even pick a restaurant or decide on a movie, how am I supposed to believe you're going to be able to make decisions about anything important?

I'm not sure why this started happening.  I guess guys feel like they're being nice and showing respect when they want my input on every minute detail of the date.  Don't take this out of context, either.  Just because women like a man who can make decisions doesn't mean you should go home and announce to your wife that you're moving the family to South Korea.  Big decisions should be discussed, obviously.  But there's something undeniably sexy about a guy who can say, after I've consented to go out with him,  "We'll be eating at PF Chang's and then we'll be catching a movie.  Be ready at six."  

If I have to play the 'I don't care. What do you want to do?' game one more time I might scream.

I'll get off my little soap box now.  I just really needed to get that off my chest.


Tuesday, June 8, 2010

Desperado, why don't you come to your senses?

After a glorious time spent with my family, I am finally back in Provo to start getting geared up for the Summer term. I came back in high spirits: it's getting hot in P-town, the pool is open, McKenna made a welcome-back cake (and she never bakes, so that was big), and I also heard a really hot guy from my single's ward back home was coming to Provo for summer term as well.

Needless to say, when he spotted me walking down the street last weekend, he left a message on my facebook about thinking it was me, but he wasn't sure. Like some desperate idiot, I immediately answered back that it was and did everything but drool in this message about how we should hang out sometime and left him my number.

I waited a couple days...I waited a couple more days...I waited a week and still no call, no text, not even another facebook message. I've never felt so desperate in my life, running frantically to find the phone everytime it beeped or rang.

I've never had this before. I'm always the one to get pursued (usually by a crazy): I've never done the pursuing myself. And was I actually getting rejected on my first try? Why did he find it important enough to make a comment of facebook if he really has no interest whatsoever in me at all? Am I overthinking it?

Anyway, these were some of the questions that were rolling through my head as I went through my first round of getting totally blown off.

Day before last, I reached a point of desperation: I actually found an excuse to call my crazy stalker from the last entry just to hear the strained tones of someone who liked me trying to keep their enthusiasm under wraps. Being back at directing ward choir and most of our males being gone, I called to ask if he was still going to sing with us or not. Get this:

Him: "Hello?"
Me: "Hey, how are you?"
Him: "Who is this?"
Me: "Really? Are we going to play that game?"
Him: "Seriously, who is this?"

He tries to play the "I-deleted-your-number-don't-know-who-you-are-because-I-so-totally-don't-care-that-you-rejected-me" thing, and I wasn't buying it. His hello was way to excited to be for some stranger. Finally, I get him to "realize" who it is and ask about my church business.

Last night, I get a text message from him supposedly addressed to someone named "Ryan" asking about when they were going to go rock-climbing. I'm pretty sure it was another ploy to try to see if I'm interested enough to answer. I didn't, but I was secretly satisfied that my charms still worked on someone at least.

Was I wrong to make the first move with the hot guy? Where did I go wrong? How forward is too forward when it's the lady who's making the moves? Help!

Friday, May 28, 2010

One Man's Disease is Another Man's Pickup Line

Blind dates.  Why do we keep agreeing to do them?  My brother set me up on one last week with one of his old mission buddies.  I'll call him Richard.

The first thing I did when my brother brought it up was Facebook him.  After all, I love my brother, but I don't trust him enough to do a completely blind date on his say-so.  His profile picture checked out, he was a pretty good looking guy, so I agreed to do it.  (Don't call me shallow, I'm sure he was doing the same thing to MY incredibly cute Facebook picture).

Unfortunately, there's no "Personality: Creeper" status on Facebook that could have forewarned me.. Good looks only get you so far.  I felt like I was on a date with Michael Scott from the Office.  One of the first things he says when he picks me up is “My mom would love to meet you.  She has six children and she loves it when we bring someone home.”  

Then he kept trying to touch me throughout the evening.   It started with trying to take my hand, which I deftly maneuvered away from with the classic, run-fingers-through-hair routine.  Then he wanted to rub my back as we walked, to which I stiffened up and leaned away.  After that attempt failed, ever persistent, he brushed my hair behind my ear, so I lifted my shoulders in an attempt to squash his sweaty little fingers.  All while this was happening, he kept talking about what his wife should be like and how good of a husband he would be.  Why was I still staying do you ask?  It was like a car crash, I just couldn’t make myself get away, I was paralyzed with horror. 

