It's been a year since I have even thought about forming my next relationship at Starbucks.
BUT I moved into a new place this year and now I go to a different Starbucks. It's the Starbucks I swore I'd never go back to - the one off of Hillcrest that, at one time, hosted far too many females for my liking.
I come here regularly (since it's within walking distance from my townhome) but I'm usually busy with school, reading, or downing coffee to notice anyone.
Now, however, I'm far too busy watching the tall, dark and handsome barista making my coffee. (Note: I do like men. I looked up the origin of "barista" just to be sure I was using it right. It is of Italian origin and is used for both males and females. This is a male barista.)
At first I was like, 'I must figure out why he is working at Starbucks! He could be a starving artist peddling his drawings on the street and working here on the side; he could be a jazz musician waiting for the saxophone to return to popularity meanwhile making hot java; he could be a student paying his way through college; he could be a dancer; or this could be his real job.'
To be truthful, I would be fine with all of the options except for the last one. I am a highly ambitious person and I surround myself with people who are the same way. You have to be interesting, want something, work for something, and have that "never say die" attitude. If you're just working at Starbucks and smoking weed on the side, then I'm sorry but it's just not going to work out between us.
After overhearing a conversation between him and a regular, he is a student studying Business. IMPORTANT FACT: he does not go to SMU. Thank God. I'm sorry, but SMU boys are just...well they're driving me nuts. This was music to my ears.
Ok, so now that I've done some covert background research, it is time for action. Next time I think I'll ask him for some water or something with my coffee and hopefully I'll say something funny. We'll see about that.
For now, I'll just keep coming back and spending money on overpriced coffee. But now I have a perfectly good reason to: I'm basically supporting a student trying to achieve his dreams in the Business world.
I should be given a medal.
Showing posts with label boys. Show all posts
Showing posts with label boys. Show all posts
Friday, September 30, 2011
Sunday, September 25, 2011
The Cutie at Work
So a wave of new people started work at my office on Monday. Among them was an attractive 20-something male. I immediately cursed my decision to not do my hair that day.
I was sitting at my desk doing my work when my boss brought him over to meet me.
"Haley, I want you to meet Walker."
I acted like I had never seen him before in my life and had no idea a hottie was now in close proximity 3 days a week.
"Hi!" I stuck out my hand. "Nice to meet you! Welcome to Swingle Collins!"
My boss gave me a funny look like: 'Why are you in such a good mood at 9 am? P.S. you're doing bitch work today.'
"It's nice to meet you, too Haley," he said. He might as well have gotten down on one knee because, well, he sounded really sincere.
"Haley," my boss started, "We are going to have to move you. Since Walker is a producer (aka a higher position than you), he's going to need your desk."
"Oh no problem at all!" I said. "Let me just grab some of my stuff!" Que big smile. My boss looks at me like: 'Who smiles about getting kicked out of their desk??'
I get up and follow my boss out into the lobby. She then turns to me and goes, "By moving you, I meant that you actually have no desk and no computer now. This is just until the renovations are done in two weeks. For now, just ask Fara, Misty or April if they need help with anything."
Super. All of the stuff I usually do demands a computer. That damn cutie!
"Ok, will do."
So I get work done and Monday is over. P.S. I still haven't found out if he is married yet so that is on the to-do list for Wednesday.
Wednesday rolls around and without a computer or desk, I don't have anything to do. Therefore, I go over and wait by my boss's desk to ask her for something to do. Then, a producer walks up behind me to wait as well and then starts asking me questions: where do I go to school? Why did I choose SMU? What's my major? I start thinking this is odd because I've been here for over a month and everyone in the office already knows about me.
He then asks, "What do you need to ask Michelle (our boss)?"
"Ohh well that new producer needed a desk to work at so I got kicked out of mine so I need work to do that doesn't require a computer," I say.
"Right," he says, "I'm the new producer. Walker, remember?"
My face drops. WTF? I have issues.
"Ohh, right, I was just....umm...I meant that...wellllll..." Thankfully Michelle walks out of her cube and starts asking Walker if he had any trouble signing in. Meanwhile, I am literally cursing myself in my head using any four letter word I can think of. I'm such an idiot.
He turns to go and as he does he says, "Bye, Haley, see you later." Que red face.
I find work to do and then Wednesday is over. I was so embarrassed that I didn't even look for the ring on his finger. I had suffered enough to risk being caught on that.
So it's Friday. I have binders to make and I need my three-hole-punch.
'Perfect!' I think. 'I'll have to go over to my old desk (aka Walker's desk) and get my three-hole-punch.'
I calm down and remind myself what his name is and what he looks like so I don't look so dumb again. I walk over to my old desk and ask him where my three-hole-punch is.
"Umm..I have no idea," he says.
"WHAAAT? You gave away my three-hole-punch?!"
"Ohh, I had no idea they were so important." He smirks.
Trying to gain some composure, I say, "Well, all the other ones in the office suck and that one was brand new." Seriously, if only he knew how awesome that three-hole-punch was and how good ones are so hard to come by, then he wouldn't be looking at me like some psychotic freak who has a mental breakdown over her three-hole-punch. But he doesn't understand. Sigh.
"I think someone may have put it in the supply closet," he says. He is now looking at me with a blank look on his face. I am quickly losing points.
"Ohh, well, that makes perfect sense then. Thanks."
As I am about to turn and walk away, he takes a sip of his coffee with his left hand and there, on his ring finger is a solid gold ring.
"WTF??" I start to think, "WHO drinks using their left hand?? Doesn't he know that when you set a table, the drink goes on the right because everyone drinks with their right hand? I bet he did that on purpose to show that he was taken. Whatever, I can't be with anyone who doesn't understand the severity of a missing three-hole-punch. It obviously wasn't meant to be. It just sucks that our relationship had to come to an end over office supplies...oh and the fact that he's already married. I guess it could have ended over worse things."
I walk back to April's desk, use her three-hole-punch (which isn't as good and I'm having separation anxiety) and resolve that I'm going to be single for the rest of my life.
Oh well, I'm single now and still having the time of my life right? RIGHT!
I was sitting at my desk doing my work when my boss brought him over to meet me.
"Haley, I want you to meet Walker."
I acted like I had never seen him before in my life and had no idea a hottie was now in close proximity 3 days a week.
"Hi!" I stuck out my hand. "Nice to meet you! Welcome to Swingle Collins!"
My boss gave me a funny look like: 'Why are you in such a good mood at 9 am? P.S. you're doing bitch work today.'
"It's nice to meet you, too Haley," he said. He might as well have gotten down on one knee because, well, he sounded really sincere.
"Haley," my boss started, "We are going to have to move you. Since Walker is a producer (aka a higher position than you), he's going to need your desk."
"Oh no problem at all!" I said. "Let me just grab some of my stuff!" Que big smile. My boss looks at me like: 'Who smiles about getting kicked out of their desk??'
I get up and follow my boss out into the lobby. She then turns to me and goes, "By moving you, I meant that you actually have no desk and no computer now. This is just until the renovations are done in two weeks. For now, just ask Fara, Misty or April if they need help with anything."
Super. All of the stuff I usually do demands a computer. That damn cutie!
"Ok, will do."
So I get work done and Monday is over. P.S. I still haven't found out if he is married yet so that is on the to-do list for Wednesday.
Wednesday rolls around and without a computer or desk, I don't have anything to do. Therefore, I go over and wait by my boss's desk to ask her for something to do. Then, a producer walks up behind me to wait as well and then starts asking me questions: where do I go to school? Why did I choose SMU? What's my major? I start thinking this is odd because I've been here for over a month and everyone in the office already knows about me.
He then asks, "What do you need to ask Michelle (our boss)?"
"Ohh well that new producer needed a desk to work at so I got kicked out of mine so I need work to do that doesn't require a computer," I say.
"Right," he says, "I'm the new producer. Walker, remember?"
My face drops. WTF? I have issues.
"Ohh, right, I was just....umm...I meant that...wellllll..." Thankfully Michelle walks out of her cube and starts asking Walker if he had any trouble signing in. Meanwhile, I am literally cursing myself in my head using any four letter word I can think of. I'm such an idiot.
He turns to go and as he does he says, "Bye, Haley, see you later." Que red face.
I find work to do and then Wednesday is over. I was so embarrassed that I didn't even look for the ring on his finger. I had suffered enough to risk being caught on that.
So it's Friday. I have binders to make and I need my three-hole-punch.
'Perfect!' I think. 'I'll have to go over to my old desk (aka Walker's desk) and get my three-hole-punch.'
I calm down and remind myself what his name is and what he looks like so I don't look so dumb again. I walk over to my old desk and ask him where my three-hole-punch is.
"Umm..I have no idea," he says.
"WHAAAT? You gave away my three-hole-punch?!"
"Ohh, I had no idea they were so important." He smirks.
Trying to gain some composure, I say, "Well, all the other ones in the office suck and that one was brand new." Seriously, if only he knew how awesome that three-hole-punch was and how good ones are so hard to come by, then he wouldn't be looking at me like some psychotic freak who has a mental breakdown over her three-hole-punch. But he doesn't understand. Sigh.
"I think someone may have put it in the supply closet," he says. He is now looking at me with a blank look on his face. I am quickly losing points.
"Ohh, well, that makes perfect sense then. Thanks."
As I am about to turn and walk away, he takes a sip of his coffee with his left hand and there, on his ring finger is a solid gold ring.
"WTF??" I start to think, "WHO drinks using their left hand?? Doesn't he know that when you set a table, the drink goes on the right because everyone drinks with their right hand? I bet he did that on purpose to show that he was taken. Whatever, I can't be with anyone who doesn't understand the severity of a missing three-hole-punch. It obviously wasn't meant to be. It just sucks that our relationship had to come to an end over office supplies...oh and the fact that he's already married. I guess it could have ended over worse things."
I walk back to April's desk, use her three-hole-punch (which isn't as good and I'm having separation anxiety) and resolve that I'm going to be single for the rest of my life.
Oh well, I'm single now and still having the time of my life right? RIGHT!
