Friday, July 29, 2011

The worst date ever

You know those times when you are hanging out with a group of friends and bad-date stories come up? Well, here is the story of my worst date ever.

This was a date I went on back home in California, so it's been a couple of years now, but it still reigns as the worst. I had met a guy at a young single adult dance, we'll call him Bob. Bob chatted me up, asked for my number, and he seemed like a nice enough guy so I figured, why not? He called a few days later and invited me on a date to go ride bikes at the beach. I thought that sounded nice, I would just have to borrow one of my brother's bikes, but that wouldn't be a problem.

The day of the date comes, he picks me up. We're in his truck driving to the beach and chatting, and at some point he asks me how old I am, I was 23 at the time. I then find out that he is 35. Now, I met him at an activity that is meant for the 18-30 year old crowd, so that's a little odd. He's 12 years older than me, and that's also a little odd. Oh well, no biggie, not a deal breaker.

We get to the beach and it's one that I'm pretty familiar with and I'm a little confused.
Yeeeup, we're gonna ride on the sand. I'm thinking "Are you kidding me? You remember that I had to borrow a bike right? As in, I don't go mountain biking every weekend. As in, I thought we were biking on a path right next to the beach, you know, the kind with pavement.".

I stop whining internally and ask where we're riding to, because I don't know of an "end" on this beach, not for miles anyway. He assures me that there's a path a little ways down that we're riding to.

Alright, I decide to trust him. Here we go.
I start out determined to conquer this ride. We're riding in the wet part of the sand so it's fairly firm, but still takes some muscle to pump those bike pedals. We ride along for what felt like forever, and I'm starting to feel the burn. Pretty soon I look a little more like this:
I tell Bob that I'm getting tired and ask if we can take a break. He's very accommodating and we stop and watch the waves for a little bit. We get to talking and he decides to tell me that he already knows five things about me. He counts on his fingers as he lists them off to me:

1. Hot
2. Smart
3. Funny
4. Hot
5. Hot

Ha... ha... ha...

Seriously? I'm officially starting to get creeped out by you Bob. Oh, and by the way, still no sign of this "path" that we're heading towards. It looks like nothing but sand as far as the eye can see. Super.

I begrudgingly climb back on my bike and we go what feels like Forever- Round 2.

I am so tired, seriously. I now look like this:

It's at this point that I would like to point out a few of the reasons why this was a horrible date idea.
  1. Both of us are panting pretty hard to keep moving, especially me. It's a little difficult to carry on a conversation when you can't breathe. Great get-to-know-you activity, no really, g-r-e-a-t.
  2. I'm sweating, a lot, because this is a legit workout. I don't feel cute at all, I'm pretty positive that I don't look cute at all. I've said before that girls want to flirt when they feel comfortable and attractive and I don't feel like either of those things right now. 
  3. Awful planning, just awful. Maybe this was the perfect date for Susie McOutdoorsy. That is not me. When I tell you that I need to borrow a bike, that should have been the first indicator that this is not the right activity to take me on for a first date.
Alright, back to the date. I'm so pooped out that I make him stop for a third time. My legs are shaky because they're so tired. I tell him "Man, my legs are going to be noodles tomorrow!". He replies with "Those are the best lookin' noodles I've ever seen!".

Oh Bob, gross. Stop being so creepy! Stop checking out my legs, and updating me about how much you're enjoying them. Not ok. Especially because at this point some hatred toward you and this stupid bike ride is starting to fester.

Back on the bikes we go and we finally come to the path! Oh happy day, he didn't make the whole thing up.

Oh wait... what's this?


Holy mother of hills. I think it's the closest thing to a 90 degree angle I'd ever seen in pavement. That's it, this guy must be a hired hit man, instructed to kill me slowly and painfully.

There's no way I can ride up this hill, so we walk the bikes up it instead. We eventually reach the top and it dumps us to a random residential area, but at least there's pavement and it's not uphill. We find our way back to the main road that takes us down to the beach parking lot. I'm pretty sure I kissed the ground when we made it back to the car.

To give a quick synopsis if you weren't paying close attention... here's the before and after of me:


That is what a broken woman looks like. A broken woman with good looking noodle legs.

When I finally got home I decided to see just how long that bike ride really was. I pull up google maps and plotted the route that we took. We biked in the sand for SIX MILES, and then another two miles on the streets. Remember when you were in school and you had to run the four laps around the field for your mile run? I did that on a bike, in sand, 24 times. I don't feel so bad for whining and being exhausted now.

