"If I ever become like that . . .

promise me that you'll run me over with my own car." Most of my close friends and family have heard me say that many times when describing things I never wanted to be, i.e. ditzy, or mentally blond rather than just physically. However, in a spree of uncoordinated stupid moves, last Friday started out just that way . . . with me almost running myself over with my own car. I know what you're thinking, "How on earth did you manage such a stupid (blond) thing?" Well, I'll tell you. I had just pulled up outside my office and had a bunch of stuff in the passenger side that I needed to take into work. So I unlocked the doors and walked around the back side of the car to get everything out. Just as I walked around the rear passenger corner of my Jetta it began to roll backward and just missed me by about an inch (which I may have noticed earlier had I not been trying send a text). Who knew that road was slanted?!? Anyway, since I'd unlocked the doors before I got out I was able to just open the door and pull the break. But that's so not the point! The point is that as stupid as this is, it was just the beginning of a long list of lame and uncoordinated things that I managed all weekend!

I had to run into a shoe store to exchange a pair and as I was pulling up I accidently pulled too close to the curb and ran up on it. I got out of the car and walked into the side view mirror of the truck parked next to me. Once I got in the store I tried on a pair of shoes and proceeded to fall off the shoes. How does one fall off shoes?? When I was filling out the paper for the exchange I dropped the pen, not once but twice.

Over the next two days I also managed the following bright moves: I went into my designers office during the day to talk to them and almost tipped the chair over because I was sitting in it backward. I almost dropped my lunch because I came around a corner too quickly and there was someone standing there. I had my dog in my car and had to hit the brakes because someone pulled in front of me and he just about flew into the front seat. I took him for a walk and he got distracted by another dog and turned his body so I tripped over him . . . three time! On my way into dinner with my roommate I was texting someone and came less than an inch from smashing my face into yet another side view mirror - but this one was on a big truck so it was a lot higher and would have hurt a lot more than the first one. The wind caught a paper that I sat on top of my car - even though it was under other stuff - and blew it half way down the street so I had to juggle everything I was carrying and drag my dog with me to go catch it. I dropped my phone in the middle of a conversation and managed to kick it when I bent to get it and now the screens all scratched. Sadly, the list doesn't end there but there are somethings that even I don't want to relive.

I couldn't figure out what was wrong with me and I came to a conclusion. I'm having an out patient surgery in a couple weeks and because of that I'm not allowed to take any pain killers other than Tylenol for the next two weeks so that means no Excedrin for the migrains or extra Sudafed for sinus pressure etc etc. So my conclusion is this . . . this is what I'm like when I'm not on drugs. And those are just the legal kind. Go figure.

The End of The World

The other I almost died. And I don't mean in the "that was so embarrassing I almost died" sort of way. I mean that I literally almost died in a life flashing before my eyes, apocalyptical, second coming kind of way.

So I was sound asleep and dreaming one of those crazy dreams that are wrought with symbolism that normally I'd pick apart for hours when in my more consciouses mindset. Then suddenly my bed started shaking so hard I thought for sure the Wasatch Fault and decided to let loose the wrath of God. I pictured myself standing outside in my pajama's in the rubble that was once my home, and the only thing that kept running through my mind was, "my homeowners insurance is going to skyrocket." With that I sat straight up ready to grab my dog and head for the nearest doorway when I realized that nothing else in the room was moving. . . and my dog was missing. Turns out that Chuck the Wonder Dog and moved from his usual sleeping spot to the foot of my bed where he was out of my eye line. At that point he was overcome with a case of the scratches and braced himself against my bed so as to get a better angle on the tougher spots. Who knew one dog could bring to pass such damage?

And while I didn't really almost die, I did learn some valuable lessons. 1) Always write your dreams down before you forget due to impending natural disaster, 2) Chuck and his 75 pounds of fun really needs to be locked in a kennel at night in order to prevent wandering.

