We've been there too, Beyonce...

We've been there too, Beyonce...

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?


Thursday, April 8, 2010

Busted! We just need to get something off our chests.

To cut to the chase of our blog topic today, here's a recap:

McKenna and I decided to blow off some final's season steam with some retail therapy at the Riverwood's. We make a stop in Victoria's Secret, and the sales lady ends up convincing us to get sized for bras. Member of itty-bitty-you-know-whatty committee that I am, the salesgirl brings me a push-up bra. (PS-I'm so glad this blog is anonymous)

Mckenna: They're not itty bitty, they're travel-sized, for your convenience! You don't know how nice that would be for running. You gotta have a really good sports bra to run with a C cup. Trust me, I know! "

(as I mutter 'McKenna, you pretentious booby tramp' under my breath) Anyway, it's the first push up bra I've tried on ever in my life. I generally just go for your basic, all-purpose bra, because I'm not the sassy vixen type, but the temptation of having an enhanced bust at the bargain price of 45 dollars was starting to become very interesting. Visions of teen angst cinderella transformation movies started running through my head, and my retail induced hysteria was also making me think that this could make my dream of seducing and marrying my hot argentine tango teacher and/or Elder Impossible (more about him later) come true.

                    Needless to say, I tried it on. Clasped on and straps all adjusted I look up into the mirror and I start blushing like crazy. No one can see me, and yet, I feel embarrassed to be in a public place with my bosoms propped up like this. Immediately, I throw my arms over my chest in a sort of knee-jerk reaction. I was exhilirated and ashamed all at once. After a few minutes of silence as I stare in shock and awe at my now shameful, dirty pillows of sin, McKenna calls out for me to show her how it looks. The conversation through the dressing room door goes a little like this:

 M:  "I think they're closing soon. What's it looking like?"

K:   "Uh...I'm gonna take it off. I don't want you to see."

M:  "Don't be ridiculous. There's not much to see as it is. Let me see."

K:  "I can't! This is false advertising."

M:  "Huh?"  (sounds of me trying to unclasp the bra)

K:  "I just feel like it's false advertising. These boobies aren't mine! They're just an illusion! It'd be a lie to pretend like all this really belonged to me."

M:   "Oh, come on! You didn't turn into Pamela Anderson with just a little push up bra. It's only a little clever enhancement. It's the same you, just new and improved." She's right. I was no Pamela, but I  was at least a cup size bigger with this thing on, and that's saying a lot.

K:    "That's always how it starts, McKenna!" The dreams of hotness I was having before were now turning into middle school nightmares of getting caught with stuffing in your bra.

M:    "How what starts?"

K:     "The lies! The fakeness! It's like the frog in hot water analogy. It starts little by little until I'm painted up and dressed like a tranny somewhere on a streetcorner. What will my future husband think when he finds out I've been telling a falsehood with my bosoms, only to be revealed for the lying tramp I've become on the wedding night?"

M:    "You don't think that's taking it just a little too far? What's he gonna do? Check the return policy and try to take you back for a refund? I've never heard of a wife getting sued for false advertising either." 

K:     Maybe she's right; I probably was overreacting. But, I looked at myself in the mirror, and half joking, half serious said, "I'm  scared, McKenna. I don't know who I am anymore."

I don't want to be a wordly woman. Boys may like this:

But this is not who I am!

We want to know you're take. Am I crazy?

Monday, April 5, 2010

"General Conference?" "At ease, Private"

One of the dumb inside jokes Kait and I have comes from an episode of a TV show I saw recently.  Whenever anyone says something that resembles a military rank ("That was a major buzz-kill"), we repeat it and salute as though addressing a military officer ("Major Buzzkill").  For some reason, we think its hillarious but no one else seems to get it.  Ah well, at least we make each other laugh.

So naturally, when our other roommate Chelsie landed tickets and invited us to go with her to General Conference, we both saluted in sync and said "General Conference," like a five star general had just walked into our barracks.  I don't think Chelsie got it.

I had already turned down an invitation to go to Sunday morning session with this guy, we'll call him Devin.  What is it about General Conference that makes guys think its like the homecoming dance of awesome dates?  For those of you non LDS, General Conference (salute) is basically a huge meeting where everyone gathers together to watch a satellite broadcast where the leaders of the church give talks about things like the Atonement, faith, doing good works, and other gospel topics.  It happens twice a year and if you happen to live near Salt Lake City, Utah (church headquarters), its possible to go in person instead of watching it by satellite, but you have to get tickets to get in (they're free).

So basically, the Devins of the world think that just because an event requires tickets, its a great idea for a date.  That's not really how it works.  Hockey games, movies, and concerts all require tickets and make great dates.  Sitting next to you in General Conference (at ease, Soldier) while you studiously take notes and try to impress me with how strong your testimony is isn't exactly my idea of a great date.  Is that just me?  Does anyone else think its weird that the twice a year chance to hear the words of prophets and apostles is being commandeered into yet another means to impress and probably make out with a girl you like?