Bob called a few days later to see if I wanted to go out again.

Dear Bob: No.

Thursday, July 28, 2011

Awkward Hugs

I have both witnessed and experienced more than my fair share of awkward hugs. I will contribute this awkwardness to a few different factors, maybe there are more, but these three come to mind.

1. My family is not touchy-feely, we don't do a lot of hugging so I haven't been properly trained.
2. I am tall and a girl, and hugging guys shorter than me can get tricky.
3. Sometimes it's not all me, it's the awkward person I'm hugging.

I shall address the awkward situations that have arisen from these three reasons in this post. Yes illustrations are included, go ahead and get excited.

Numero Uno: Three brothers + no hugging = awkward hug

I think I can count on one hand the number of times that I have hugged my brothers. My sister and I hug more, and because I'm one of the girls I feel an obligation to give the boys hugs sometimes. But unless people are watching and judging how much we love each other by whether or not we hug, I bypass the hugging. Instead I'll give them a fist bump and a "later bro".

Try not to get too choked up at how sentimental we are.

I am lucky enough to have two lovey roommates who are good at hugging. A couple of nights ago my brother Eric stopped into town on his way home from school. He just crashed for the night and joined us for our roommate prayer. (This is our supplemental family prayer, insert "awwWw" here). After praying everyone stood up to go to bed, and my sweetie pie roommates went to give my lil bro hugs. He immediately started nervously laughing and blushed, but gave them the hugs. This is my best stick figure rendition of the moment.
Talk about deer in the headlights. It was so funny. Yes, I definitely have some awkward hugs in my blood.

Numero Dos: Tall girl + short boy = awkward hug

Girls love hugging guys that are taller than them. Girls love being able to put their head on your shoulder or chest. I would say these are two general and widely (though probably not universally) accepted rules. Much to my dismay, these hugs are few and far between for me. More often, it's trying to make sure that I don't end up hugging a guy so he's putting his head on my shoulder, and definitely not on my chest. Oh dear, are you blushing? Yeah just imagine how uncomfortable that would be.

In order to avoid that, when I hug a guy, I've trained myself to always go for criss cross arms, and to always bend down if they are shorter than me.

This is not allowed.
That's not going to work out well for anyone. And I'm sure it would be quite emasculating to the guy.

This is what IS ok.
Okay maybe that is emasculating too. I'm sorry, there's just no winning for short dudes that want to feel manly when they hug me. Oh, and I'm not trying to kiss him, I'm just bad at stick figures. Especially when I try to make them hug. It's hard, you try it.

Now that we know the basics of how I have trained myself to hug. Enter awkward date-hug that was a result of this kind of conditioning. A little while back I went on a date with a tall guy, probably 6'5'' or 6'6'', so even tall in my book. It was just a first date, nothing too special, but I had a nice time. At the end of the night, he went to give me a hug, and I think in an attempt to eliminate the "uhhh what now?" moment that sometimes happens when they're dropping you off, did an over exaggerated hug stance that looked like this.
He was clearly going for the "guy's arms on top, girls arms below" hug. You know the one I'm talking about. Well, my brain did not. Instead it just registered "Incoming hug! Quick! Criss-cross arms!"

Goodness, it was so choppy. Nice Shelly, way to be smoooooth. I don't know if he found it as awkward as I did, but it was definitely a "doh!", forehead slapping moment for me.

Numero Tres: Awkward person + another awkward person = awkward hug


There are sooo many examples that I could give about these types of hugs. The linger-too-long hug, the maybe-side-hug-maybe-not hug, the hover-away-from-each-other's-bodies hug, the go-in-for-a-hug-but-they're-not-expecting-it hug, just to name a few.

Rather than draw illustrations for all of these, I googled "awkward hug" and struck gold. Enjoy.
I think I can remember being stuck in each one of those scenarios at least once. Especially the one with the cats, cats are the world's most awkward huggers right? (ha-ha-ha I made a funny)

I'm thinking that this may just be part one of the awkward hug chronicles, but I can only hope to hold your attention for so long. Until next time...I'll uh, see you later... *fist bump.

Wednesday, July 27, 2011

Did I really just say that?

I'd feel confident in saying that I am a witty person. I'm good at scanning my mind for a joke and plugging it in at a moment's notice. Now granted they're not always funny, but my mind is still running around piecing together jokes and throwing them out as fast as my mouth can keep up. The poor little oompa loompas in my brain really have to scramble sometimes.

