Most Unlikely Place to be Asked Out

"Pull your pants down."

"Pull your pants down please."

"You need to pull your pants down."

"Do you actually own a skateboard?"

HUH? and yes, a hybrid longboard-skateboard. It's pretty and purple and I fall. A lot. Excuse me while I make sure he pees in the urinal and not all over his shoes.

"Oh I have a skateboard but I only ride streets. We should go sometime. I could teach you. I'm a great teacher."

Silence on my end. He probably didn't notice because there were about 20 other people in the bathroom with us, teachers struggling to control small boys and shrieks from defiant youngsters.

Random time to ask someone to hang out, or not considering the unusual things ways guys have approached me. One guy flagged me down on the freeway to tell me that he'd never seen anyone driving that fast. When he looked over to see who the maniac was it was a hot girl. I wasn't driving that fast, no federal offense.

I had a boy leave a note on my car after I parked next to him. One guy told me he appreciated my pinned skirt. The creepy thing there was I didn't know it was pinned, or that there was a slit. He probably knew the label, exact color and stich used.

And then there were those who didn't even ask for a date. The Jamaican who wrapped his arms around my waist and carried me off. My study date who thought study was code for make-out. I didn't think so and the kiss he gave me in the middle of the library came as a surprise. Didn't even have time to tilt my head. He married one of my friends a year later.

Still the guy in the boy's bathroom wins...for now.

insomnia

Peer pressure on Facebook got to me and in a sleepless fit I listed a mere 25 random things about myself. Damn the Man I'm posting it here instead.

25 Random Things

1. I spent 22 years going to sleep with my feet poking out of the covers. I hate them being covered up.

2. At 22 years of age I spent a summer on the beach—in sweats. I haven’t been warm since. Now my feet lie under layers of blankets and freezing the air trapped below the covers.

3. I fought with a Kenyan over the natural color of my eyes and hair.

4. Two times I have opened the door and promptly flown across the room due to tackle.

5. I hate eating, it is a chore. I’ve thought about being hooked up to an IV but I’m terrified of needles.

6. I sometimes wish to be a scientist to solve this food issue by inventing a pill that can be taken once a week.

7. Order stresses me out.

8. I wanted to learn to snowboard to get over my fear of heights. I am still afraid of heights but no longer scared to run into a tree. It doesn’t hurt much and leaves a fantastic bruise.

9. I throw pencils across rooms without thinking. And not just a I-was-flicking-it-and-got-wild toss but an arm-cocked baseball throw. So far there have been no casualties.

10. I have a dartboard in my room because it reminds me of my father.

11. I’ve always wanted a younger sister.

12. I think the world looks its best at 3 a.m.

13. I have allergies 12 months a year.

14. I love to bake as long as I don’t have to use a recipe or measuring cups and spoons.

15. If there is someone or something I don’t like I will spend a good few hours thinking of reasons/ways to like them.

16. As was the case with salmon. I enjoy it because it has Omega-3s.

17. I got a D in my philosophy class (which I loved) because a boy from it was stalking me and I stopped going to it. Or because I refused to take the final.

18. It took me two summers to learn to ride a bike. Actually I learned one summer and then forgot how the next. Thus dispelling an age-old saying.

19. I fantasize of running (literally) away from life two to three times a week, Forest Gump style. It is incredibly painful for me to run more than 800 meters.

20. I believe in love at first sight and have been victim to it once. We still talk.

21. I have been a fugitive in the state of Utah.

22. I love to Latin dance but when I get bored with my partner I lose the count and end up off beat.

23. Hooker is my favorite word but wasn’t until a certain boy’s fascination with Captain Hook led to a derivation of his name.

24. Every pair of shoes I’ve worn have given me blisters, 1/3 of which bled. I still get blisters when I switch styles of shoes, i.e. from pumps to flats to sneakers to skate shoes.

25. I hate making eye contact with people. Hookers always make comments on the hue.

My Perfect Valentine

I feel that my previous post dismissing Valentine’s Day as a mediocre holiday upset some. The day failed me many years (I was almost attacked by a very angry Latina in ’96) and I failed my readers. But this year Cupid listened to my heart and produced a wonderful day. While an afternoon rolling in powder and dodging trees had me laughing and more than made up for ’96, something better was in store—the AVP Hot Winter Nights Tour.

They brought the beach to the E-Center and I spent the night watching some of my favorite boys play volleyball. What I didn’t know is that I would talk to each of the eight players between and after the matches. I wish I would have. I could have practiced in the mirror. I imagine it would have gone something like this:

Casey (Jennings)! Hey it’s been a while since the Carriage Cove days. You remember Stacey? Heather? We’re all doing fine.

Great to see you again. You’ve really improved your outdoor game.

Well, see ya.

And though I haven’t previously met Lauren Fendrick we do have a mutual acquaintance which would create an instant bond.

Lauren. You played with Brittany two summers ago right?

She’s a riot.

Yeah, she lived down the street from me.

No, it was in Lamar, before her family moved to Fowler.

Well, she was older than me and hung out with my sisters more. Funny story. One summer, or maybe it was fall, they decided to build a fort. Unfortunately there were some unsightly bushes and branches in their way and they thought it best to have a little bonfire. It wasn’t quite as controlled as it needed to be. I remember the fire truck rushing by only to stop five houses down. A few of the flames had landed on the front of the house. Nothing too major but definitely some smoke damage. I’d better get back to my seat. Good luck in the final game.

Instead my cool composure crumbled and Travis had to ask them if I could get a picture with them. I don’t know what is more embarrassing, that he asked and I am still excited about it or that I’ve posted it for the world to see.