So yeah, I turned him down but ended up going with my roomies.  I did take notes, so I thought I'd do a play by play:

This is going to sound kind of sacriligious, but I kind of zone out when the women speak in conference.  Is that terrible?  I should be supporting them, right?  But they always have this super-sugary-sweet tone in their voice like they're talking to their kindergarten class and it just annoys me.

That being said, I was surprised to find I really enjoyed Sister Beck's talk.  She quoted Eliza R. Snow and said "Women should be women and not babies that need petting and correction all the time".  Amen, sistah!  I'm tired of tiptoeing around bruised egos.  She talked about the role women should take in the church and how important we are and basically said a lot of things that needed to be said.

The next up was Keith McMuffin.  Or McMullin.  I had trouble reading names, because, like a dumb girl, I refuse to wear my glasses. His talk was about 'duty'.  He said the word 'duty' no less than every possible time he could fit it in.  Of course, this got me giggling and when I repeated the word to Kaitlin she joined me in my immaturity.  "I love and cherish the word duty", he said, quoting President Monson.  "Our path of duty is clearly marked."  I know, I know..we're twelve years old.  That shouldn't be funny.

We started picking up a very 'the end is nigh' theme in the past few talks and songs.  Kaitlin pointed it out to me.  I nodded grimly and replied "Sounds like the duty is gonna hit the fan," which we both got a good, silent laugh out of.

A few other General Conference (at attention, Private!) highlights and observations:

M. Russell Ballard : "silly women led away by diverse lusts".
 Am I right?
Also: more frank and open talks about sex with your kids.  Hopefully that will dispell the widespread Utah girl myth that you can get pregnant through your belly button.


Saturday afternoon session is always hard at first.  Lunch + church accounting = naptime.

Also of note, 119,722 new babies of record in 2009.  Way to get on the baby-makin', sisters!

Newly released Randy D. Funk, former member of the seventy, has the coolest name ever. (Click the link to see the song we've dedicated to him in appreciation of his heartfelt service).

Inspired by Elder Miyagi's (I still hadn't gotten over my vanity enough to put on my glasses and see his real name) anecdote about his granddaughter, we're going to stick a popcorn seed jar in our appartment to motivate me to keep the dress code and stop swearing.  Once the jar is full we're going to make popcorn balls to celebrate (it'll probably take me until Christmas to fill it up, so that'll be good timing.

Even if I'm a little rough around the edges, Elder Uchtdorf reminds me that "I'm still a twenty DOLLAR bill".

Richard G. Scott warns that the proud and hotties will not be saved.  Uh oh...

The Primary President is exactly what I was talking about earlier.  All I could think about was that she wished to welcome me to Munchkin Land. The physical and audible resemblance was hard to ignore.

                                         "I represent the Lollipop, wait! I mean...Primary...Guild."

I need to repent..

It sounded like Thomas S. Monson said God "made the cattle, beasts and all CREEPY things".  I thought men were created on the 6th day?


Friday, April 2, 2010

Datin'Kait, this is Ground Control. All systems are GO for launch...of my first date story!

 While I was home for Christmas, just before this past semester, my mother tells me that one of her friends has a son who came back home to live for a while, and he doesn't know anyone out here since all of his friends had gone off to college or moved away. She basically begged me to be nice to this kid and take him out to meet some of my old friends and some people from church. I agreed with some hesitation; the last time I agreed to this kind of thing I ended up hanging out with a kid who, although quite attractive, I could swear had an oedipal complex...I won't go into details. Finally, though, she suckered me into it by appealing to my charitable side.

I called him up and told him he should come over for movie night with me and several other friends. Things went well and by the end of the night I breathed a huge sigh of relief thinking "this kid's not so bad as the last one..." He was actually pretty funny, and seemed fairly with it.

When he called to ask me on a date, I said yes. Why not? An innocent, cozy winter cuddle buddy is always nice. He's not quite the type I'm usually into but he seems more normal than most guys I've gone out with. Again, it was fun. We did the old ice skating/hot chocolate typical date thing, and generally had a good time. We hung out a few more times over the week or two that I was home, and I left thinking that it was fun but that was probably the end of it as I wouldn't be home for a while, and I'm not into the long distance thing. He never kissed me, never held my hand. We were casual friends as far as I knew.

A few days after being back in Provo I talk to my mother, and she starts gushing over how this guy already talked to his mother about me and that he thinks I'm his future wife, and she's SO EXCITED that this special time has finally arrived in her baby's life. Needless to say, I was totally caught off guard, and I can now attest that my mother is more Provo than I am.

After explaining to my mother that that wasn't what was really going on, that he and I were just buddies, she gets off the phone a little disappointed.

Just when I breathe a sigh of relief thinking I put out the fire of gossip and that I was safely far away in Provo for the situation not to get even more carried away, I get another call. This time it's him. He said he just called to say that he was moving out to Provo within the week, and wanted to know what I thought.

Not wanting to encourage this, while also thinking that maybe living in girl-infested Provo would be good for getting him off my back and not quite having the guts to tell him to keep dreaming, I said "it's up to you."