Thursday, August 4, 2011
The Office: Part Deux
It’s the last week of our internship so Kelly and I thought it necessary to continue with the whole Toby-is-hiding-from-the-Russian-Mafia thing. We’re brainstorming Tuesday morning when Kelly all of a sudden decides we’re giving Toby a ride home that evening.
Me: “Whyyyyy are we giving Toby a ride home?”
Kelly: “Because someone vandalized his car last night so he couldn’t drive to work today. His wife dropped him off but she can’t pick him up.”
Me: “Perfect! He’ll ask us because we already carpool—so he’ll just want to join.”
Kelly: “Ok, sure.”
Me: “I can’t wait for lunch.”
Kelly and I are eating in the cafeteria when Nathan joins. Immediately upon arriving, Nathan informs us for the 5th time today that he has a few meetings in the afternoon. I take this as the perfect opportunity to carry out Operation B.S.
Me: “What time are your meetings today, Nathan?”
Nathan: “2:00, 2:30, and 3:00.”
Me: “Do you have anything to do after that or are you just going to go home?”
Nathan: “Ohhh that’s a good idea! No, I don’t have anything to do.”
Me: “Lucky! Kelly and I have to stay until 5:30 today!”
Nathan: (shocked) “Why? You never stay that late.”
Kelly: “I know. We have to give Toby a ride home.”
Nathan: “YOU HAVE TO GIVE TOBY A RIDE HOME?! Oh man, are you serious? Do you know where he lives?”
Kelly and I exchange nervous glances—we hadn’t thought that far.
Kelly: “No, he didn’t tell us. I think we are meeting his wife somewhere though.”
Me: "We're on a need-to-know basis."
Nathan: “Oh good! Because he lives like 45 minutes away in ___.”
Me: "As far as you know..."
Nathan: “Wait, WHY are you giving TOBY a ride home?”
Kelly: “Because he doesn’t have a car.”
Nathan: “What? Why doesn’t he have a car?”
Kelly: “He went out to his car this morning and someone had taken like a baseball bat to it this morning and broke the windshield in. He couldn’t drive it to work today so his wife dropped him off.”
Nathan: “Oh my gosh! Are you serious?! WHY is Toby a target??”
Me: “I don’t know, but I feel so bad.”
Nathan: “Ok, what is going on with Toby? There’s no way people are after him because he’s a claims adjuster for an insurance broker. There has to be something going on. Maybe he got into some gambling trouble and doesn’t have the money to get out of it.”
I can’t even look at Kelly or else I’ll laugh hysterically and blow it.
Me: “No way. He’s building a new house. There’s no way he could build a new house if he is being threatened for his life for gambling.”
Nathan: “Hmm…I guess so. But there has got to be something else going on here. So it was a baseball bat?”
Kelly: “Well, they don’t know if it was a baseball bat exactly. It could be anything: a crow bar, a person pushing someone else really hard into the car, a pole, or someone just hit the windshield really hard with their hands.”
I am about to start cracking up. Is it possible to break a windshield by hitting it? Not only that, but no blood?
This is of no concern to Nathan.
Nathan: “Well, ugh, why is he telling YOU TWO all of this? I was talking to him earlier for 30 minutes and he didn’t tell me anything!”
Me: “I don’t know. It’s probably because we are women and women are more sympathetic than men. If he told another guy in the office that someone busted his car up, they’d probably just say, ‘Oh suck it up.’”
Nathan: “I wouldn’t. I’ve been trying to talk to him a lot lately and be there for him. I mean, I’m probably his 3rd best friend in the office after you two.”
I’m dying.
Me: “Well he’ll probably confide in you a lot more when we leave here on Friday.”
Nathan: “Ok, yeah, good.”
So we go back upstairs after lunch and I have to inform Toby of recent events.
I tell him, “So….I just gave Nathan an update on your ‘life’.”
Toby: “OHHH NOOOOO! (laughing) Is that why when he just walked by here he gave me a funny look?”
Me: “Haha yeah probably.”
Toby: “I can’t believe he believes you! This is too good—I have to get in on this. Perhaps HR would like to as well….”
Me: “Whyyyyy are we giving Toby a ride home?”
Kelly: “Because someone vandalized his car last night so he couldn’t drive to work today. His wife dropped him off but she can’t pick him up.”
Me: “Perfect! He’ll ask us because we already carpool—so he’ll just want to join.”
Kelly: “Ok, sure.”
Me: “I can’t wait for lunch.”
Kelly and I are eating in the cafeteria when Nathan joins. Immediately upon arriving, Nathan informs us for the 5th time today that he has a few meetings in the afternoon. I take this as the perfect opportunity to carry out Operation B.S.
Me: “What time are your meetings today, Nathan?”
Nathan: “2:00, 2:30, and 3:00.”
Me: “Do you have anything to do after that or are you just going to go home?”
Nathan: “Ohhh that’s a good idea! No, I don’t have anything to do.”
Me: “Lucky! Kelly and I have to stay until 5:30 today!”
Nathan: (shocked) “Why? You never stay that late.”
Kelly: “I know. We have to give Toby a ride home.”
Nathan: “YOU HAVE TO GIVE TOBY A RIDE HOME?! Oh man, are you serious? Do you know where he lives?”
Kelly and I exchange nervous glances—we hadn’t thought that far.
Kelly: “No, he didn’t tell us. I think we are meeting his wife somewhere though.”
Me: "We're on a need-to-know basis."
Nathan: “Oh good! Because he lives like 45 minutes away in ___.”
Me: "As far as you know..."
Nathan: “Wait, WHY are you giving TOBY a ride home?”
Kelly: “Because he doesn’t have a car.”
Nathan: “What? Why doesn’t he have a car?”
Kelly: “He went out to his car this morning and someone had taken like a baseball bat to it this morning and broke the windshield in. He couldn’t drive it to work today so his wife dropped him off.”
Nathan: “Oh my gosh! Are you serious?! WHY is Toby a target??”
Me: “I don’t know, but I feel so bad.”
Nathan: “Ok, what is going on with Toby? There’s no way people are after him because he’s a claims adjuster for an insurance broker. There has to be something going on. Maybe he got into some gambling trouble and doesn’t have the money to get out of it.”
I can’t even look at Kelly or else I’ll laugh hysterically and blow it.
Me: “No way. He’s building a new house. There’s no way he could build a new house if he is being threatened for his life for gambling.”
Nathan: “Hmm…I guess so. But there has got to be something else going on here. So it was a baseball bat?”
Kelly: “Well, they don’t know if it was a baseball bat exactly. It could be anything: a crow bar, a person pushing someone else really hard into the car, a pole, or someone just hit the windshield really hard with their hands.”
I am about to start cracking up. Is it possible to break a windshield by hitting it? Not only that, but no blood?
This is of no concern to Nathan.
Nathan: “Well, ugh, why is he telling YOU TWO all of this? I was talking to him earlier for 30 minutes and he didn’t tell me anything!”
Me: “I don’t know. It’s probably because we are women and women are more sympathetic than men. If he told another guy in the office that someone busted his car up, they’d probably just say, ‘Oh suck it up.’”
Nathan: “I wouldn’t. I’ve been trying to talk to him a lot lately and be there for him. I mean, I’m probably his 3rd best friend in the office after you two.”
I’m dying.
Me: “Well he’ll probably confide in you a lot more when we leave here on Friday.”
Nathan: “Ok, yeah, good.”
So we go back upstairs after lunch and I have to inform Toby of recent events.
I tell him, “So….I just gave Nathan an update on your ‘life’.”
Toby: “OHHH NOOOOO! (laughing) Is that why when he just walked by here he gave me a funny look?”
Me: “Haha yeah probably.”
Toby: “I can’t believe he believes you! This is too good—I have to get in on this. Perhaps HR would like to as well….”
Monday, January 24, 2011
I must just have this "aura" about me
This is getting bad.
By convincing others, I think I've convinced myself that I actually am an interpretive dancer.
It should have been a one-time joke, but I actually claimed it twice as my profession. I should explain.
We wanted to go to this dance club called "Aura" that is in Uptown. We went there a lot last year and a few times this year, so we figured it wouldn't be a problem. Except, this time, we were with 5 guys and they usually only let people in who aren't on the list if you're a group of girls. But, I was feeling super confident thanks to my boy J. Daniels AND it was my friend's 21st birthday, so I figured I'd try to talk us in anyway.
I completely surpass the velvet rope and line of people patiently waiting to get in and go up to the bouncer and say, "Hey, it's my friend's 21st birthday. Will you let us in?"
He looks at me like, 'Are you on crack?' but checks the list anyway. "Are you on the list?"
"Ermm....yeah, yeah we are."
"Ok, what's the name?"
"Uhh....King. The name is King." (There had to be someone under the reservation 'King' right?? I mean, there's a lot of cocky people in Dallas--especially in Uptown--so I figured they'd use that pseudo-name.)
He uses his little earpiece to call inside. "Hey, I don't have the name 'King' on the list out here, do you have it on the list in there?" After a few minutes where I basically died like 5 times, he looks me dead in the eyes and goes, "You're not on the list." Damn.
Am I embarrassed? Surprisingly, no. I couldn't really care less. And this is basically because I know that some way, somehow, we are going to get into that club. So my group walks to the back of the line behind the velvet rope. I'm freezing (I'm in a white lace tank top and its in the 40s) and I want to dance. Therefore, after about 5 or so minutes, I get the other bouncer's attention.
"Hey! Psst....hey!"
He looks at me like, 'Ok, here we go,'..... and as politely as he can manage, he says, "Can I help you?"
"Actually, yes. I know for a fact that it's not crowded in there, so you need to let us in. Like, right now."
He looks at me like, 'You are f****** with me right?!'......and as politely as he can manage, he says, "Can I ask what you do for a living?"
"Yes, I'm an interpretive dancer."
He looks at me like, 'There's nooooooo way that's possible,' but doesn't feel like fighting that fight......and as politely as he can manage, he says, "Ok, if people let you do your job, will you let me do mine?" ((OUCH))
"That depends, are you gonna let us in?"