Love me for what I am.

Wedding Cake

We all have our addictions. One of mine involves a specific food given at a specific function—wedding cake. You could say I’m a nut about weddings, but that would be a lie. You could say that cake is my guilty pleasure and you’d also be greeting Satan at the gates of hell. A safer truth might be that I’m a little obsessed with frosting and wedding cakes usually have the richest icing at least ¼ inch thick. That’s more than enough to make me ill.

It hasn’t. I’ve never felt like I couldn’t eat another bite of wedding cake. In a room full of beautiful people dressed in a glamorous version of their Sunday best hidden behind flowers, statues and gazeboes it seems idyllic. “Once on the lips, forever on the hips.” Not in this fairytale world. Each bite of cake is romantically filled with ignorance…er hope. There isn’t even the bitter aftertaste of aging that comes with birthday cake.

With this in mind I managed to snag three pieces of wedding cake in the last week. To taste two of them I ventured with my roommate Stacey in the frozen darkness further than my 15 mile radius. Her co-worker/friend’s reception in Layton offered both a chocolate and vanilla treat, fondant included. Again most people shrink away from that but it’s the part I love. I am disgusting.

Then a stroke of luck when Eric called to inform me that Benji’s brother was getting married and Ben could smuggle me a piece of cake. Here’s where things get tricky. No, not Ben sneaking a piece of cake, although it took some serious sweet talk to convince him it was a worthy cause. It’s tricky that Eric knows of my love for wedding cake. In moments of desperation when no one would marry I devised a fail proof plan to enjoy all the wedding cake I wanted.

It involves a diamond and a fake fiancé, Eric to be exact. Bless him for being accommodating, but I’ve never felt justified in dragging him around the Valley entrapped in a lie to sample cakes. It could happen though and when the mood strikes I think he’s on board.

Or he’s desperately searching for weddings to attend to placate me with cake so he doesn’t have to follow through with Operation Happily Ever After.

February Where Have You Gone?

The shortest and coldest month I push Feb. to the back of my mind. It's a place of ugliness, a time when I want to shut out the world and hide under 50 blankets. Even if you took one off everyday I'd be safe until Spring Break. Plus it's the month of my least favorite holiday—Valentine's Day.

I'm something of a romantic in my own warped, optimistically pessimistic way, but a national holiday that forces people to show affection seems wrong. Flowers on the 14th smell of desperation and conformity, but flowers on the 15th bring the aroma of love. And so this year for the holiday I've tricked Travis into a road trip to California. Just me and my brother braving Donner Pass.

In anticipation I thought it wise to prepare some treats, and I do enjoy all holidays even bottom of the list Valentine's Day. (Actually I love making Valentine's cards; a certain someone received one of my best. I don't think he understood it though...) I searched for the conversation hearts that mark the season. Many years I agonized about giving those candies to undeserving boys. I carefully read each one and tried to give away the generics; Awesome, Hi, Stay 10 ft away. If only.

The shock of not finding them equaled the disappointment of seeing Easter candy already. It's not enough that Mother Nature screwed with my summer sending me snow into June. Marketing now takes my holidays ending them before they've begun.

I didn't even get my yearly cream puffs on the first. It's as if February didn't exist, a leap year of the month in 2009.

Cross Wires

Looking down at my watch I noticed Minnie’s white gloved hands stuck at awkward angles, freezing time. I’m sure they’d been like that for days before I noticed. As a child I relied on my parents for time management. Minnie was more of an accessory, the worn red leather strap a piece of flair in my daily routine. I never imagined the ticks would stop and promptly reported to my mother for a fix.

An old battery she said and a new one should do the trick. We replaced the battery and Minnie’s arms resumed their circular movements until they stopped again a couple of weeks later. No battery could fix this problem. Something in my body causes magnetization in the watch and it stops working.

Not scientifically or medically proven but word on the street is there are some of us freaks and the simple solution involves putting a layer between the back of the watch and skin. My watches to date have a piece of leather from the tags on old jeans super-glued on the back.

I’ve since stopped wearing watches. Who needs one with a cell phone? But I was reminded of the magnetic weirdness last week when electrical circuits went berserk around me. It began Tuesday night as I did laundry. We trip the breaker in our apartment often and have almost figured out how many appliances need to be turned off to blow dry our hair. With voltage problems and a temperamental washing machine laundry can be a challenge. That night I’d managed to stop the washing machine and at least one switch on the breaker needed to be reset. The hard part was knowing which switch.

Three different hands attempted to decipher the line of switches, heavy black lines drawn through outdated posts. The combination looks like ancient Hebrew and I looked on helplessly flipping random switches. No logical order and I probably switched the same three five different times. Eventually something worked. Maybe it was the angry kick I gave the machine, but it proceeded to spin and proceeded through my day. If I had only known that the electronics in my life would kick back at the worst moment.

High-strung and dead tired I arrived at the newspaper ready to revamp the sports section. After the first hour and several reboots of my work computer I conceded to merely enhancing the sports agate. By the second hour I was running between two computers and dealing with three helpful co-workers and one IT guy. They’d been restarting my computer and ordering it around with an occasional password from me. I took prep scores at a second computer that asked me to verify every letter I typed in. Try typing a sentence and hitting enter between each character. It’s a nightmare.

As the phone rang for the millionth time and I cursed loudly under my breath the electronics burst with their final showdown. The phones died mid-conversation. Strangely I felt relief for the full nine minutes of non-productivity. Then the phones came back and the computer debugged itself.

I walked across the room and static-shocked myself.