Now this ability to be quick witted is helpful for making jokes (which is oh-so-productive), and also for selling and needing to think on my feet. It's usually useful, emphasis on usually. Every now and then those oompa loompas get going too fast and grab the wrong words or the wrong joke, and I've mistakenly learned to trust them enough to spit out whatever they throw into the queue.

Can you see where this is going? I think you think you can, but you'll never guess what I actually said. Oh gosh, so embarrassing.

Now you know that I work in sales. I sell software, and all of my selling is done via webinars. This means my clients never see me and I get to wear jeans and a t-shirt to work every day. This also means that because I never actually meet the people I am selling to, I need to build those relationships via phone and email. Every time I am on a call I do my best to make friends with them- asking them to tell me about themselves, laughing and joking, you know, all that relationship-building stuff. Most of the time this works great, in no time at all we're besties and making plans to get mani-pedi's next time they are in town.

Let's rewind to a few weeks ago. I was doing a webinar for a couple of guys that work for a company out in New York. They were a lot of fun, really loud and really funny. I got into a good groove with them, and found my normal "professional speak only" filter coming down. At one point they expressed how much easier something was going to be in our system. I said something like "Using this system is going to be like a dream for you!". He replied in the affirmative. I bantered back with "That's what we're in the business of over here, making dreams come true. Just call us the Make a Wish foundation!".


Oh. My. Gosh.

MAKE A WISH FOUNDATION?



That's it oompa loompas, you're fired. Next time pick disneyland, utopia, heck- I'd take walmart. Something that doesn't make me sound like I'm pimping out a charity foundation. I just compared my software to helping children who are dying of cancer. It's official, I am a horrible person.

The conversation continued like this:

*crickets chirping

Me: *clears throat

...and if you look at this feature right here you will see this great tool for blah blah blah


They were kind enough not to call me out on it, but that definitely made for my awkward moment of the day. I should send them an apology gift basket or something.

Or maybe I should just make a donation to the Make a Wish foundation in their honor.

Wednesday, July 20, 2011

The time I faked my own death

Bzzz Bzzz   *phone vibrates

Read text from brother: "Do you remember when you covered your arms in ketchup and faked dead?"

Ha-ha!

Yes, unfortunately, I do.

----------------------------------------------------

Once upon a time I was a "little" girl. (I'll put that word in quotes because I'm pretty sure that I was at least three feet tall right outta the womb.) I'm not quite sure how old I was when I did this, but my best guess would be somewhere between eight and ten.

My parents had left to go somewhere, else, away from us kiddies, and my older brother Michael was put in charge of watching us. It must have been one of the first times that he had, because I was determined to leave him shaken from the experience. I also must have had a pretty twisted mind as a child, because I thought it would be hilarious to make him think that I had been brutally murdered. (Sooo funny right?) Well, as it turns out, I am not very good at faking my own death.

I don't think I planned this in advance, I just remember him going to the bathroom, and me having a light bulb turn on at what I thought was going to be such a genius prank. As soon as the idea struck I ran to the kitchen and found some ketchup packets in the fridge. I then proceeded to empty said packets out onto my arms so that it would look like "blood". I only did this to my arms. Which you know, are mortal injuries typically. I simply wasn't dedicated enough to risk getting my clothes dirty and therefore getting in trouble when Mom got home.

Once I felt like I looked bloody enough, I contorted myself on the floor and tried to make my face look as dead as possible.

Here is a photograph from the scene of the crime:


Notice that my tongue is hanging out. Ten year olds think that's what happens when you die.

Imagine my poor brother's concern as he came out of the bathroom and saw his baby sister looking all bloody and beaten on the floor.

...Are you imagining it? Are you sure? Okay.

If you're imagining a blank stare followed by a slow "...why did you put ketchup all over yourself? And why are you on the floor?", then you imagined correctly. That was certainly nothing like the reaction that I was sure I would get. Turns out that brother of mine is not so easily fooled. He's going to make a great dad to some sneaky kids one day.

After laying there deflated for another minute or so, I begrudgingly got up off the floor and rinsed the ketchup off of my arms.

Moral of the story: Don't hire a ten year old to help you plan your April Fools day.

Tuesday, July 19, 2011

You wanna piece of me?

Let me begin by (re)stating that I can be a bit of an odd duck. Quack quack. (Case and point, I just quacked.) I'll follow that up by adding that I love to entertain.

One of my favorite people to entertain is my roommate Jana. She's rad. And she laughs at ALL of my jokes. I think the two of us have at least one laughing fit per day. I'll go ahead and assume that I don't need to exercise, because all of that laughing- well, it's a work out.