"Can you let me do my job?"
"Are you gonna let us in?"
"Can you let me do my job?"
"Are you gonna let us in?"
"You can't answer a question with a question."
"Yes I can."
"No you can't."
"Yes-huh."
"No, in fact, you can't. If you took a test and answered every question with a question, you would fail that test."
Silence.
"OK sooooooooo....are you gonna let us in?"
He looks at me like, 'WHAT ARE YOU ON?'.....and as politely as he can manage, he says, "Ok, obviously I don't own this place so I just can't let anyone in. And, you're with a bunch of guys and we usually don't let a lot of guys in with so few girls. Let me talk to my boss and see what I can do.....but I'll probably let you in."
SUPER!
He's about to turn to walk away when I say, "Excuse me, but can I ask you one more question?" His head is about to explode as he grits his teeth and manages to politely say, "Yes, what?"
"I really do want to do this the right way and I appreciate you helping us, so how do I get on the list in the future?" ((I was trying to be polite and seem interested so hopefully that would help our chances of getting in....and I also want to be on the list next time.)) He gives me the details and I thank him as he goes to talk to his boss. I turn around and my friends' mouths are touching the floor. "HALEY! Where did that come from?? What are you doing??" "Well, it's John's birthday and I want him to have fun. So we're getting in."
The bouncer comes back and starts flirting a little as he says, "Ok, I'll let you in, but only because you girls are really cute and that was really brave. But you have to wait a few more minutes in the cold because you're wearing a white lace tank top." Thanks, buddy.
He gave me his card. He was pretty cute. I'm pretty sure he's in my age range. I plan on calling to thank him....maybe.
By convincing others, I think I've convinced myself that I actually am an interpretive dancer.
It should have been a one-time joke, but I actually claimed it twice as my profession. I should explain.
We wanted to go to this dance club called "Aura" that is in Uptown. We went there a lot last year and a few times this year, so we figured it wouldn't be a problem. Except, this time, we were with 5 guys and they usually only let people in who aren't on the list if you're a group of girls. But, I was feeling super confident thanks to my boy J. Daniels AND it was my friend's 21st birthday, so I figured I'd try to talk us in anyway.
I completely surpass the velvet rope and line of people patiently waiting to get in and go up to the bouncer and say, "Hey, it's my friend's 21st birthday. Will you let us in?"
He looks at me like, 'Are you on crack?' but checks the list anyway. "Are you on the list?"
"Ermm....yeah, yeah we are."
"Ok, what's the name?"
"Uhh....King. The name is King." (There had to be someone under the reservation 'King' right?? I mean, there's a lot of cocky people in Dallas--especially in Uptown--so I figured they'd use that pseudo-name.)
He uses his little earpiece to call inside. "Hey, I don't have the name 'King' on the list out here, do you have it on the list in there?" After a few minutes where I basically died like 5 times, he looks me dead in the eyes and goes, "You're not on the list." Damn.
Am I embarrassed? Surprisingly, no. I couldn't really care less. And this is basically because I know that some way, somehow, we are going to get into that club. So my group walks to the back of the line behind the velvet rope. I'm freezing (I'm in a white lace tank top and its in the 40s) and I want to dance. Therefore, after about 5 or so minutes, I get the other bouncer's attention.
"Hey! Psst....hey!"
He looks at me like, 'Ok, here we go,'..... and as politely as he can manage, he says, "Can I help you?"
"Actually, yes. I know for a fact that it's not crowded in there, so you need to let us in. Like, right now."
He looks at me like, 'You are f****** with me right?!'......and as politely as he can manage, he says, "Can I ask what you do for a living?"
"Yes, I'm an interpretive dancer."
He looks at me like, 'There's nooooooo way that's possible,' but doesn't feel like fighting that fight......and as politely as he can manage, he says, "Ok, if people let you do your job, will you let me do mine?" ((OUCH))
"That depends, are you gonna let us in?"
"Can you let me do my job?"
"Are you gonna let us in?"
"Can you let me do my job?"
"Are you gonna let us in?"
"You can't answer a question with a question."
"Yes I can."
"No you can't."
"Yes-huh."
"No, in fact, you can't. If you took a test and answered every question with a question, you would fail that test."
Silence.
"OK sooooooooo....are you gonna let us in?"
He looks at me like, 'WHAT ARE YOU ON?'.....and as politely as he can manage, he says, "Ok, obviously I don't own this place so I just can't let anyone in. And, you're with a bunch of guys and we usually don't let a lot of guys in with so few girls. Let me talk to my boss and see what I can do.....but I'll probably let you in."
SUPER!
He's about to turn to walk away when I say, "Excuse me, but can I ask you one more question?" His head is about to explode as he grits his teeth and manages to politely say, "Yes, what?"
"I really do want to do this the right way and I appreciate you helping us, so how do I get on the list in the future?" ((I was trying to be polite and seem interested so hopefully that would help our chances of getting in....and I also want to be on the list next time.)) He gives me the details and I thank him as he goes to talk to his boss. I turn around and my friends' mouths are touching the floor. "HALEY! Where did that come from?? What are you doing??" "Well, it's John's birthday and I want him to have fun. So we're getting in."
The bouncer comes back and starts flirting a little as he says, "Ok, I'll let you in, but only because you girls are really cute and that was really brave. But you have to wait a few more minutes in the cold because you're wearing a white lace tank top." Thanks, buddy.
He gave me his card. He was pretty cute. I'm pretty sure he's in my age range. I plan on calling to thank him....maybe.
Friday, January 14, 2011
Think before you act....naaaaaaaah
So I'm in South Florida....having the time of my life! What am I doing here mid-winter, you ask? Well, visiting my friend from SMU aaaaaaand escaping the God-forsaken cold that has taken over the rest of the country. We were informed yesterday that it snowed in every single state EXCEPT Florida (well, and Hawaii but that doesn't count. And it's raining there hardcore anyways.) How did I come about visiting here? Well just chalk it up to too much flying on Southwest Airlines and earning a free ticket and the fact that I'm a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants kind of girl.
It all started last October. I asked my friend that lives here if she was going to be here over break. I KNEW I had to get out of freezing Kansas City. She said YES! and invited me down to come visit her. Ok, ok, you don't have to twist my arm! As soon as I got home, I was on the phone with Southwest changing my Christmas Break flight plans. After about 20 minutes, it was all done and I hung up the phone so incredibly happy about trading in the frozen tundra that is Kansas City in January for DA BEACH.
And then it hit me. Did I even ask my parents if this was ok? Nah. Did I check to see if I'll have time for this? Nah. Did I make sure I could financially afford it? Nah. Did I really care about any of the aforementioned questions? Nah.
So Monday came and it was time to go to the airport. And it was blizzarding. My airline warned me that my flight might get delayed or cancelled. I was a little worried. My dad drove me to the airport as tons of snow was coming down and the highways and everything were completely covered. That's when I knew that, no matter what, I had made the right decision in jumping the gun and flying to South Florida. Leaving that freezing place for the sunny beach was the best decision I made this winter. And it's been so fun!
Upon arriving, I made my way outside to wait for my friend to come pick me up. A little 85-year-old lady sat down next to me. We were conversing when my friend arrived and I said I had to leave. The nice lady said, "Ok, you have fun! And be careful and safe," and gave me the look that says 'I was once your age too and I know what goes on in that pretty little head of yours so you better not do some of the things I know you're thinking about doing!'.....and then she gave me a big smile. How does she know me so well? :)
So today ends my stay in South Florida. We begin the drive to Orlando where we'll visit some friends and stay the night. Then we'll stay in Gainesville Saturday night and then begin the 16-hour trek home to Dallas on Sunday getting in late Sunday night.
And then the crazy spring semester begins! I CANNOT WAIT!
It all started last October. I asked my friend that lives here if she was going to be here over break. I KNEW I had to get out of freezing Kansas City. She said YES! and invited me down to come visit her. Ok, ok, you don't have to twist my arm! As soon as I got home, I was on the phone with Southwest changing my Christmas Break flight plans. After about 20 minutes, it was all done and I hung up the phone so incredibly happy about trading in the frozen tundra that is Kansas City in January for DA BEACH.
And then it hit me. Did I even ask my parents if this was ok? Nah. Did I check to see if I'll have time for this? Nah. Did I make sure I could financially afford it? Nah. Did I really care about any of the aforementioned questions? Nah.
So Monday came and it was time to go to the airport. And it was blizzarding. My airline warned me that my flight might get delayed or cancelled. I was a little worried. My dad drove me to the airport as tons of snow was coming down and the highways and everything were completely covered. That's when I knew that, no matter what, I had made the right decision in jumping the gun and flying to South Florida. Leaving that freezing place for the sunny beach was the best decision I made this winter. And it's been so fun!
Upon arriving, I made my way outside to wait for my friend to come pick me up. A little 85-year-old lady sat down next to me. We were conversing when my friend arrived and I said I had to leave. The nice lady said, "Ok, you have fun! And be careful and safe," and gave me the look that says 'I was once your age too and I know what goes on in that pretty little head of yours so you better not do some of the things I know you're thinking about doing!'.....and then she gave me a big smile. How does she know me so well? :)
So today ends my stay in South Florida. We begin the drive to Orlando where we'll visit some friends and stay the night. Then we'll stay in Gainesville Saturday night and then begin the 16-hour trek home to Dallas on Sunday getting in late Sunday night.
And then the crazy spring semester begins! I CANNOT WAIT!
Just so you turn green with envy:
Friday, January 7, 2011
My Cousin Vinny
I never have a boring night out. Even if we decide to go to a low-key bar for a few drinks and some much-missed girl talk, it never ends up being "low-key".....EVER.
And I'm ok with that. In fact, I love it. Boring nights should be restricted to lame people who don't know how to have fun. And I don't associate with those kinds of people. (Feel honored. If you are reading this, then the odds are that you probably know me. And if you know me, then I don't consider you a boring person. Because if you were boring, I wouldn't talk to you......Joking....)