I wasn't paying attention at all during the date, I think we had dinner but mostly I was just wondering how I was going to get out of there.  It was nice out so we were on a walk outside, taking in the fresh air.  I started to steer our walk to a point where I could make a very lady-like run for it, but he then said something that made me pause.  He said, “But my wife would definitely have to be okay with my medical condition.”  I did not know what else to do besides ask, “Well, what’s your medical condition?” 

“Its called Priapism,” he explained, and then proceeded to tell me all about his sufferings with this “disease”.  Now I will refer to the dictionary definition of this word in order for you to understand my horrified/amused/astounded reaction.  Priapism, I kid you not, “is a potentially harmful and painful medical condition in which the erect penis does not return to its flaccid state, despite the absence of both physical and psychological stimulation, within four hours.”  Yes, I laughed.  I laughed long and hard (pun intended).  I think this revelation was intended to impress me, maybe to make me think, “oh, four hour erections, you sexy beast you, take me now!” Yet, my only thought was that I could  not believe that I had gone on this date and talked with this man about his family and penis diseases for over an hour. 

When the date finally ended, the first thing I did was call my brother and tell him not to hook me up with anyone from his mission again.  Then I called Kait and filled her in...seriously this is the sort of stuff where I really wish she was still in Utah so we could laugh about it in person.  What became of Richard, I don't know.  I haven't heard from him since and my brother hasn't brought him up.  I hope he finds a woman out there that can deal with his four hour erections and his constant 'I'm going to be the greatest husband ever' ramblings.  If nothing else, maybe he'll save penis-related conversations for the second date.

Wednesday, May 12, 2010

Riding in cars with boys

So, I'm home in Oregon for the next few weeks before the Summer semester starts, and before I leave I started talking to a guy that I dated way back when. We went on maybe two dates, but he broke it off and told me I was clingy, etc...because I saw him at church and sat next to him. I also got pissed that he flirted with some other girl, who I later found out was his ex-girlfriend, while I was standing right next to him. Yeah, he was a class act.

Why I answered my phone when he called again, I don't know. But anyway, he seemed different than when I knew him back then, so I told him we could go on another date when I got back from my parents'. I figured maybe he'd call or send a message a couple times before I got back and leave it at that.

Oh no. He's been calling me everyday for the past week. I even told him not to call when he said that he would call me the next day. He keeps calling. And we don't really know each other well enough to talk everyday for extended amounts of time.

He even offered to buy a plane ticket and drive back with me to Provo when I come back. I'm pretty sure he bought it before he even asked, and I just hope it's refundable.

The call that takes the cake was last night, though. Since I had run out of things to say to him, I blurted out that I really wanted a corndog. He wasn't picking up on my hints that I wanted to go look for one and stop talking... From there, he starts talking about ketchup. He said that it was a solid. I pause for a second...

"No, it's not. It's a liquid with little bits of tomato in it."

"No, you're wrong. It's a solid."

"Uh...I can look it up on my phone right now. I guarantee you it's a liquid." I looked it up. It's a liquid with little bits of tomato...just like I said. I didn't gloat or anything I just confirmed that it's liquid.

"Okay, know-it-all."

"Did you really just call me a know-it-all?" He tries to laugh it off like he was just joking, but I could tell his man-pride was injured.  I'm sickened at this point.

"I'm Kait, and I know everything! Hahaha!" Ugh.

He changes the subject to when I come back to Provo and all the stuff he's already planned for us to do. I just got sicker. I explain that I'm signed up for classes, and I'm going to have lots of work to do, and plus, I'm getting ready to apply for an out-of-state internship in the Fall. He starts freaking out. He sounds like he's going to cry.

"You mean you're only going to be in Provo for a couple months?!"

"Yeah, maybe. Nothing is for sure."

He starts grilling me with questions about all the details of me possibly leaving, then he starts demanding that I get an internship in Utah.

