So Many New Things

I’ve learned a couple things these past few weeks I haven’t posted anything. . . Well, I’ll go back and do a small recap of my adventures and interject my newly acquired knowledge (or witnesses to knowledge I already had).

I went to Los Angeles with some friends during the weekend of Mother’s Day. We spent time at Disneyland, California Adventure, The J. Paul Getty Museum, Santa Monica, Hollywood, and several restaurants. While on this trip, I learned some key things: my jeans aren’t as flattering as I thought they were, women should always wear bras even if they’re not busty (their lack of bra is definitely not as flattering as they think they are). Churros should be eaten away from the body and only when you’re dry and full garlic meals shouldn’t be eaten while on a date. Women talk to more strangers than men do. I get scolded if I buckle my backpack into the Tower of Terror seatbelt. Martha Andrea and I look cute in a similar cut shirt. I still don’t like tomatoes. too many teenage girls think they’re really cute in Winnie the Pooh ear barrettes. Hannah Montana really is taking over the world. I can’t eat a full burger from the ESPN Zone without being sick and no one should eat a full Monte Cristo sandwich from the Blue Bayou by themselves. Some people have weird ideas at what constitutes “fine art”. Gina Davis looks a bit older than I thought. PT Cruisers have terrible turning radiuses and weird shiny distracting dashboards, and Jeff snores.

The trip was a blast.

Then upon returning, I learned that my dog gets both exhausted and wounded at pet care places, I’m not as rich as I’d like to think, the government really doesn’t want to give me my six hundred dollars, and my bed is my favorite.

Since then, I learned that I didn’t like the second Narnia movie or Golden Compass. My melon colored shirt makes me look both tan and thinner so I’ll be wearing that every day. A Master Butler taught me that gum doesn’t freshen breath and that when a lady leaves the table, the man should order a new napkin for her. He also taught me how to eat cheesecake. I never knew you needed both a fork and a spoon.

Today I learned that t-shirts starring Bo Duke will invoke teasing.

Holy cow, that’s a lot. . . And that was only in two weeks.

Dating panel

Recently I was asked to be on a dating panel. It’s exactly what you think; six people sitting up in front of a crowd, answering questions. As I looked down the table at the other girls in the panel, high school came to mind. I was sitting with the Prom queen, the head cheerleader, and the captain of the chess club. I guess that made me the class clown. The guys had an equal division of clicks. Yeah, I couldn’t figure out how I fit in either.

The questions were pretty great. There were ones like “How should I ask a girl out?” or “If a girl ignores me, is she playing hard to get or is she not interested?” My answers were pretty simple too; “Just ask her. Chances are good that she’ll say yes (that is if you don’t display any creepy mutant factors)” and “Move along Captain Stalker. . . she’s not interested. Find another prey to harass.” There were other questions addressing whether or not a first date is alright on Valentines day, if and when the girl should pay, what a woman wants in a man, etc.

It was interesting though. Every question was pretty much asking the same thing: How do I not fail at dating? Finally, after several different versions of this one question I pointed out that everyone in the room was in their thirties or forties and single - we’ve all failed. That’s why they held the dating panel in the first place. The only way not to fail at all in dating is to not date. . . But then you’re sitting on your couch every night with no life to speak of and although you’re not having your heart broken, you’re not progressing either- which in my book is the biggest failure of them all. Go date already.

There’s this weird thing in Utah that people only feel comfortable dating someone when they know that person is 100% interested or they’ve already established that they’re a couple. My question is this – How do you know if someone fits you before you’ve tried them on for size? If anyone has ever made you go “Hmm. That’s interesting” at all. . . Ask them out. See what makes them tick. . .They could fit you perfectly.

After the panel, I was approached by several different men saying things like “I’ve learned so much from you blah blah blah. ..” and I just got frustrated. I didn’t feel like anything I shared was new. It was just common sense. All I learned was that the number one thing a man is looking for in a woman is punctuality and in order to get a man’s attention, I need to drop a handkerchief.

wardrobe malfunctions

Every time someone asks me about my most embarrassing moment, I have to ponder it quite a bit. . . It’s not that I haven’t had blush-enducing events in my life – it’s that I’ve had so many and have decided that being mortified by them doesn’t make them any less embarrassing. I also believe that the amount of witnesses to said event also determines the level of embarrassment.

A good example of not enough witnesses was when I was on a date in Rexburg Idaho in the winter. That’s not the embarrassing part. My date was a pretty cool guy, complete with a Jeep. At the end of the date he came to my side of the jeep, opened my door, and reached for my hand. Luckily I took it because as soon as my foot hit the ice covered ground, it slid. Both feet shot between his and we were stuck, holding hands as he straddled my body, and attempted to keep me from hitting the ground. I was suspended in his grasp but during my fall, my dress rode up my body and became more of a cummerbund around my waist instead of the gown it was.

We laughed about it, but I wasn’t necessarily embarrassed. Everyone falls prey to the Rexburg ice sheet.

Another example was when I was walking with a group of friends from a college event. Strangely, I was dressed up again. We were the first group in long line of students leaving the building and as we walked, I felt the elastic in my slip’s waistband pop. I said nothing.

I remained silent as we continued walking and I could feel the slip slowly work its way down my waist. . . Soon we started to hear laughing from behind. I knew my slip was sticking far below the bottom of my skirt but I remained engrossed in our conversation, trying to walk a little straddled so I could keep it up. But to no avail. There was no way I could keep it up when it slid completely over the butt and hit the knees. The slip fell to the ground and I just stepped out of it as we kept walking. Laughter erupted from the dozens of students behind us but my friends remained oblivious to the situation.

I can’t say that was embarrassing because my friends never knew what happened (Ok NOW they do). And the people behind us had no idea who I was. . . And as far as I know, the slip is still on the sidewalk.

I guess I’m more embarrassed by things that you can’t laugh off, like rude behavior or meanness.

Huh. This reminds me. . . I need a new slip.