Last night started off with dinner at Waxy O'Shea's with the fam. Cue vast amounts of laughter. After, I decided to ditch the fam to go out with a few girls and was waiting outside the restaraunt for a friend so we could leave. Then I was, yet again, informed that my blog readership goes beyond what I anticpate. A nice man stopped me and asked, "Are you a Soetaert?"
I was stopped in my tracks and pretty surprised because no, I am not "technically" a Soetaert because that is not my last name, but my relatives are Soetaerts. So I'm a Soetaert in a kind-of-sort-of-way. Actually, I have been asked this question by adults who are familiar with that part of my family multiple times throughout my childhood. I would be stopped at the pool, at the mall, etc by random strangers asking the question, "Are you a Soetaert?" I guess I've got those dominant Soetaert genes then.
As we began talking, however, I realized I did know and recognize him from multiple gatherings my grandparents have had. He's a good friend of theirs. He said, "You went to Belgium this summer, right?" "Yes, I did!" "Yeah, your grandparents told me. That's when I started reading your blog." A shade of deep crimson immediately engulfed my face. My mind started racing. 'Ohmigod ohmigod ohmigod WHAT have I been writing on that blog lately?? What all did I say I did in Europe?? Ohmigod, I need to start editing myself if my grandparents' friends are reading that thing!!!' I quickly recovered and responded with a big smile and "Ohh, really? That's great! Yeah, I'm always surprised when people tell me they read my blog because I forget it's public domain." Shit.
As much as I was worried about what I've been writing on this darn thing, I was actually very flattered. Wow, people actually like to read what I have to say? That made me feel so good! So thanks, Kevin, if you're reading this. I'm glad you stopped me and said hello! And happy birthday! (It was his birthday yesterday..) And thanks for reminding me to edit myself because you never know who is reading....
Anyway, fast-forward a few hours later. We've got some intense dance-floor moves by our crazy miniature 5-foot friend, a few failed pick-up lines by some random Wyandotte County guy in a wife beater, a successful spill of half a pitcher that managed to attract the attention of everyone within a 30-foot radius of our table, and two guys from K-State who just can't...seem...to graduate. And are still sticking around our table as well.
One guy's name is Vinny. And at first I think it's a fake name because this guy doesn't look like a "Vinny"....at all. Now when I choose my fake names, I try to pick one that at least fits me. And guys usually believe it. His was a failed attempt, but we played along anyway....it actually probably is real.
The conversation is winding down (has been for the past hour, mind you) when we decide it's time to peace out. Vinny asks for my number. Not really wanting to give it but not wanting to totally destroy his ego either, I say sure. He gives me his phone and I first type in my friend's number but I decide I can't do that to her....damn you, conscious! So after a few minutes of pretending to try and figure out how to work his phone while thinking about how I'm going to handle this situation, I resolve to put my own number in. I leave for Florida on Monday and won't be back in Kansas for 5 months so that seems a logical end to the "relationship". I'll just tell him that. No harm done.
He asks what I'm doing tomorrow night. "Well, my cousin is coming in town so we'll probably go to the Power and Light district.....you guys should come (???)" (WHY DID I SAY THAT!) He responds with, "Ohh, actually I think I'm gonna hang out with my grandpa. You see, he's really old but he's cool to hang out with." I should be insulted but I'm not....I just didn't care enough I suppose. I think, 'Wow, I just invited you and your friends to come out with us tomorrow night after you asked for my number and you say you would rather hang out with your grandpa?!' Haaaaa. Niiiiiice. Glad I fall short of a gramps. Awesome.
Anyway, we leave. Later, he texts. He sucks at carrying on a texting conversation. Relationship over.
Lessons from the night:
Monitor what you put on the internet (not that I've really put anything that bad).
Don't let a guy wearing a wife beater in a bar think he's got a shot because he'll just keep coming back...and back...and back.
Don't give your number to someone you won't have a future with. Pointless. And stupid.
Let your friend dance....but not so that she pulls a few muscles. That's too wide of a range.
And finally, have lots of fun. Always.
And I'm ok with that. In fact, I love it. Boring nights should be restricted to lame people who don't know how to have fun. And I don't associate with those kinds of people. (Feel honored. If you are reading this, then the odds are that you probably know me. And if you know me, then I don't consider you a boring person. Because if you were boring, I wouldn't talk to you......Joking....)
Last night started off with dinner at Waxy O'Shea's with the fam. Cue vast amounts of laughter. After, I decided to ditch the fam to go out with a few girls and was waiting outside the restaraunt for a friend so we could leave. Then I was, yet again, informed that my blog readership goes beyond what I anticpate. A nice man stopped me and asked, "Are you a Soetaert?"
I was stopped in my tracks and pretty surprised because no, I am not "technically" a Soetaert because that is not my last name, but my relatives are Soetaerts. So I'm a Soetaert in a kind-of-sort-of-way. Actually, I have been asked this question by adults who are familiar with that part of my family multiple times throughout my childhood. I would be stopped at the pool, at the mall, etc by random strangers asking the question, "Are you a Soetaert?" I guess I've got those dominant Soetaert genes then.
As we began talking, however, I realized I did know and recognize him from multiple gatherings my grandparents have had. He's a good friend of theirs. He said, "You went to Belgium this summer, right?" "Yes, I did!" "Yeah, your grandparents told me. That's when I started reading your blog." A shade of deep crimson immediately engulfed my face. My mind started racing. 'Ohmigod ohmigod ohmigod WHAT have I been writing on that blog lately?? What all did I say I did in Europe?? Ohmigod, I need to start editing myself if my grandparents' friends are reading that thing!!!' I quickly recovered and responded with a big smile and "Ohh, really? That's great! Yeah, I'm always surprised when people tell me they read my blog because I forget it's public domain." Shit.
As much as I was worried about what I've been writing on this darn thing, I was actually very flattered. Wow, people actually like to read what I have to say? That made me feel so good! So thanks, Kevin, if you're reading this. I'm glad you stopped me and said hello! And happy birthday! (It was his birthday yesterday..) And thanks for reminding me to edit myself because you never know who is reading....
Anyway, fast-forward a few hours later. We've got some intense dance-floor moves by our crazy miniature 5-foot friend, a few failed pick-up lines by some random Wyandotte County guy in a wife beater, a successful spill of half a pitcher that managed to attract the attention of everyone within a 30-foot radius of our table, and two guys from K-State who just can't...seem...to graduate. And are still sticking around our table as well.
One guy's name is Vinny. And at first I think it's a fake name because this guy doesn't look like a "Vinny"....at all. Now when I choose my fake names, I try to pick one that at least fits me. And guys usually believe it. His was a failed attempt, but we played along anyway....it actually probably is real.
The conversation is winding down (has been for the past hour, mind you) when we decide it's time to peace out. Vinny asks for my number. Not really wanting to give it but not wanting to totally destroy his ego either, I say sure. He gives me his phone and I first type in my friend's number but I decide I can't do that to her....damn you, conscious! So after a few minutes of pretending to try and figure out how to work his phone while thinking about how I'm going to handle this situation, I resolve to put my own number in. I leave for Florida on Monday and won't be back in Kansas for 5 months so that seems a logical end to the "relationship". I'll just tell him that. No harm done.
He asks what I'm doing tomorrow night. "Well, my cousin is coming in town so we'll probably go to the Power and Light district.....you guys should come (???)" (WHY DID I SAY THAT!) He responds with, "Ohh, actually I think I'm gonna hang out with my grandpa. You see, he's really old but he's cool to hang out with." I should be insulted but I'm not....I just didn't care enough I suppose. I think, 'Wow, I just invited you and your friends to come out with us tomorrow night after you asked for my number and you say you would rather hang out with your grandpa?!' Haaaaa. Niiiiiice. Glad I fall short of a gramps. Awesome.
Anyway, we leave. Later, he texts. He sucks at carrying on a texting conversation. Relationship over.
Lessons from the night:
Monitor what you put on the internet (not that I've really put anything that bad).
Don't let a guy wearing a wife beater in a bar think he's got a shot because he'll just keep coming back...and back...and back.
Don't give your number to someone you won't have a future with. Pointless. And stupid.
Let your friend dance....but not so that she pulls a few muscles. That's too wide of a range.
And finally, have lots of fun. Always.
Saturday, December 18, 2010
Oh, Leo!
The sun was shining through the windows as I slowly opened my eyes and stretched my arms. My sheets and blankets were crisp and clean after just being washed and it felt sooo goood to be snuggled in them. I awoke from a wonderful dream where I just met Leonardo DiCaprio in Central Park and he asked me out on a date. It was a beautiful day in Dallas and I thought, "Finals are over! What should I do on this wonderful day?".......
"Wait.......it's light outside.........wasn't I supposed to do something when it was dark outside.......? Yes, yes, I'm pretty sure I was supposed to wake up when it was dark out and do something relatively important....."
OH SHIT
I was supposed to FLY HOME!
I immediately grab my phone. Yep, my flight left an hour and a half ago. I have 15 missed alerts. The cab driver called me 8 times and left a few voicemail messages. My dad called twice. Immediately dialing my daddy to see if he can offer any condolences, he answers, "Good morning beautiful!" obviously not realizing I am supposed to be thousands of feet up in the air without phone service. "DAD! I SLEPT THROUGH MY FLIGHT!"
"Well what are you talking to me for?! Call Southwest immediately! And pull out the works. You've been sick with food poisoning; you just finished a stressful week of finals; you're just trying to get home to your family. Do whatever it takes." Thanks, dad.
I hang up and call Southwest. Already condemning myself to either having to chill in Dallas for a few more days or fork over 300 dollars for a flight home, as soon as someone picks up on the other end I begin pleading: "Please-please-please-I-missed-my-flight-and-I've-been-really-really-really-sick-with-food-poisoning-and-I'm-just-trying-to-get-home-for-the-Holidays-and-I'm-so-so-so-so-stressed-because-I-just-finished-finals-and-I-am----"
"Honey, relax. What's your name?"
*Gives full name*
"OK, let me pull up your confirmation."