Okay, while none of this really happen, it totally could have. Chuck really has braced himself against my bed to scratch making it shake like mad, but it makes for a pretty boring story. But honestly, isn't the mental picture of my in a panic with some crazy bed head hair totally worth the lies? Face it, there's always deceit in storytelling.

It's the date that would not end

Preface
By popular demand I've decided to post this story. While it happened about five years ago, it's well worth repeating. I was just going to copy my journal entry directly but I changed my mind once I started reading it and I've now filled in a much of the missing details that I didn't put in there originally. Now keep in mind that this is a VERY long story but if you enjoy laughing at the expense of others (in this case, mine), then it's probably well worth your time. Enjoy!

Chapter One: The Phone Call

Friday September 5, 2003

I have this friend from church, Tina*, and she and her husband, Gary, have had a friend staying with them this past week. His name is Rick. I met him at this pool party/barbecue thing at Lauren's house on Monday. I’m sure he’s nice enough but not really anyone that I would ever look even consider dating or for that matter ever even give a second glance to. Anyway, they swore that they wouldn’t try to do the hook-up, matchmaking crap that I hate so much. They both claimed they hated that stuff too but I guess they lied. Last night he called and asked me out. I guess he’s going out of town for a week but then he’ll be back on Thursday or Friday. What was I supposed to say? I’m very annoyed with them for this. Had Tina given me a warning and told me he had my number I could have been prepared with an excuse (or just not answered at all). I hate the idea of sympathy dating and that’s exactly what this will be. Dating sucks enough as it is – and now I’m required to go on a date I don’t want to be on just out of pity. Or maybe it’s a lack of self-confidence or self-assurance on my part because I didn’t have the courage to just tell him that I just wasn’t interested. But, I guess I’ll just look on the bright side – it’s free food.

Chapter Two: The Car

Sunday September 14, 2003

So Rick was suppose to be back into town yesterday but he called and said that his flight had been canceled and he wouldn’t be in until 10ish and he wants to get together after Church today. I really don’t want to go out with him on a Sunday but he just wouldn’t give it up and he kept going off about how he’d only be in town for a few days, blah blah blah. I know that I’m evil for doing this but Rick has a very . . . umm . . . prominent nose and we just can’t help making fun of it. Marion just keeps going on with the nose jokes but then she got on me about being nice and giving him a chance. She said that if I’d give a big black, drug dealing criminal with a “baby mama” a chance then I have to give the skinny white, clown nosed army boy a chance too. Sometimes I hate her logic. Why can’t dating be easier? Tina is so going to pay for this whole Rick thing.

I don’t think I’ve had a more miserable experience in my entire life. He’s a nice enough guy (if you can get past the I Should Be Committed vibe), but uumm . . . eww. When he came into the house to get me Jet (Marion's son) was talking to him and he noticed how hairy Rick’s arms were and pointed it out (gotta love toddlers). Rick proceeded to tell us a story about how when he was deployed once the kids there were so enthralled by how hairy he was and called him the gorilla or something like that. So wrong. It’s one thing to be hairy, it’s another thing all together to brag about it.

So I had my hair down and on the way out the door he tells me that I should get something to pull my hair back because he’s driving a convertible like it’s something so cool and I should be impressed. He was wrong. My first thought was, “Are you kidding? I don’t want people to see me in your car!” but it got even worse when I actually got outside. His "freakin' awesome convertible" was an early 90’s Geo Metro! And to make matters worse, it was bright banana yellow! Way to draw attention to yourself. If it weren't such a piece I would think it was a mid-life crisis car. So I get in the car and then he makes me wait for a minute so that he can get his hat out of the trunk because he didn’t want to get a sunburn on that big ol’ schnooze. He then proceeded to reach into the backseat to get a screwdriver to pop the trunk with!! While he was digging around in the trunk I looked around the car and found that the drivers side door handle was broken, forcing him to open the door from the outside, and the glove box was being held shut by duct tape. Trying to be the optimist, I figured he just wasn’t worldly. (feel free to giggle now) I could have cried when he got back into the car wearing some sort of army hat with a HUGE brim and a string that pulled up under his chin to keep it on. Some people just shouldn’t be allowed out in public on their own. Oh, so back to the nose. All I wanted to do all night was paint it red and see if it would honk. I’m evil, I know. And I’m okay with that.