My answer: NO

"Uh...just to let you know, you and I are not in a relationship. You don't dictate my life choices to me. As a matter of fact, I don't even know you well enough to be talking to you everyday on the phone. I sure as heck don't know you well enough to ride in car trapped with you all day on a road trip. Oh, PS...it was ME who was clingy?! I don't think so!"

Click, I hung up.

Seriously, WTF?!

Wednesday, April 28, 2010

The Lemon Law and the Not So Great Dane

No spring break and too many finals does not make a good recipe for blogging, but that whole nasty business is in the past now.  It is officially SPRING, ladies and gentlemen! (who am I kidding...its just ladies here)

Spring means short shorts, sleeping outside while you tan, BEAUTIFUL weather*, easy classes, and of course swimsuits! It is a time to shed all the frumpy clothes and let the cuteness come out to play.
Some students don't even wait for spring to start napping outside.

This isn't the aftermath of a battle...we're just a really sleepy campus

Unfortunately, spring is also a time for awkward first dates as new people join the ward and begin browsing the ward menu.  I went on one such date Saturday, with a new guy named Dane.  Dane's kind of an older guy, maybe in his mid to late twenties, and reasonably good looking.  I don't really buy into the whole 'you should say yes to every guy that asks you on a date because everyone deserves a chance' philosophy.  If I'm not interested, why waste our time?  So I really had high hopes going into this one...

He picked me up around 7 and right from the beginning I started to have second thoughts.  He starts driving me to the Nickelcade.  Great! I've never been there before on a date.  Even though I totally rock at air hockey, it certainly wasn't winning him points for creativity.  He started the classic 'get to know you' date conversation and then he asked me how old I was.

Me: "....Twenty, why?"
Dane: (face falls) "Oh.  18 is really the ideal age to start having babies."
Me: "....." (I'm kind of slowly turning my head as I look at him, giving him my best 'Did you just say that?' look)
Dane: "Don't get me wrong, its not too late! I was just reading about it in biology and that's when the female is at her reproductive prime."

Okay, right here is where I wish we had a 'Lemon Law' for dates.  This is another concept I learned from TV and we really need to start doing it.  It comes from the lemon law with cars, where if you buy a car and it fails to meet certain standards, you can return it and get a refund if you do so soon enough.  The dating lemon law would be similar.  Within the first 15 minutes, if you know this date is not going to go anywhere, you just say you're invoking the lemon law and you're out.  No hard feelings, no one's night is wasted.

Dane was well within the 15 minutes and I so wish I would've lemon law'd him, because the date did not get any better from there.  He was hyper-competitive during air-hockey, hitting the puck so hard it flew off the table and hit a little kid in the shin.  And then he didn't even apologize!  Then he spent pretty much forever at the little 'throw a basketball into the hoop' game.  I think he was showing off, he kept telling me that he used to play basketball a lot in high school.  (Yeah, Dane, great.  Every Mormon guy did.  That's why Churchball is a thing).  I sat there looking bored while he threw shot after shot.  He made more than half of them, but...I'm pretty sure I could've done that, even with my old, dried-up, past-their-prime ovaries.  It didn't look that hard.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, he took me home, walked me to the door of the apartment where I was pretty positive my roommates were peaking through the windows, and did the whole lingering on the doorstep thing.  I was sending out all kinds of 'I wouldn't breed with you if the human race depended on our procreation' signals but he wasn't picking them up.  Finally he leaned in for the kiss which turned into an awkward half-hug when I twisted out of the way.  Then I ducked into the door and disappeared inside, blurting out a 'goodnight Dane' before shutting the door.

When life gives you lemons....invoke the lemon law.

*Disclaimer: If you live in Provo, spring may also means freak snowstorms that put an end to all your happy frolicking.  Do not worry, this is only a momentary setback.

Wednesday, April 21, 2010

Don Quixote of La Provo

McKenna and I's apologies for the delay in getting up today's post. Finals have been killing us, and I just now got some time to get in my latest awkward singles ward moment.

If you'll notice the title of my post, you might've already made the connection to a famous work of Spanish literature. Allow me to explain the reason for the literary reference:

There's a boy in my ward, who is of Spanish-speaking origins and who has been trying to get a date out of me for months, even though I've already told him I'm not interested. Now, the fact that he speaks Spanish was not the only thing that made me decide to refer to him as Don Quixote.