After waiting on the phone for 20 minutes (where I am multi-tasking by brushing my teeth, getting dressed, and doing some last-minute packing) she says another flight is available at 9:15 AM---would I like that one? "YES OF COURSE!" At no charge, she puts me on that flight and says I should have no problems flying home.
*Fist pump into the air*
"Thank you so much! You have no idea what this means to me."
"You're welcome, sweetie. We know you have lots of options when you choose your airline, so we thank you for flying Southwest." (Yes, I have flown with them that many times so I have it memorized, thank you.)
Oh, wait, you thought the fun was over? Look who you're talking to! Guess again.
So I book a taxi online for 8:10 AM (yes, I naturally wake up at 7:30 AM with no alarm. That's sleeping in when you get up at 5 AM every morning for practice). I receive a confirmation e-mail saying my taxi will be there at 8:10. So I throw all my luggage down the stairs, pull it outside, and wait for my cab.
8:15. No cab.
So I call. "Yes, I booked a cab online for 8:10 and they aren't here yet and I'm kind of in a crunch." She responds, "Yes, is this *Says name* at *says address*?" "Yes, that's correct." "Ok, your cab is on it's way." "Great, thanks."
8:21. No cab.
So I call. "Hi, I called a little while ago and you said my cab was on its way, but it's still not here yet. I'm *gives name* at *gives address*" It's the same lady. "I'm sorry, we don't have a recorded reservation for you." WHAAAAT?! I just talked to you on the phone and you confirmed it! She tries to sort it all out but I just say, "Ok, it doesn't matter if you lost my reservation. Can you get a cab here soon, please?" "Yes ma'am. It'll be there in 5 minutes." "Super. Thanks."
8:29. No cab.
Another cab from another cab company drives by. I flag him down. After waiting on a cab that is 20 minutes late, I have 45 minutes to get to the airport, check my bags, get through security, find my gate, get my boarding pass, and get on the plane. It's gonna be close.
To avoid morning traffic, I ask him to go through the neighborhoods to cut down the time. Little did I know that going 20 MPH in a school zone meant 15 MPH for him. That was a MISTAKE.
I check my bags. One is over-weight and the baggage guy says they might not make the flight because I checked them 25 minutes before the plane takes off. I don't even care anymore--I just want to get on that plane! He says they'll do their best. I say, "I hope so," and give him a big tip. He smiles and says, "We'll make it work."
I run to the security line and take off my hat, scarf, gloves, coat, and shoes like I'm about to jump into a freezing-cold pond to save someone's life. I then take out my computer and get it all situated according to airport security's specifications in record time. All the jewelry comes off as if by magic. I practically run through the metal detector and just as quickly put everything back on, grab my stuff, and run to the gate.
When I arrive at 9:05 for my 9:15 flight, they're already boarding B class (out of A-C) and I still need to pick up my boarding pass from the desk. Waiting behind a few ladies with children (families on flights, arg!), I finally breathlessly say, "Boarding pass for Haley ********" She easily hands it to me. 9:09.
I run up to the guy who scans your ticket and onto the plane. It's packed. If I sit near the back, I'll vom. I shove my bag into an already stuffed overhead compartment and hope that no one had anything fragile up there. I then slump into a middle seat between two old guys.
And then I do a fist pump into the air. I DID IT!
To sum it all up, I was in Kansas City by 11:00 AM, my bags DID make my flight, and I blame beautiful Leonardo DiCaprio for all of this. Because if he wasn't so beautiful, then I would have left that dream a long time ago and probably would have made my first flight. But then, I wouldn't have this great story and my life would be that much more boring.
So I guess, Leo, you're welcome in my dreams anytime.
"Wait.......it's light outside.........wasn't I supposed to do something when it was dark outside.......? Yes, yes, I'm pretty sure I was supposed to wake up when it was dark out and do something relatively important....."
OH SHIT
I was supposed to FLY HOME!
I immediately grab my phone. Yep, my flight left an hour and a half ago. I have 15 missed alerts. The cab driver called me 8 times and left a few voicemail messages. My dad called twice. Immediately dialing my daddy to see if he can offer any condolences, he answers, "Good morning beautiful!" obviously not realizing I am supposed to be thousands of feet up in the air without phone service. "DAD! I SLEPT THROUGH MY FLIGHT!"
"Well what are you talking to me for?! Call Southwest immediately! And pull out the works. You've been sick with food poisoning; you just finished a stressful week of finals; you're just trying to get home to your family. Do whatever it takes." Thanks, dad.
I hang up and call Southwest. Already condemning myself to either having to chill in Dallas for a few more days or fork over 300 dollars for a flight home, as soon as someone picks up on the other end I begin pleading: "Please-please-please-I-missed-my-flight-and-I've-been-really-really-really-sick-with-food-poisoning-and-I'm-just-trying-to-get-home-for-the-Holidays-and-I'm-so-so-so-so-stressed-because-I-just-finished-finals-and-I-am----"
"Honey, relax. What's your name?"
*Gives full name*
"OK, let me pull up your confirmation."
After waiting on the phone for 20 minutes (where I am multi-tasking by brushing my teeth, getting dressed, and doing some last-minute packing) she says another flight is available at 9:15 AM---would I like that one? "YES OF COURSE!" At no charge, she puts me on that flight and says I should have no problems flying home.
*Fist pump into the air*
"Thank you so much! You have no idea what this means to me."
"You're welcome, sweetie. We know you have lots of options when you choose your airline, so we thank you for flying Southwest." (Yes, I have flown with them that many times so I have it memorized, thank you.)
Oh, wait, you thought the fun was over? Look who you're talking to! Guess again.
So I book a taxi online for 8:10 AM (yes, I naturally wake up at 7:30 AM with no alarm. That's sleeping in when you get up at 5 AM every morning for practice). I receive a confirmation e-mail saying my taxi will be there at 8:10. So I throw all my luggage down the stairs, pull it outside, and wait for my cab.
8:15. No cab.
So I call. "Yes, I booked a cab online for 8:10 and they aren't here yet and I'm kind of in a crunch." She responds, "Yes, is this *Says name* at *says address*?" "Yes, that's correct." "Ok, your cab is on it's way." "Great, thanks."
8:21. No cab.
So I call. "Hi, I called a little while ago and you said my cab was on its way, but it's still not here yet. I'm *gives name* at *gives address*" It's the same lady. "I'm sorry, we don't have a recorded reservation for you." WHAAAAT?! I just talked to you on the phone and you confirmed it! She tries to sort it all out but I just say, "Ok, it doesn't matter if you lost my reservation. Can you get a cab here soon, please?" "Yes ma'am. It'll be there in 5 minutes." "Super. Thanks."
8:29. No cab.
Another cab from another cab company drives by. I flag him down. After waiting on a cab that is 20 minutes late, I have 45 minutes to get to the airport, check my bags, get through security, find my gate, get my boarding pass, and get on the plane. It's gonna be close.
To avoid morning traffic, I ask him to go through the neighborhoods to cut down the time. Little did I know that going 20 MPH in a school zone meant 15 MPH for him. That was a MISTAKE.
I check my bags. One is over-weight and the baggage guy says they might not make the flight because I checked them 25 minutes before the plane takes off. I don't even care anymore--I just want to get on that plane! He says they'll do their best. I say, "I hope so," and give him a big tip. He smiles and says, "We'll make it work."
I run to the security line and take off my hat, scarf, gloves, coat, and shoes like I'm about to jump into a freezing-cold pond to save someone's life. I then take out my computer and get it all situated according to airport security's specifications in record time. All the jewelry comes off as if by magic. I practically run through the metal detector and just as quickly put everything back on, grab my stuff, and run to the gate.
When I arrive at 9:05 for my 9:15 flight, they're already boarding B class (out of A-C) and I still need to pick up my boarding pass from the desk. Waiting behind a few ladies with children (families on flights, arg!), I finally breathlessly say, "Boarding pass for Haley ********" She easily hands it to me. 9:09.
I run up to the guy who scans your ticket and onto the plane. It's packed. If I sit near the back, I'll vom. I shove my bag into an already stuffed overhead compartment and hope that no one had anything fragile up there. I then slump into a middle seat between two old guys.
And then I do a fist pump into the air. I DID IT!
To sum it all up, I was in Kansas City by 11:00 AM, my bags DID make my flight, and I blame beautiful Leonardo DiCaprio for all of this. Because if he wasn't so beautiful, then I would have left that dream a long time ago and probably would have made my first flight. But then, I wouldn't have this great story and my life would be that much more boring.
So I guess, Leo, you're welcome in my dreams anytime.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Interpret What You Will
It's a gift, really. Bullshitting, that is. That's my gift.
Well, I suppose not so much "bullshitting," but more so "making shit up off the top of your head that makes absolutely no sense at all....and yet, people still buy it." You see, I am actually really terrible at lying. Basically ask me a question and you will get the answer. Truth: this was not so helpful in high school when my mom would ask me about certain things....
I had two options: lie to her face and have her know that I was lying OR tell her the truth. So I always had to tell her the truth.
ANYWAY, back to tonight.
I don't know what came over me. I really can't tell you. When the guy at the bar asked what I did, I really really was about to say, "Well, I'm a student at SMU," but somehow it came out as, "I'm an interpretive dancer."
HE: "Really! You're an interpretive dancer?! I've never met one of those before!"
I: "Yeah yeah, we're not that common, really. It's a rare profession I must say."
HE: "Interesting! So like, what do you do?"
I: "Well....we dance....interpretively."
HE: "Yeah, I think I get that. But what do you mean? Like, how?"
I: "Well, we just listen to the music and try to understand what it's saying and then we move our bodies to try to describe how we are feeling in relation to what the music is saying."
HE: "Wow. That's deep."
I: "Yeah. It really is something."
HE: "So what kind of music do you dance to?"
I: "Anything, really. We try to listen to a lot of different kinds of music to try to expand our dancing abilities."
HE: "So you can dance to alternative-rock?"
I: "Sure, why not?"
HE: "Well I'm in this band that performs and we're trying to get a larger fan base than we have right now. We're looking for something that would make us stand out."