Chapter Three: Hell On Earth

Rick decided that he wanted to take me miniature golfing. Are we in high school again?!? Not really a thrilling one-on-one activity in my opinion but I just kept thinking that at least he wasn’t trying to take me to a dark theater so he could “make his move”. I think I would have had to put my foot down on that one (wait for it . . . ). So on the way there I was making a mental list of all the things that I can do while golfing that would change his mind about ever wanting to go out with me again. There’s nothing like preventative action. Upon arrival at the golf course I promptly took my golf club and began doing a balancing act down the barrier of the first hole which quickly turned into a twirling routine (for those of you taking notes, golf clubs are not well balanced enough to use as a baton and will throw off your balance, especially when walking down a cement barrier that is only three inches wide). When that didn’t bug him I began humming a circus like tune. No reaction. Dang.

Somewhere between the first and the sixth hole he started talking like we were in the beginning of a whirlwind relationship with the next likely step being Elvis walking me down the aisle in the Chapel of Love in Vegas. Seriously, he really asked me how much I owe in student loans because he wanted to know what he was getting in for! Are you kidding me?!? Normally I would have just told him that it wasn’t any of his business and I wasn’t going to discuss money with him but instead I saw it as an opportunity to add to the list of reasons why he shouldn’t want to date me and gave him a number with an extra $25,000 tacked onto the total! And he just said, “good to know,” and went on like I had told him my total was just $25. I don’t remember what I said next but I know that I was down by the hole and he was up at the beginning and he shouted (and I mean SHOUTED) across the course, “Are you trying to make me fall in love with you?” How does one even being to answer a question like that when the answer is a resounding, “Hell no!”? People all over the course were staring at me, waiting for my answer with baited breath. I couldn’t think of anything to say and I’m afraid that what I said may have just egged him on even more. “It’s no fun if you have to try,” is what slipped from my lips and then I looked down at my ball and let my hair fall in front of my face so he couldn’t see the look of disbelief and ‘holy crap’ that seemed to have taken up permanent residence there.

Oh, but wait, it gets better! He kept referring to all of the women that he could bring home to meet his mom and what kind of women he thought she would like. Seriously, all he was doing was giving me more material for things to do that he wouldn’t/shouldn’t like. He also asked me if I’d consider going to the Temple to take out my endowments without going on a mission or getting married. I was trying everything I could think of to get him off my back so I said that I had thought about it but then I changed my mind because that would mean that Id have to buy a whole new wardrobe and I just wasn't ready to give up my miniskirts. He just nodded and said that that was totally understandable. What does a girl have to do get a date to take her home? Fake an aneurysm?

Around the 15th hole (yes, there were 16 holes on this course – I was starting to wonder if he’d tricked me somehow and we’d started the course over again without my noticing) he started talking about how hungry he was and that he’d seen this grill he wanted to try out, which of course means that he intended on taking me to dinner. I began to weep on the inside at that point. So as we’re being seated in the restaurant our waiter asked us if we were from the area and Rick had decided to take the reins when it came to talking to the "staff" and everytime I tried to say something he cut me off and answered for me. He informed the waiter that he was from California and that I was from Utah and somehow he slipped it in there that we were LDS. Is he crazy? You don’t go advertising that you’re LDS when you’re out at a restaurant on a Sunday. Has no one ever taught him the concept of keeping the Sabbath holy? (wait for it, it gets better) He then proceeded to ask the waiter if they served non-alcoholic beer. They don't serve that kind of stuff in North Carolina! Everyone just drinks regular beer. Actually, do they serve that stuff anywhere?? I saw the look on the waiters face when he answered him and then he turned to take my drink order and looked more confused than anything because he could tell I was trying really hard not to laugh. I think the dinner conversation was probably the most horrific detail of the entire night. He was telling me stories of his mission and how both he and his brother were sent home early because their mission presidents ‘didn’t like them’ or were ‘intimidated by them’. Did he think I was an idiot? Seriously, that doesn’t happen unless you’re both preaching the same out there kinda concepts that don’t follow church doctrine or if you’ve both got authority issues. I’m thinking it was the former. I don't think I've ever scarfed down a meal so quickly in my life. I figured the benefits outweighed the consequences because he'd probably think I was a slob and a pig but in the end I think he assumed I just had a hardy appetite. But I had to do what I could to get out of there before he humiliated me in front of any other members of the staff.