Those of you who are familiar with the story know that it's about a man who gets so wrapped up in the fantasy of chivalry that he becomes obsessed and goes chasing after something that is really just a dream. The very definition of the word "quixotic," which finds it's root in this book, means impractically pursuing lofty romantic ideals.

That word defines him perfectly; he's living in a fantasy land. And I'm not just talking about trying to chase after me when I've turned him down. But he's got some heavy paranoiac tendencies. He also tells everyone he's a karate champ, but he's done demos at the ward talent show and it's pretty clear he's not. I could go on and on, but for the sake of leaving him some of his dignity I won't. You now have context for what comes next:

Ward prayer night happens once a week, every week. I showed up for this past week, chatted with some acquaintances for a while as McKenna fended off the boys who were looking for NCMO's (see our glossary page if you don't know what that means), and after a few minutes took my place kneeling on the floor ready to pray.

Just then, I see him coming towards me, but McKenna is still too busy breakin' man-hearts to see my signals for back-up. He kneels next to me and all possible chances of quickly changing places are finagled by the closing in groups of people who are also getting ready to pray. I smile, say hi, and try to just be kind but non-invitational.

The prayer starts and everyone has the eyes closed, heads bowed. Suddenly, I hear the sound of shuffling knees next to me and I can feel him getting closer. I peeked a bit and could see that he was trying to scooch in close enough to make bodily contact during the prayer. I'm not sure if he's ever touched a girl before, but this might've been one of his only chances to catch a stolen arm brush against female flesh.

Needless to say, I myself start to scooch away. We bumped into other people, there were a lot of whispered "sorry's". I'm sure a good number of them started opening their eyes to see what was going on. It was the longest three minutes of my life.

As soon as I heard "amen," I hopped to my feet and headed for the door. I kept looking behind me as I walked back to our apartment to make sure he wasn't still in hot pursuit.

                                                              The Unwilling Windmill- 1
                                                                    Don Quixote- 0

Saturday, April 10, 2010

We are the Riders of Brohan!

One thing that makes us laugh is "Bro" culture.  Somehow, without anyone really noticing, somebody replaced all the gentlemen...or men in general...with "bros".  I don't know when it happened, but they're everywhere!

Kait and I were standing in line to get into a club at Salt Lake.  I was shivering with cold when I heard someone say "Dude! Bro! What are you doing here?"

Another person answered "Bro! We're just chilling here!"

I laughed because...maybe they were being ironic, and turned around.  Sure enough, these were genuine "bros".  Polo shirts, gelled hair, plaid shorts, popped collars.  And they were everywhere! I feel like I can't go anywhere without bumping into one.  You can't go country dancing without it turning into a bro-down...a total brodeo.  You can't go to the mall without a swarm of them flooding out of the Abercombie, Ralph Lauren, and Lacoste outlets.

At dances they're constantly shouting for the new "J.T. album" or some Jack Johnson, Dave Matthews Band, John Mayer, or Oasis.  They're watching you with their fellow bros ("wingmen" in bro-speak), waiting to swoop in with their popped collars and grind up against you like your only dream that night was for a gelled up stranger to dry hump you.

I can't even go to the gym in peace anymore, it was one of the first places to fall to the bros.  Yes, I'm sweaty, tired, and wearing my still cute but altogether less attractive work out clothes.  The last thing I want is to get hit on by bros offering to "spot me"/look down my sports bra.  

Kait and I love to drop bro words into conversations with bros just to see if they catch on that we're making fun of them.  We were brainstorming some new ones on the way home from class once.

"Settle down, Broseph Stalin," I told her in my best bro accent.

"Here's lookin' at you, Humphrey Brogart," she answered.

This went on like that for some time but then she trumped it all by standing up proudly and shouting

"We...are the Riders of Brohan!"

To the Dave Matthews concert!

I cracked up! Hands down the best Bro line of all time.

Looking for images of bros online I came across a video that I thought I'd share to raise bro-wareness of a rising problem.  

What about you? Are we the only ones to notice that all the men have been vanished and replaced by bros, trapped in a state of eternal fratboy-hood?  What brorror stories do you have?