Speaking of workouts, you may remember me mentioning in one of last week's posts, that I am known to, on occasion, randomly round-house kick inanimate objects. This is all relevant, I promise. We're getting to the point soon.

Now that the foundation of this story has been laid, let's journey back to a few nights ago. Jana and I were plopped down on the couches in our living room, enjoying one of our nightly giggle fests. Amidst all of the cackling, she stops and says "Hey Shelly, I think that wall is looking at you funny, you should probably go beat it up."

I glared at the wall as I planned my attack.

I stood up and got ready to charge. (She starts laughing). I'm pretty sure that my game plan was to run at the wall pretending like I was going to body slam it, and then only lightly bump into it. Yes, that was the plan.

My plan did not accommodate the wall having a defensive strategy.


Yes, the wall moved. There's no other way to explain why I ran into it so much harder than anticipated.

Luckily I hit it with my shoulder, you know, like the cops do in the movies when they are knocking down a door. (Which by-the-way, I don't really believe so much anymore. That can't be as easy as they make it look.)

I immediately started yowling in pain and holding my wounded shoulder, and Jana immediately started DYING laughing. It only took a minute for me to be cracking up too, because, I just body slammed a wall. On accident. And that's funny. I literally got in a fight with a wall and lost.

The good news is, I didn't dent the wall, or get a bruise on my shoulder. The bad news is, Jana now has something to forever make fun of me for. Uh oh, now so do all of you. Whoops.

Overall, I feel pretty justified in my attack. After all, the wall was looking at me funny. And everyone knows that you can't go letting walls get away with that kind of thing.

Friday, July 15, 2011

Places where I want to get hit on: The grocery store

Every time I go to the grocery store, a little part of me is always hoping to get hit on. Maybe I've watched too many cheesy romances... although I can't actually think of any movies where it all starts in the produce aisle, I'm sure they're still not healthy for my reality.

Something about cruising through the aisles filling up my cart makes me feel like I'm exuding womanhood. I saunter along with a swagger that says "look at me buying these things to cook with, yeah, I will be preparing meals with these items, I'll probably even wear my homemade apron while I do it". Maybe it's the Mormon in me that believes that makes me attractive, but I feel like me at the grocery store is a sneak peek into the domestic goddess that lies within. Alright, I'm not a domestic goddess, but I couldn't think of a word that sounded better there. I like to cook and stuff, you know, like, pasta-roni, and grilled cheese sandwiches.

Having certain foods in my cart makes me feel more attractive than others. You know how I love illustrations, so here is a graph that illustrates what goes on in my mind as I select foods:

I'm going to go out on a limb and call that very accurate.  I expect bacon sales to skyrocket now that this data has been released.

Now, not to toot my own horn, but I have gotten hit on at the grocery store before. Two distinct times come to memory (alright, alright, I didn't forget the other times, it's just been those two). Both times were flattering, and a total ego boost. Both times were also fairly awkward.

One of these times occurred while I was at a Walmart. This little Asian guy (disclaimer: I love Asians, I only mention this detail because it helps to give a funny visual to the story) comes up to me and asks me if I'm so-and-so, and I say no. Then he goes "okay, so sorry!" and walks away. Then he comes back a minute later and asks if I'm sure that I'm not so-and-so, the woman he met at some small business conference who has a tall women's clothing line. Sorry little dude, I assure you that I am not the woman that you seem to think I am. He apologizes and walks away...   ...Then he comes back a third time, and this time tries to ask me out for coffee. I politely declined, (I'm a stickler about dating within my religion) he apologized and walked away. Don't worry, he didn't come back and re-check to see if I was the lady with the clothing line again.

The other grand occasion took place while I was at a Target, and was standing in an aisle looking at the fruit snacks. I love fruit snacks. Mmmm. Sorry, off topic. A guy comes up to me and tells me that he's trying to start eating healthier and is wondering if I can help him determine which granola bar would be best (if you've got a "mmmhm, suuuure" look on your face right now, you're not alone). I turn to make sure he's talking to me, because remember, I'm looking at fruit snacks. You know, the kind made of nothing but sugar. Clearly I'm qualified to help someone choose a healthy granola bar. Lo and behold, he was, so I attempt to point to a couple of bars that people (who are actually healthy) have told me they like. We talk about granola bars for a minute, then do some small talking and playful bantering. After a couple minutes or so of that, he admits that he didn't really want any granola bars, he just wanted an excuse to come talk to me. (AwwwWw... that's adorable. I'm totally flattered and he just made my day). He gave me his number and told me if I ever wanted to hang out I should give him a call. Again, the Mormon card comes into play here, so I never called (sorry). BUT, he still made me feel like hot stuff.