(((OH shit.)))
HE: "Do you think you and your friends would be interested in performing during one of our concerts?"
I: "Sure! Why not? We'd need some practice and exposure to the material beforehand but I think it could work out."
HE: "Cool cool. So, do you need like a certain beat to be able to perform? Do you have requirements for that sort of thing?"
I: "Not really. I mean, it is interpretive so all we really need is music and then we just go with it. It can be fast or slow; we dance to what is going on around us."
HE: "Great! So are you with a particular company?"
I: "Oh...actually, it's kind of a touchy subject. We were with the company here in Dallas but they started working for the money and all of this corporate crap and they weren't doing it for the feeling anymore. We didn't like that and we were getting into all of these arguments so we broke off from them. Yeah, it sucks sometimes not getting paid, but at least I know I'm not a sellout."
HE: "Wow, yeah that's gotta be rough."
I: "Yeah, the exposure in that company was great, but it just didn't feel right, you know? It should always be about the music, not the money right?"
HE: "You're totally right. That makes perfect sense. Good for you."
Then we talked for a little while longer about dancing and blah blah blah until my friends got sick of his friends and dragged me away. As we were walking away, I realized just exactly what I had been talking about for the last 20 minutes and about started peeing my pants.
"Haley!" they yelled, "WHAT is so FUNNY?!"
"I just told that guy about my profession as an interpretive dancer," I managed to say between grasping for air during my hysterical laughter.
They immediately stop walking, look at each other, and say, "I swear....the stuff you come up with. How do you think of this crap? And why do these people believe it?"
"I have no idea. I wish I could tell you."
To be honest, I have no intention of stopping this nonsense. It's too much fun.
Well, I suppose not so much "bullshitting," but more so "making shit up off the top of your head that makes absolutely no sense at all....and yet, people still buy it." You see, I am actually really terrible at lying. Basically ask me a question and you will get the answer. Truth: this was not so helpful in high school when my mom would ask me about certain things....
I had two options: lie to her face and have her know that I was lying OR tell her the truth. So I always had to tell her the truth.
ANYWAY, back to tonight.
I don't know what came over me. I really can't tell you. When the guy at the bar asked what I did, I really really was about to say, "Well, I'm a student at SMU," but somehow it came out as, "I'm an interpretive dancer."
HE: "Really! You're an interpretive dancer?! I've never met one of those before!"
I: "Yeah yeah, we're not that common, really. It's a rare profession I must say."
HE: "Interesting! So like, what do you do?"
I: "Well....we dance....interpretively."
HE: "Yeah, I think I get that. But what do you mean? Like, how?"
I: "Well, we just listen to the music and try to understand what it's saying and then we move our bodies to try to describe how we are feeling in relation to what the music is saying."
HE: "Wow. That's deep."
I: "Yeah. It really is something."
HE: "So what kind of music do you dance to?"
I: "Anything, really. We try to listen to a lot of different kinds of music to try to expand our dancing abilities."
HE: "So you can dance to alternative-rock?"
I: "Sure, why not?"
HE: "Well I'm in this band that performs and we're trying to get a larger fan base than we have right now. We're looking for something that would make us stand out."
(((OH shit.)))
HE: "Do you think you and your friends would be interested in performing during one of our concerts?"
I: "Sure! Why not? We'd need some practice and exposure to the material beforehand but I think it could work out."
HE: "Cool cool. So, do you need like a certain beat to be able to perform? Do you have requirements for that sort of thing?"
I: "Not really. I mean, it is interpretive so all we really need is music and then we just go with it. It can be fast or slow; we dance to what is going on around us."
HE: "Great! So are you with a particular company?"
I: "Oh...actually, it's kind of a touchy subject. We were with the company here in Dallas but they started working for the money and all of this corporate crap and they weren't doing it for the feeling anymore. We didn't like that and we were getting into all of these arguments so we broke off from them. Yeah, it sucks sometimes not getting paid, but at least I know I'm not a sellout."
HE: "Wow, yeah that's gotta be rough."
I: "Yeah, the exposure in that company was great, but it just didn't feel right, you know? It should always be about the music, not the money right?"
HE: "You're totally right. That makes perfect sense. Good for you."
Then we talked for a little while longer about dancing and blah blah blah until my friends got sick of his friends and dragged me away. As we were walking away, I realized just exactly what I had been talking about for the last 20 minutes and about started peeing my pants.
"Haley!" they yelled, "WHAT is so FUNNY?!"
"I just told that guy about my profession as an interpretive dancer," I managed to say between grasping for air during my hysterical laughter.
They immediately stop walking, look at each other, and say, "I swear....the stuff you come up with. How do you think of this crap? And why do these people believe it?"
"I have no idea. I wish I could tell you."
To be honest, I have no intention of stopping this nonsense. It's too much fun.
Thursday, December 9, 2010
I'm Sneaky
1) Soooooooooo I think my neighbor is very attractive.
2) We have three lights in our kitchen. A few days ago, only one worked. It was impossible to see in the kitchen. We were living like this for a few weeks, barely able to see what we were making to eat or what was on the floor.
3) The other day, my roommate sent me a facebook message saying that she had knocked over my wine glass and there was glass all over the floor. She tried to get most of it up but wasn't sure if she got it all because it was hard to see. I immediately thought, "Time to get those lights fixed. I DO NOT want glass in my foot."
I replaced one of them but the other was too high to reach from the ground and it looked really heavy. It was a dome light and I had no idea how to take it apart and fix it. And I knew, I knew that if I tried to fix it, I would certainly break it into a tiny million little pieces. You know me by now; that's how my life goes.
Therefore, I decided to text my landlord to have his handyman come over and fix it for us. It wouldn't be that big of a deal, it would take him like 5 seconds, and he wouldn't break it. Piece of cake.
I had the text message all ready to send when, all of a sudden, a light bulb goes off in my head. "Hey!" I start thinking, "Neighbor Boy is tall and he's a guy so he should be handy and since he lives next door he probably has the same lights and knows how to fix them. I'll run over and ask him instead. It will give us an excuse to talk!"
I start getting really nervous and run into my roommate's room to ask her if the idea is dumb and if I'll look like an idiot. She says no; it's perfectly rational. So I check myself in the mirror and realize that I'm still in the clothes I went running in 20 minutes ago: tennis shoes, spandex, pony tail and all. "Meh," I think. "I have a natural flush to my face, I'm in workout clothes so it looks like I'm in shape, and it won't look like I'm trying too hard as opposed to going over there all dolled up." Convinced my plan is fool-proof, I march outside and down to his door.
Almost shitting my pants as I ring the doorbell, Surfer Dude (a very, very attractive modelesque friend of Neighbor Boy) answers...but he's on the phone. He says hi and is polite, but he's still on the phone. Neighbor Boy comes around the corner of a room and he's on the phone too! Oh crap. This is awkward. "Oh...uhhh...I...ahhh...uhhh...I just had a...um...a question but...uh...it's no big deal soooo....ok bye." I turn to leave when he goes, "No wait! Just let me finish this call and then I'll come to your apartment. It'll be like 5 minutes." Ok, so I'm not a loser. Good.
I start cleaning up the kitchen in preparation for their arrival when he knocks a few minutes later. I show him the light, ask him if he knows how to fix it and if he could help me.
Ok, then I really started feeling like an idiot because as soon as he looked at it, it was clear that all you had to do was unscrew this really, really obvious part and it came apart easily. And it wasn't heavy at all. Making small talk and laughing at things, it takes him only a few minutes to change the light bulbs. Damn. Not much face time. But we're still talking.
Then Surfer Dude comes in.....and we all hang out and talk in my kitchen for the next 45 minutes. They're so nice! I mention I have to go get ready for dinner plans when Surfer asks what I'm doing tomorrow night. "Umm...I have no plans for Wednesday night yet, what about you?" "I don't have anything planned either. We should grab drinks in the evening if you want to." My tummy does a flip and my heart about jumps out of my chest. (YES YES YES!!) "Yeah, ok, I guess that sounds cool. I have something I have to do until 7, but I can go anytime after that," I say. "Ok cool," Neighbor boy says. "We'll stop by around 7 and then we can all go somewhere."
Perfect.
They leave, I do a fist pump in the air, and I jump in the shower and get ready for my dinner plans.
Did my plan work? Yes: it's outcome was above and beyond what I even expected.
Did they know I did that on purpose? Most likely.
Does it matter? Naaaaaaah.
2) We have three lights in our kitchen. A few days ago, only one worked. It was impossible to see in the kitchen. We were living like this for a few weeks, barely able to see what we were making to eat or what was on the floor.
3) The other day, my roommate sent me a facebook message saying that she had knocked over my wine glass and there was glass all over the floor. She tried to get most of it up but wasn't sure if she got it all because it was hard to see. I immediately thought, "Time to get those lights fixed. I DO NOT want glass in my foot."
I replaced one of them but the other was too high to reach from the ground and it looked really heavy. It was a dome light and I had no idea how to take it apart and fix it. And I knew, I knew that if I tried to fix it, I would certainly break it into a tiny million little pieces. You know me by now; that's how my life goes.
Therefore, I decided to text my landlord to have his handyman come over and fix it for us. It wouldn't be that big of a deal, it would take him like 5 seconds, and he wouldn't break it. Piece of cake.
I had the text message all ready to send when, all of a sudden, a light bulb goes off in my head. "Hey!" I start thinking, "Neighbor Boy is tall and he's a guy so he should be handy and since he lives next door he probably has the same lights and knows how to fix them. I'll run over and ask him instead. It will give us an excuse to talk!"
I start getting really nervous and run into my roommate's room to ask her if the idea is dumb and if I'll look like an idiot. She says no; it's perfectly rational. So I check myself in the mirror and realize that I'm still in the clothes I went running in 20 minutes ago: tennis shoes, spandex, pony tail and all. "Meh," I think. "I have a natural flush to my face, I'm in workout clothes so it looks like I'm in shape, and it won't look like I'm trying too hard as opposed to going over there all dolled up." Convinced my plan is fool-proof, I march outside and down to his door.