Chapter Four: Homeward Bound

On the way out he started talking about this new movie that he wanted to go see (while he subtly pulled the breath spray out of his pocket). It was at that point that I realized that this was the date from hell and it was never going to end if I didn’t put a stop to it right then and there. At that very moment I knew without a doubt why God had made me the go-to-girl when Lauren broke her foot and needed help with her paper-route at 3am every morning for the last six weeks! It was so I’d have an excuse to get out of this awful date! I told him that it was just getting too late and I had to get home so that I’d be able to get up in the morning. After minimal begging he resigned to the fact that he wasn’t going to be able to try out his new yawn move in the theater and we headed back to my house. And that’s when my praying began. “Please, please, if there is a God, please let Brady be home and be sitting in the living room when we get there. Please. Seriously, please?” Apparently all of the begging worked but I was still prepared with my keys in my hand just in case he wasn’t visible through the window (and when I say “keys in my hand” I don’t mean to unlock the door, I mean sticking out between my fingers like the teach you in self-defense classes so I could gouge his eyes out if he tried to clean my tonsils with his tongue). I was out of that car and in the front room before he even had the engine shut off – but that can take a while when you have to do that with a screwdriver too (okay, so I made that last part up but the rest of the story is entirely true). Brady looked a little shell shocked when I came plowing through the door so hard I almost put a hole in the wall but when he saw who was following me he quickly understood. He looked almost constipated because was fighting so hard to keep in the laughter. (Thanks for you help, Brady. Appreciate it.) So after a little army chitchat between the boys I was finally able to get him out the door and deadbolt it behind him. Then I quickly shut all the blinds and turned off all the lights so if he came back I could pretend we weren’t home and then fell down laughing so hard I thought I was going to pass out. At the very least I can say that I don’t think things could ever get much worse.

Chapter Five: I Was Wrong

Monday September 15, 2003

Things didn’t get a lot worse, but they certainly didn’t end with Rick strutting out of my front door like he’d just won a blue ribbon at the fair. He freakin’ called me at 8:30 this morning! I run someone else’s stupid paper route at 3am every day so that she can support her family which gets me home around 6 so that I can sleep for another three hours before having to get up to go to my own job and he calls me to tell me that he’d had a “lovely” time last night. Some men are totally clueless. Then, begging for reaffirmation, he has the nerve to say, “I hope the feeling’s mutual.” I was so far beyond being pissed. He called me from Tina’s land line instead of his cell phone so I didn’t know it was him which only served to tick me off more because otherwise, you can guarantee I wouldn’t have answered. I was so dang close to not even saying hello and just ripping into who I thought was going to be Tina for giving him my number but then I thought better of it because I figured it was probably Gary that had given it to him and not her. Good thing I thought that one through first because that could have ended badly for Tina. He actually asked me out again too! He wants to get together again before he heads back to California but he's going to be out of town for the next couple days so he's thinking later in the week. I think I might just have a previously undiagnosed fatal illness. . . actually, I’m sure of it. Or maybe I've been exposed to some highly contageous disease that causes infertility in men and he'll have to avoid me. (Does something like that exist? I'll have to look it up later for future reference.) He obviously has issues and if I just tell him that I’m not interested he might just break into the house and try to boil my bunny or something. I’ve just got to get through the next week until he goes back to California and then I can change my phone number like I should have done the first time he called, you know, before he knew where I lived.