Now it's time to let you guys in on a secret: Girls want to flirt when they feel attractive and comfortable. Not a lot of things make us feel more attractive than knowing some guy saw you looking at fruit snacks and immediately needed to walk up and talk to you. At the very least, you could do this with the intent of making some girl's day, that way, even if she turns you down, you still know that you made her smile inside.

Oh, and Provo boys- this could be a dating gold mine for you. I didn't go out with either of these guys because they weren't Mormon. They happened back in California, where you can meet other Mormons at church activities- and that's it. But here in Provo, you can meet 'em anywhere, yet very few people seem to be monopolizing on that reality. Ay yi yi...

So the next time you see a girl struttin' her stuff down the canned food aisle, strike up a conversation about beans or something. I can't think of a better "how we met" story.

Can you?

(Ha-ha get it? "Can" you, because we're talking about canned foods? Haaa... I kill myself.)

Thursday, July 14, 2011

Bad to the bone

I think there is a little rebel demon that hides inside me and periodically needs to come out and play. I'm a mini adrenaline junkie. That being said, I'm probably the lamest version of an adrenaline junkie there is. I'm typically pretty risk adverse, and have some firm religious beliefs...sooo... I have to get creative and do pseudo-rebellious things to get it out of my system. I think this is what the rebel-creature inside me looks like:
Sometimes I feel just like that, like drumming my fingers together and laughing mischievously because I'm about to do/already doing something "scandalous". Here is a list of a few of the things that give me a thrill that, in all likelihood, don't have quite the same effect on you.

  • Drinking bottled root beer (10 bonus points if I do it while I'm driving- ohhh snap)
  • Giving myself a stick-on tattoo
  • Stealing food off someone's plate without them noticing
  • Playing poker, but not playing for anything but the chips (I'll take you in hold 'em any day, bring it)
  • Randomly round-house kicking inanimate objects (they almost never see it coming)
  • Touching displays that say "Do Not Touch"
  • Stealing money from the Monopoly bank
  • Staying up really late for no reason
  • Going to 24 hour restaurants anywhere between 12-4 am
  • Standing in the rain
  • Sticking things on people's backs without them noticing
  • Eating things I shouldn't, when I shouldn't (late night burrito runs)
  • Getting hot chocolate at 7-11 because it looks like a coffee cup
  • Driving 2 mph over the speed limit when there is a cop right next to me
  • Skydiving (Yeah that's RIGHT, I do actual exciting stuff too sometimes, now back to the boring stuff)
  • Secretly "racing" all of the cars that I'm driving next to
  • Climbing trees in Provo (it's against the law you know *this is not an admission of guilt)
  • Sending text messages to people that say "made you look" (this seriously cracks me up, even if they don't respond)
As you can see here, the things that spice up my life are prettttty thrilling. My youngest brother would probably call me weaksauce, but hey, it's the little things in life right? And if my little things happen to be things that would put your 80 year old grandmother to sleep, then I'm okay with that. Well, not totally okay, that makes me feel pretty lame, because it's probably true. Don't you wish you lived as exciting of a life as me? I can feel the jealousy seething through your veins.

You should contribute some suggestions to my "weaksauce" list, or volunteer to join me on my next 2 am Denny's run. Go on, do it, you know you want to.

Monday, July 11, 2011

Talk Nerdy to Me

I saw a bumper sticker one time that said "Talk Nerdy to Me". I laughed out loud and nodded my head in agreeance.

I love, really really love- listening to geek speak, or nerd talk, or whatever you want to call it. The only thing I ask is that people talk about their nerdy stuff naturally, like they're not even trying to sound smart, there's just no other way to explain than to speak that way. It ruins it when I feel like someone is trying to impress me or sounds condescending when they know/think that I have little to no idea of what they are talking about.

To better illustrate my deep and inexplicable love of nerd talk, I'll first provide a graphical respresentation, then I'll provide a couple of examples. I love using examples.
 