Oh yes, he did indeed move to Provo. He also called me nonstop wanting to see me. I could only use the "I'm busy with classes" excuse for so long before he finally caught up with me and asked if I wanted to see a movie. I caved. Where was McKenna to tell me to "make good choices?" Probably at the gym.

The date was awkward.

I could see him staring at me out of the corner of my eye the whole time. I purposely didn't make eye contact and just pretended to be totally absorbed in whatever mindless, action-packed crap was rolling on the screen. Several times, he tried the old standby of reaching into the popcorn at the same time I did. I say "several times," and to me it's really sad because he didn't get the point when I pulled my hand out quickly like it had been burned, even though it was really not even lukewarm.

Afterwards, we're strolling through the mall and he spots a jewelry store and asks if I want to look at rings...just for kicks, he added after...

You gotta understand that girls are like raccoons. We love shiny things, and anything is so much cooler when it's been be-dazzled. C'mon, we all know,when it comes down to it, none of us would buy anything Ed Hardy if it didn't have the crap be-dazzled out of it. Tattoo/biker art is only cool for girls if it's covered in rhinestones.

I almost said yes simply because the temptation of looking at glimmering stones was almost too much to bear, but by some stroke of saving grace managed to refuse and avoid where that might've led.

Leaving the mall, we head towards his car and I'm elated thinking that this rendez-vous is going to be over soon. Jumped the gun, because he proceeds to say that he wants to go for a drive...ugh.

Before we even get to where we're going my "ABORT ABORT!!" alarm starts going off...We're headed up Squaw Peak, and the boy must've got a Provo-insider's tip from one of his new roommates, because how he managed to find one of the city's top makeout points alone is beyond me.

So, we're sitting in his car in silence for a few minutes apparently "admiring the view." After our little pause, he reaches over to try and brush back my hair, and I jumped a little and said, "uh...I have a phobia about people touching my face..." I don't, but it was enough to cut short an uncomfortable Seinfeld-esque man hand's face caress. All I know is I don't want to kiss him. He wasn't my type to begin with, and it scares me how fast he's trying to push all this that I don't want to think about how bad it would get if I let him get all touchy.

Another pause.

Him: "So...do you know a lot about this hill we're on...?"

Me: "Oh yeah, I love sledding down here!" Anything to avoid where he's trying to steer this boat.

Him: "Oh yeah, I guess you could...But I heard people come up here for other things..."

Me: "I've seen some people trying to hang glide off the cliff up here, too. But that's usually only in the summertime." Innocent smile.

Him: "Oh...um, yeah...I actually heard people come up here to make out."


Then he starts inching forward and the wave of panic is rising in my chest. He goes in for the kill with his eyes closed and his lips all puckered up on his round, puddin' face. I don't remember clearly, but I think I yelped and pulled back. The only thing I think to say is this:

"Haha! You really had me going there! I thought you were actually going to try and kiss me." Uncomfortable laughs. He starts the car and we start heading back down the hill.

I avoided him again after that, but I kept getting calls from my mother all in a tizzy about it, but after hearing my reluctance about the whole thing, she pulls out the ultimate guilt trip You-Don't-Want-to-End-Up-Like- Sherry-Dew-Do-You? card. She told me to pray about it, and I did. Can't say it was my most heartfelt hour of prayer, but I wanted to know if I gave the kid time would it work out. After all, the guy was kinda funny when we hung out in December.

I'm no King Nebuchadnezzar, but I don't think I need Daniel to interpret the dream I had that night:

As far as I remember, I was suddenly in one of the church meetinghouses for my wedding reception decked out in a poofy white number and caked in makeup. The feeling was that I was disoriented and confused. Looking to my left I saw his face and he was wearing a tux. I officially starting freaking out and frantically trying to bail on the situation Runaway Bride-style, but all the doors were locked and windows were sealed. Right before I woke up screaming, my family had cornered me in the building bathroom trying to pull me back into the decorated cultural hall to see my new husband and telling me how I would get used to him after a while.

Sitting there drenched in cold sweat and hyperventilating, like a big chicken and not having the guts to call him, I sent him a text message telling him not to see me anymore and to go back home. Thank heavens I haven't seen him since.

I can laugh at it now, but what I want to know is why there are some guys that think it's okay to ask a girl to marry you when they barely know them? This seems to be something that happens frequently in this area, and I'm perplexed, to say the least. He hung out with me a grand total of six times. SIX TIMES!!! and was already trying to finagle a ring shopping excursion out of me.

Knowing I probably shouldn't set rigid limits on my life and thereby foregoing a lot of unexpected things the Lord has in store for my life, but I have, however, set a minimum dating period of one year before I'll accept any marriage proposal, unless of course I get struck by a lightning bolt of revelation. I, quite frankly, don't trust someone's judgment who hasn't been with me long enough to see exactly what he's getting into. Or heck! for me to see what I'm getting into. My daddy wholeheartedly agrees with me, my mother has her doubts. So, I'm torn.

It's a touchy subject, though, because for some people a short engagement worked, but it seems to be the exception, not the rule. It's an eternal decision, and I can't make myself take it so lightly. How can others? It's that that I would really love to be able to understand...

Your comments are welcome and encouraged.