Almost shitting my pants as I ring the doorbell, Surfer Dude (a very, very attractive modelesque friend of Neighbor Boy) answers...but he's on the phone. He says hi and is polite, but he's still on the phone. Neighbor Boy comes around the corner of a room and he's on the phone too! Oh crap. This is awkward. "Oh...uhhh...I...ahhh...uhhh...I just had a...um...a question but...uh...it's no big deal soooo....ok bye." I turn to leave when he goes, "No wait! Just let me finish this call and then I'll come to your apartment. It'll be like 5 minutes." Ok, so I'm not a loser. Good.
I start cleaning up the kitchen in preparation for their arrival when he knocks a few minutes later. I show him the light, ask him if he knows how to fix it and if he could help me.
Ok, then I really started feeling like an idiot because as soon as he looked at it, it was clear that all you had to do was unscrew this really, really obvious part and it came apart easily. And it wasn't heavy at all. Making small talk and laughing at things, it takes him only a few minutes to change the light bulbs. Damn. Not much face time. But we're still talking.
Then Surfer Dude comes in.....and we all hang out and talk in my kitchen for the next 45 minutes. They're so nice! I mention I have to go get ready for dinner plans when Surfer asks what I'm doing tomorrow night. "Umm...I have no plans for Wednesday night yet, what about you?" "I don't have anything planned either. We should grab drinks in the evening if you want to." My tummy does a flip and my heart about jumps out of my chest. (YES YES YES!!) "Yeah, ok, I guess that sounds cool. I have something I have to do until 7, but I can go anytime after that," I say. "Ok cool," Neighbor boy says. "We'll stop by around 7 and then we can all go somewhere."
Perfect.
They leave, I do a fist pump in the air, and I jump in the shower and get ready for my dinner plans.
Did my plan work? Yes: it's outcome was above and beyond what I even expected.
Did they know I did that on purpose? Most likely.
Does it matter? Naaaaaaah.
Monday, November 29, 2010
My professor
thinks I'm a crazy, drunken skank.
But I'm not. I actually don't drink that much....probably about twice a month. My usual means of entertainment entails going out with my friends, remaining completely sober, and watching the night unfold into chaos. Sobriety is underrated. For all of you who think "there's no way I can step into a bar sober because I can't stand drunk people"....well, think again. I'm sure you can. And I'm sure you'd be pleasantly surprised.
Those stories are for another time and place. This one actually IS about my professor.
It's about this morning. The wonderful Monday mornings of college where you reluctantly drag yourself to class if only to swap Friday/Saturday night stories about your crew with one of your "class friends." (We all have them----the people you don't hang out with on the weekend but are basically BFFs with in class so you each only have to do half of the review.....yep.) Well this is exactly what I was doing with one of my "class friends" before my 11 AM Accounting class. We were muttering under our breath, giggling (with a few bursts of laughter), and having a hard time telling the stories all together because they were just that good. I have this huge sneaky grin on my face when all of a sudden my friend goes, "Oh my GOD. Don't look now, but our professor was just watching us." Ok, so when someone goes, "Don't look now," of course you look! So yeah, I looked and he was definitely watching us being all silly in the back row.
As soon as we make eye contact, he starts laughing and turns to the board to start class. I nervously laugh and turn bright red. There's no way he heard, right?! I mean, we are in the back of the class. And he's down in the front....Oh good LORD, I hope he doesn't think I was talking about myself. I comfort myself by thinking, 'Oh, he's been a professor here for many years--I'm sure he's heard worse.' Then I resolve to forget about it and try to understand accounting.
We're doing a problem in class when he tells us to finish it on our own and then discuss our answer with our neighbor. Well of course my friend and I aren't going to discuss anything related to accounting (DUH)--she has a story to finish! So we get all quiet again and pretend that we're talking about amortization until big smiles appear and giggling starts coming out of our mouths. I don't know if you've ever been in an accounting class, but there is absolutely nothing in that class that would make you smile OR laugh....unless you're laughing because the subject is so ridiculous and you can't understand a thing (because I laugh a lot when it comes to that).
It's almost time for us to be finished "discussing" when I look up to the front of class and see my professor watching us...again. The big goofy smile turns to a look of horror because I know he knows what we're talking about. I'm mortified. He begins laughing again--loudly--and catches the attention of the entire front row. "What's so funny, professor?" a few of them ask. "Oh, nothing," he says as he tries to compose himself. My friend can barely contain herself when she starts laughing again and lets out a loud, obnoxious shriek. The entire class turns to look at us, then back to our professor, then back to us. My friend's head is buried in her arms on her desk as she tries to get a hold of herself while I'm a frozen deer in headlights as I meet all the wondering eyes of my classmates. Then they look at each other with intrigue, shrug their shoulders, and turn back to the front of class.
And then I slumped down in my seat and pretended to disappear into the floor. Laughing, my friend mutters, "I guess I'll finish the story after class."
"I think you better."
But I'm not. I actually don't drink that much....probably about twice a month. My usual means of entertainment entails going out with my friends, remaining completely sober, and watching the night unfold into chaos. Sobriety is underrated. For all of you who think "there's no way I can step into a bar sober because I can't stand drunk people"....well, think again. I'm sure you can. And I'm sure you'd be pleasantly surprised.
Those stories are for another time and place. This one actually IS about my professor.
It's about this morning. The wonderful Monday mornings of college where you reluctantly drag yourself to class if only to swap Friday/Saturday night stories about your crew with one of your "class friends." (We all have them----the people you don't hang out with on the weekend but are basically BFFs with in class so you each only have to do half of the review.....yep.) Well this is exactly what I was doing with one of my "class friends" before my 11 AM Accounting class. We were muttering under our breath, giggling (with a few bursts of laughter), and having a hard time telling the stories all together because they were just that good. I have this huge sneaky grin on my face when all of a sudden my friend goes, "Oh my GOD. Don't look now, but our professor was just watching us." Ok, so when someone goes, "Don't look now," of course you look! So yeah, I looked and he was definitely watching us being all silly in the back row.
As soon as we make eye contact, he starts laughing and turns to the board to start class. I nervously laugh and turn bright red. There's no way he heard, right?! I mean, we are in the back of the class. And he's down in the front....Oh good LORD, I hope he doesn't think I was talking about myself. I comfort myself by thinking, 'Oh, he's been a professor here for many years--I'm sure he's heard worse.' Then I resolve to forget about it and try to understand accounting.
We're doing a problem in class when he tells us to finish it on our own and then discuss our answer with our neighbor. Well of course my friend and I aren't going to discuss anything related to accounting (DUH)--she has a story to finish! So we get all quiet again and pretend that we're talking about amortization until big smiles appear and giggling starts coming out of our mouths. I don't know if you've ever been in an accounting class, but there is absolutely nothing in that class that would make you smile OR laugh....unless you're laughing because the subject is so ridiculous and you can't understand a thing (because I laugh a lot when it comes to that).
It's almost time for us to be finished "discussing" when I look up to the front of class and see my professor watching us...again. The big goofy smile turns to a look of horror because I know he knows what we're talking about. I'm mortified. He begins laughing again--loudly--and catches the attention of the entire front row. "What's so funny, professor?" a few of them ask. "Oh, nothing," he says as he tries to compose himself. My friend can barely contain herself when she starts laughing again and lets out a loud, obnoxious shriek. The entire class turns to look at us, then back to our professor, then back to us. My friend's head is buried in her arms on her desk as she tries to get a hold of herself while I'm a frozen deer in headlights as I meet all the wondering eyes of my classmates. Then they look at each other with intrigue, shrug their shoulders, and turn back to the front of class.
And then I slumped down in my seat and pretended to disappear into the floor. Laughing, my friend mutters, "I guess I'll finish the story after class."
"I think you better."
Friday, November 26, 2010
Give Thanks for Family
Her name is trouble. My name is trouble. Her sister's name is trouble.
I'm talking about my two cousins I went out with on Thanksgiving night. And myself.
We're trouble. At least that's what the bartender told us at the beginning of the night. If he could go back and put money on that, he'd be a millionaire this morning.
I haven't drank in a looooooong time. Well, a "long time" for a college student anyway. This created chaos.
This post would be waaaaaaaaay too long if I told you everything that happened last night. Also, I don't think it would be wise to tell you everything three blond 20-somethings did in downtown Kansas City on Thanksgiving night. You could hold it against us.
Don't get me wrong: we didn't do anything illegal or too scandalous.
Therefore, the point of this post is to remind you of a crazy night you once had with your family.
But I can tell you:
*I met an O.J. Simpson look alike. Except he was 5'10" and white. So, the only resemblance was that he was wearing black gloves to "cover his tracks". We were confused but entertained.
*I became bffs with "Big Daddy", the 60-year-old black grandpa at the bar. He bought us a round of shots. We adopted him into our family.
*I mistakenly wore 4 inch platform heels. This was not a good idea and proved true multiple times throughout the night.
*Our entire tab got covered by Jeffrey, the bartender. We made friends with him and his brother. We gave them free range when it came to mixing our drinks and they got creative behind the bar.
*My cousin just showed me the pictures we took. I think you know that those won't be posted on here.
*Around 2AM, we decided we needed food so we hit up an IHOP from the 1970s. Everyone and their mom was there and a 12-year-old boy hit on me when I was walking to the bathroom.
*A fight broke out over pancakes and the waitress had to kick the guys out. I think a gun was pulled out because the hash browns also weren't cooked right. Tha Popo showed up and started questioning people. I took it upon myself to tell them that they already fled the scene. My cousin told me to immediately fill my mouth with my funny face pancake.
*I ended up sleeping on my basement floor in my going-out attire without a pillow or proper blanket.
*I'm still inebriated right now.
I'm talking about my two cousins I went out with on Thanksgiving night. And myself.
We're trouble. At least that's what the bartender told us at the beginning of the night. If he could go back and put money on that, he'd be a millionaire this morning.
I haven't drank in a looooooong time. Well, a "long time" for a college student anyway. This created chaos.