  • Example 1: On Saturday it was my roommate's birthday, and we had a little shindig to celebrate her __ years of life (details omitted to protect the innocent). She had a couple of friends come over that I hadn't met before, and somehow conversation moved to the topic of different forms of energy and how they work, why they're great, or bad, and all sorts of things. I was a giddy little fly on the wall listening to these guys jabber on and on about things that I knew close to nothing about. They were simply talking about what they are passionate about, and interested in, and could talk forever about it. It wasn't boring in the least- I was riveted, and so impressed. 
  • Example 2: I work in sales, and I sell software. This means that I know enough techy lingo to satisfy most IT guys, but sometimes I need to call in the big dogs (whom I affectionately refer to them as the nerd herd) to answer some deeper technical questions. Tech talk is probably my favorite kind of conversation to listen to or (try to) be a part of. For one client recently, I was lucky enough to sit in on a conference call with about four programmers, one of which had an Australian accent (I was d-y-i-n-g). These guys were throwing around words like authenticate and interface and acronyms like SQL and php and API and a slew of others terms that I have no idea what the translations would be. I literally had a huge grin on my face the entire conference call. I was on mute for the most part because, let's face it, a bunch of programmers don't need smooth talking, so I just got to sit and listen. I think I even caught myself giggling with enjoyment at one point. Man I'm so weird. 
I have no idea what that geeky Australian man looked like, but this is what I was envisioning to be on the other side of that phone line:
If you're thinking "Oo la la", you are correct. Crikey!

In both of these cases, I felt like I was getting the privilege of observing these people in their natural habitats. *In Australian accent "And if you look out the side of the jeep here you'll see a herd of nerds. You'll notice the distinct clickity-clacking sound of their keyboards- this is a tell tale indicator of this rare species." That's a little what it was like, Australian accent and all.

Something about people that know so much about something that I know so little of is enthralling to me. If you were ever looking for a way to make me swoon, let me catch you in conversation about the server validation on the hexidecimal firewall at the interfaced MANET. I know that was incoherent babble, so you should probably explain it to me.

    Friday, July 8, 2011

    Why I would be good at being married

    Ok this is supposed to be funny. And is a joke. Mostly, kinda, sorta.

    But no really, it's true.

    I wake up most mornings thinking to myself, "Man, I'd be so good at being married". Only right when I wake up though, and sometimes when I go to bed. Why you ask? Well, because I am the opposite of a bed hog. That's right, I said it, I practically give that bed-space away. Like it's a stinkin' hot potato.

    Allow me to illustrate to you. This is my bed:
     
    Isn't it so pretty? Yeah, that's right future-husband, you'll have to sleep underneath a pretty comforter. It doesn't have to be this one but it'll be pretty. 

    My latest place came furnished with this queen size bed and it has been quite the conundrum to figure out what to do with all of that space. I've been trying to force myself to fall asleep in ways that capitalize on the blessing of that kind of space all to myself.

    This is how I've tried to fall asleep:

    Now, there are a few variations of this, but they all take up most of the bed. (P.S. Don't you love my MS Paint skills? That's a pretty realistic looking illustration if you ask me.)

    So that's how I fall asleep.

    And


    This...

    ...is how I wake up:


    Look at that! I wake up almost hanging off of the edge. My sleeping self just refuses to take advantage of the plethora of space on that bed. (P.P.S. This was an illustration of me a few minutes before awakening, hence the zzz's.)

    To better illustrate the point that I am making with this post:

    I must be studying charity before I go to sleep because that is awfully generous of me. And that's just on a queen size bed. Picture a california king real quick, it's like future-husband won't even be sharing a bed.

    I'm sure that if I were to look up statistics, I'd find something that says that 97.622% of marital troubles arise from bed hogging. I won't bother doing the actual research because there's no way that number is wrong, at least not off by more than a percent or two. Think of that happy blissful marriage that will arise from my uncanny ability to always sleep on just a sliver of bed. *Starts to day dream of skipping through a field of daisies where birds are singing and butterflies are floating all around us.

    Our lives will be like those NyQuil commercials that talk about getting a good night's sleep, where people wake up looking amazing and oh-so-refreshed.

    It's a good thing I don't let my imagination get the best of me.

    ...

    ...

    Anywho... There are other reasons why I'd be great at being married, but I don't really think any intelligent man would need any others. To those of you bed hogging bachelors who understand that, go ahead and submit your marital resumes into me and let's get the things rolling.

    Wednesday, July 6, 2011

    The life of a tall person- secrets revealed

    Vertically blessed. Giraffe. Further up. Lanky. Skyscraper. The one who can reach the top shelf.

    These are a few ways to describe the above average height that I enjoy on daily basis. I am 6'1'', and a female. According to google, that places me in higher than the 97th percentile for women in the US. I'm pretty sure I deserve a gold medal or something.