Epilogue

So you may have noticed the attached photo of the toddler sized teddy bear that goes along with this blog. Now while it would have made for a perfect ending if he'd given that to me on our tour of the underworld, that is not where it came from. A couple years ago I was attending a ward Valentines Day activity and they played a game of sorts and had everyone go around and tell their worst dating stories. Everyone was filled with angst and heartbreak about how their date left the dance with someone else, yada yada yada. While it took me a good ten minutes to tell this story (and I even left a lot of the details out) I still won the contest with an overwhelming vote and thus came home with the teddy bear. At least I got something out of it, right?


*names have been changed to protect the innocent, but not the names of those that you could guess anyway.

The Singles Ward, part 1

Is it possible to start my blog with a digital eye roll? Well, either way - imagine you just saw it because you're going to be rolling your own in a minute or two (depending on how fast you can read, of course). So I'm one of the oldest members of my current LDS singles ward and with that I like to think comes a certain level of maturity and an unalienable right to mock those around me. Okay, so maybe not but it's about the only thing that gets me through three hours of church with the youngins. Well, that and I'm just not a very nice person, at least not in my head. I would never say most of these things out loud or actually to the offending person - but obviously there's nothing stopping me from writing about them. So much for the nice side, huh? My bad.

So just a couple weeks ago I was sitting in Sacrament Meeting and as usual I was paying more attention to the people around me than I was to who was speaking or what they were speaking about. I think I'm a speakers worst nightmare (I'm worse than a 3-year-old, turning around in my seat, laughing out loud, the occasional paper airplane). So near the back of the chapel I notice a girl who has her hair all done up and fancy like and my first thought is, "How long did it take her to do that and why on earth would you do it for church?" And then I saw it . . . the gleam of jewels coming from her coifed do. She was wearing a tiara. I had to do a double and triple take. On my third glance I noticed that not only was she wearing the tiara she also had on a cape - not like a super hero cape (in this instance I think that would have been less of an attention grabber considering the average age of my singles ward) but like a fancy-schmancy 'going to the opera' type cape. My jaw dropped and I turned to my roommate to see if she too had noticed the fashion faux pau. By the shocked look on her face I was sure I wasn't imaging things. I did my best to forget about the pre-spell Sleeping Beauty in the back and listen to the speaker . . . but I have no idea what they talked about so I obviously didn't do a very good job.

As soon as the meeting was over I made a beeline for the door as I always do. The reasons for this are four fold, 1) to avoid talking to people who giggle, 2) to avoid the bishopric and their need to give everyone a calling, 3) to get the best seat in the back of Sunday School where you're just out of the eye line of the teacher, and 4) prime seats for watching the dating drama of the socially challenged. The distractions began about five minutes after the opening prayer. There was some sort of an altercation going on in the back of the room! Everyone turned to see what kind of small animal was being tortured . . . and then she popped through the doorway like a cork in a bottle. The princess had removed her cape for class but with that released the true expanse of her dress. The pre-discussed offender was wearing a prom dress. Now I've seen this kind of thing happen before. In every family ward across the nation, it is customary for the girls to wear their prom dresses and the guys to wear their tuxedos to church the Sunday after the prom. And if this girl just went to prom last week then she shouldn't be attending a singles ward. Anyway, after she forced her way through the door she swished up the aisle causing even more of a ruckus as she knocked peoples scriptures out of their hands and toppled chairs. She found her usual seat in the second row (gotta be close to the front where everyone can admire her fashion sense) and spread out her gown - taking up not two, but three chairs. Including the one on her left that was currently being occupied by someone else. I think that the best part of my story isn't that she wore the dress, but that she did it again, with a different prom dress, the next week. I guess she's taking the "prom season" to heart.

And with that . . . I'm transferring my records to a new singles ward next week. I'm sure there will be more to come from there in the near future. Wish me luck.