    When I meet people for the first time I get lots of comments like:

    "Wow you're so tall!"
    "How tall are you??"
    "You're so lucky!"
    "Mommy mommy look how big she is!" (I overheard a toddler say this to his mom at a store one time)
    "You should be a model!" (Me: Oh stop...but go on *flips hair)
    "Do you play volleyball/basketball?"
    "I bet it's hard to find tall guys to date huh?"

    I don't mind these at all, I have fun with my height and it's a surprisingly great conversation starter. I do however feel like it's time to let you average sized people know about some of the challenges that tall people have that you may or may not be aware of. The majority of these are exclusive to the female side of the tall fence- so sorry in advance to the tall guys that won't relate.
    • Near (finger) death experiences with ceiling fans- (This one just happened last night and gave me the idea for this post) I have clipped my fingers more often that I can count (on my fingers) on ceiling fans. I'll go to enjoy a nice relaxing stretch and wha-bam! Ceiling fan smack-down.
    • Dating woes- On the same site that I procured my percentile information on, it had some other fun stats about tall people, one of which was: 3.1% of men in the US are taller than 6'2". Three-point-one percent. Of all men in the US. Now factor in things like my religion, my age, my physical location. Not to mention compatibility. Sometimes I wish I didn't have such an affinity for tall men, but alas, I do. One of the benefits of this you ask? Well, I can walk into a room and scan the top for the heads poking out, and know that I have 5 potential options right away. It also means I can walk into a room and know I have no options right away. Either way, it's a quick and easy (ok ok, and shallow) way to find/eliminate potential.
    • Awkward Dating Moments 1.0: Getting hit on- I try to never be sitting when I'm somewhere that guys might hit on me. All too often a mini-man comes up to chat me up, and I get to watch his gaze shift upward and his face shift to a shocked/scared look when I finally stand up. I'm sure it's mostly awkward for him, it's usually pretty funny for me. I tried to search for a picture to illustrate this and found this one of Tiger Woods that is pretty close. Haha- it makes me laugh.
    • Awkward Dating Moments 2.0: Attempts to monopolize on my genetics- That sounds really odd doesn't it? Here are a couple of examples for you. I have had not one, but many parents/aunts/uncles/grandparents tell me that I need to marry their son/nephew/grandson because they want that particular young man to be able to produce tall children. Now I think that these people know that I have a sense of humor and maybe wouldn't say that ordinarily, but how should one respond to a remark like that? Example two. Once I was on a date with someone tall, and he told me that he won't let people set him up with women that aren't tall because he was "not about to average children". Ha! Glad I can be here for breeding purposes, I'm flattered that you invited me on this date.
    • Accidentally injuring others- I have tripped on a lot of small children. They are just out of my line of vision. (I am notoriously unobservant as well, so that really doesn't help matters) I have also elbowed a lot of people in the face. I might bend my arm to do one thing or another, and next thing I know I've popped the girl behind me in the face. Oops. Here's a tissue for that bloody nose...
    • Weird looks in public- I like to make a game out of this sometimes. I'll notice that when I'm walking around in let's say, a grocery store, that people will see me, then immediately check my feet to see if I am wearing heels. When I am wearing heels it's even funnier because you see a look of relief on their faces when then see my shoes. It's as if they're thinking "Ohhh- that's why she's a foot taller than me, because she has 3-inch heels on."
    • Not fitting- In clothes, on planes, in showers, in cars, in shoes, under tables. Finding well fitting clothes can be such a hassle. I have a 37" inseam, and a wingspan the same as my height (6'1"). Even "tall" sizes in stores are almost never long enough for me. I do most of my shopping online when it comes to anything full length, it's a pain, but I don't have a lot of options here. Also, with legs like these, fitting in any kind of area with designated leg room is typically quite uncomfortable. I'm squished on planes, in cars, on buses, trains, roller coasters, at concerts, at sporting events. I have banged my knees on nearly every table or desk I've ever sat at. The upside to this same issue is always being given the front seat in the car, people are so careful to make sure to give me enough leg room. I love never having to call shotgun!
    Now that I've ranted for a full page I feel the need to balance that with a few of the reasons why I love being tall:
    • I never need help to reach things on the top shelf
    • People look up to me literally, and because of that, figuratively too (on occasion)
    • I almost always win the "hey, let's see who's taller!" game
    • I can check all of my friends for dandruff
    • I stand out in a crowd
    • Height (for me) is like built-in confidence
    • When I'm with a group of girl friends I immediately feel like a mother hen guarding my chickies
    • It makes me feel special and unique and gives me something to write a funny blog post about
    • I have to gain 20 lbs before it looks like I gained 10 (Downside- this works in reverse too. Sorry, done ranting, I promise)
    • Long legs
    • Funny stories- oh so many of these!
    So for those of you who meet me and tell me how lucky I am and how they wish they could be this tall. Yeah... you're right, I am lucky. And for any of you who wanna hate on me strapping on a pair of heels, well, I can step on you. I may have already on accident. Oops.

      Tuesday, July 5, 2011

      Dating Advice: Stop your fretting

      *Climbs up on my soapbox

       The Provo dating bubble is an interesting place, I think those of us here would swiftly agree with that statement. With so much focus on marriage, it's hard not to let that become a reason to miss out on opportunities. Now I say this with also disclaiming that I think dating for marriage is great, as long as you are careful about how you let that perspective effect you. One of the biggest issues that I see again and again is people trying to see the end at the beginning, and making decisions based on what might be true versus what they know to be true. This is what you look like when you think like that:

      Pretty silly right? Don't do that to yourself.

      A prime example of this is when Person A decides not to date Person B because they are "afraid of hurting them". That is kind, and thoughtful, and I am sure that Person A has the best intentions. But I think that does more harm than good. Let me provide a couple of use-case scenarios for you.
      • Scenario 1: Once upon a time I was going on dates with a guy but was really hesitant to dive in, because I had come up with all of the reasons why I was sure that it wasn't going to work out. I really enjoyed spending time with him, he was a good influence on me,  but I had let my worrying get the best of me. I expressed these concerns to him and he told me: "Let me worry about me getting hurt".       Oh.      Okay. I guess I can do that, yeah. Novel concept, right? It took a burden that I had mistakenly placed on my own shoulders off. Long story short-things didn't "work out", but for reasons that I hadn't anticipated at the beginning. I learned a lot about myself and about relationships, and don't regret making that step at all (and I'd feel confident in saying that he doesn't either).
      • Scenario 2: Once upon another time I had gone on a few dates with a nice young man. I was confused because we'd go out, have a great time, he'd seem interested, then I wouldn't hear from him for 2 weeks. That went on long enough to go on a few dates. I was always interested enough to go, but never felt like I was getting the chance to really get to know him. I came to to find out later that he had been wrestling with not knowing what was happening with an ex girlfriend who was coming back into town a few months down the road. He was so afraid of dating me and then potentially hurting me, that he never really even tried to date me. Had he actually given me that option, maybe I wouldn't have even wanted pursue a relationship with him. Dear boy: You stressed yourself out for nothing.
      Now at this point you might be thinking to yourself, "Those are awful examples of why I should still pursue things, neither of those instances went anywhere". Alright, alright- touche. I do agree with that statement, but only to some extent. Yes, neither one ended in marriage, but I think both were good experiences, and ones that I am grateful for. I also think that the second example had way more potential than it was given the chance to have.

      I believe that there are two things that you should ask yourself when considering continued dating:
      1. Do I want to spend more time with this person? (Really- do you enjoy your time together, would you enjoy more?)
      2. Are our interactions spiritually appropriate? (Do you feel that dating this person would be dangerous to your spiritual health/standing? Don't ignore that feeling.)
      If you can answer yes to these two questions, then stop your fussing and go out on another date! If the answer to one of these is ever no, then re-evaluate at that point.

      When you decide that you're not going to date someone because of what you might do, or how things might end, or any number of other what-ifs; you are letting yourself get swallowed up in doubt and fear. You're also eliminating the other person's chance to decide what they want. You are so scared of hurting them that you probably are anyway.

      Another step I would recommend, if your conscience is still plaguing you, is to express to them what your hesitations are. Tell them "I really enjoy spending time with you, I like you, I think you're groovy, but I have fears that yada yada". Then let them decide if they are willing to take the risk. Stop deciding for them. I repeat, stop deciding for them. I can think of more than one guy that I would have jumped at the opportunity to try things with if they had just given me the chance to.

      When it comes to dating, there are not a lot of things that we have full control over. We can't really control if they like us, or if we like them. We can't control if they say yes or no, or if they have fun with us, or whether or not we get severe indigestion on the date.

      We can, however, control the opportunities that we give ourselves, and what we choose to do with those opportunities.

      So look at the opportunities in your lap.
      Ask yourself the two questions. 
      And then move the heck forward!