This post would be waaaaaaaaay too long if I told you everything that happened last night. Also, I don't think it would be wise to tell you everything three blond 20-somethings did in downtown Kansas City on Thanksgiving night. You could hold it against us.
Don't get me wrong: we didn't do anything illegal or too scandalous.
Therefore, the point of this post is to remind you of a crazy night you once had with your family.
But I can tell you:
*I met an O.J. Simpson look alike. Except he was 5'10" and white. So, the only resemblance was that he was wearing black gloves to "cover his tracks". We were confused but entertained.
*I became bffs with "Big Daddy", the 60-year-old black grandpa at the bar. He bought us a round of shots. We adopted him into our family.
*I mistakenly wore 4 inch platform heels. This was not a good idea and proved true multiple times throughout the night.
*Our entire tab got covered by Jeffrey, the bartender. We made friends with him and his brother. We gave them free range when it came to mixing our drinks and they got creative behind the bar.
*My cousin just showed me the pictures we took. I think you know that those won't be posted on here.
*Around 2AM, we decided we needed food so we hit up an IHOP from the 1970s. Everyone and their mom was there and a 12-year-old boy hit on me when I was walking to the bathroom.
*A fight broke out over pancakes and the waitress had to kick the guys out. I think a gun was pulled out because the hash browns also weren't cooked right. Tha Popo showed up and started questioning people. I took it upon myself to tell them that they already fled the scene. My cousin told me to immediately fill my mouth with my funny face pancake.
*I ended up sleeping on my basement floor in my going-out attire without a pillow or proper blanket.
*I'm still inebriated right now.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Stuff Like This Never Happens to Me.
I'm boy crazy. I'm sure you've figured that out by now. I just find the opposite sex so intriguing.
Which brings me to my flight yesterday from Dallas to Kansas City: the best flight of my life. I'm still semi-asleep as I walk up to the gate and am literally looking into a sea of beautiful 20-something males. "WHAT is going on here?!" I wonder. "This is just...fantastic. Now, I must choose my seat wisely. So. Many. Options."
I love flying alone. I usually do because I fly to-and-from school and to-and-from wherever else I feel like going (Europe. Yes, I flew alone and loved it). This has led to many talks with strangers during my flights. I also love strangers--they're interesting as well. And I think it's exciting that you will never again see the person you just spent hours talking to during your flight.
After I go through security and am about to walk up to my gate, I always always think, "Oh man, I sure hope there is a cute boy on my flight and by some miracle from God we get to sit next to each other, fall in love, get married, and have lots of babies. I would be sooooo grateful." And every time I walk up to my gate, I am greeted by disgruntled families, businessmen, and old people. My smile fades as my hopes of meeting my future husband are shattered into a tiny million pieces.
Not this time.
Which brings me to my flight yesterday from Dallas to Kansas City: the best flight of my life. I'm still semi-asleep as I walk up to the gate and am literally looking into a sea of beautiful 20-something males. "WHAT is going on here?!" I wonder. "This is just...fantastic. Now, I must choose my seat wisely. So. Many. Options."
I sit down and listen to my iPod as I wait to board the flight. To an outsider, I look like I'm minding my own business and playing a game on my phone. Wrong. I am scoping out the guys for my future boyfriend. This ensues until it's finally time to board the plane. I'm walking down the aisle when I see two cute ones in the middle and window seats. "Perfect. I'll just plop down in the aisle seat and that will be that. A two-for." Wrong. Just as I have done an imaginary fist pump in the air, a lady with a baby about 7 people in front of me takes the spot. "WHAAAAAAT?! Seriously, lady? You've already got one of those! Don't be selfish." Ugh, whatever.
So I sit across the aisle with a seat open next to me. I'll get sick if I go too far back and I'm not willing to risk looking green while I'm talking to Mr. Right. I'm texting my friend Mary-Kate (one of my twins) about how the lady should switch me seats if she knows what's good for her kid when I'm smiling to myself, look up from my phone, and make eye contact with a blond-haired, blue-eyed babe. Immediately, "Is this seat taken?" Shocked, I reply, "Oh, no it's not. You can sit here." Giggling inside, I let him by and text Mary-Kate, "Gotta go. Destiny awaits."
He graduated from the Air Force Academy, is a pilot, and lives in Texas. He let me try on his ring. He's from Kansas City and played football against my high school a few years back. We had a lot in common.
We talked during the entire hour-and-a-half flight. It was fun. It was magical.
He asked for my number.
Monday, October 25, 2010
99 Starbucks to Go
After spending nearly the entire day in class in the Business School (11:00 AM to 5:30 PM) with a few hours of studying still ahead of me, I decided I needed to get out of the beige basement of death and off of SMU's campus entirely in order to maintain some level of sanity. Therefore, I figured this was the perfect opportunity to test out another Starbucks and continue with my experiment.
I promptly pulled out my Blackberry device (that is slowly dying, mind you) and searched for some Starbucks in the area. It returned with over 10 Starbucks within 1 mile of where I was. So many options. I chose the one off of Hillcrest over by Snider Plaza (for those of you familiar with the area) and set out to find my next Starboy.
I arrived around 6:00 PM as people were getting off work and treating themselves to something warm after a long, hard day at work. And when I say "people," I mean "women." Yes, this Starbucks must have attracted almost every woman in the University Park/SMU area. No men.
'What the hell is going on?' I thought as I sat down to do my homework. 'I just wasted a buck-fifty on this coffee to sit at this coffeehouse full of WOMEN!' Just as I was grumbling to myself about the lack of testosterone and the overwhelming aroma of too many perfumes, I caught a glimpse of khaki cargo pants and a short haircut. Just as I was expecting to see a gorgeous man walk in and immediately come over and introduce himself to me (of course), I finally got a good look and.....
It was a 13-year-old boy. With his geometry tutor. While she was talking about how she was perpendicular to the floor and the table-top was parallel, the boy ignored her and ordered a skinny mocha latte with no whip and a pink straw. Great. Not only is he 13, but he's gay. Don't get me wrong; I don't have anything against people who are gay at all. I have a few friends who are gay and I respect their way of life and decisions. We all are entitled to a happy and fulfilling life and I support that. Therefore, that is not my point. Rather, it was as if this Starbucks had a huge sign out front that said, "If you don't shave the hair off of your body or get mani/pedis on a regular basis, don't bother coming in." (Yes, the boy looked like he did both.)
I stayed there for 2 and 1/2 hours doing homework and seeing if my initial impression of the Starbucks on Hillcrest was correct. Unfortunately, it was.
The only people who got coffee or hung out and talked were either SMU girls, moms picking up their daughters from the dance studio down the street or individual 20-something female joggers getting a little pick-me-up on their way back from their workout.
Correction: ONE male stepped into the Starbucks today. He scanned the room with a confused look on his face and asked everyone if this was the Starbucks on Hillcrest. A few girls replied "Yes," with eager looks on their faces. He looked a little scared and mumbled, "Ohh, uhh, I'm supposed to be meeting someone in this Starbucks I think...maybe not..." as he ducked out the door and began making a phone call.
My theory: the phone call was a pretend phone call. He was intimidated/shocked by the overwhelming ratio of women to men and couldn't defend himself should all the women present decide to band together and throw him out of Starbucks for intruding on our les-fest.
Therefore, I have successfully crossed one Starbucks off my list. I won't return to the Starbucks on Hillcrest because I don't have an unlimited supply of money to be spending at a Starbucks that won't secure me a date for Saturday night.
99 more Starbucks to visit until I find my Starboy.
I promptly pulled out my Blackberry device (that is slowly dying, mind you) and searched for some Starbucks in the area. It returned with over 10 Starbucks within 1 mile of where I was. So many options. I chose the one off of Hillcrest over by Snider Plaza (for those of you familiar with the area) and set out to find my next Starboy.
I arrived around 6:00 PM as people were getting off work and treating themselves to something warm after a long, hard day at work. And when I say "people," I mean "women." Yes, this Starbucks must have attracted almost every woman in the University Park/SMU area. No men.
'What the hell is going on?' I thought as I sat down to do my homework. 'I just wasted a buck-fifty on this coffee to sit at this coffeehouse full of WOMEN!' Just as I was grumbling to myself about the lack of testosterone and the overwhelming aroma of too many perfumes, I caught a glimpse of khaki cargo pants and a short haircut. Just as I was expecting to see a gorgeous man walk in and immediately come over and introduce himself to me (of course), I finally got a good look and.....
It was a 13-year-old boy. With his geometry tutor. While she was talking about how she was perpendicular to the floor and the table-top was parallel, the boy ignored her and ordered a skinny mocha latte with no whip and a pink straw. Great. Not only is he 13, but he's gay. Don't get me wrong; I don't have anything against people who are gay at all. I have a few friends who are gay and I respect their way of life and decisions. We all are entitled to a happy and fulfilling life and I support that. Therefore, that is not my point. Rather, it was as if this Starbucks had a huge sign out front that said, "If you don't shave the hair off of your body or get mani/pedis on a regular basis, don't bother coming in." (Yes, the boy looked like he did both.)
I stayed there for 2 and 1/2 hours doing homework and seeing if my initial impression of the Starbucks on Hillcrest was correct. Unfortunately, it was.
The only people who got coffee or hung out and talked were either SMU girls, moms picking up their daughters from the dance studio down the street or individual 20-something female joggers getting a little pick-me-up on their way back from their workout.
Correction: ONE male stepped into the Starbucks today. He scanned the room with a confused look on his face and asked everyone if this was the Starbucks on Hillcrest. A few girls replied "Yes," with eager looks on their faces. He looked a little scared and mumbled, "Ohh, uhh, I'm supposed to be meeting someone in this Starbucks I think...maybe not..." as he ducked out the door and began making a phone call.
My theory: the phone call was a pretend phone call. He was intimidated/shocked by the overwhelming ratio of women to men and couldn't defend himself should all the women present decide to band together and throw him out of Starbucks for intruding on our les-fest.
Therefore, I have successfully crossed one Starbucks off my list. I won't return to the Starbucks on Hillcrest because I don't have an unlimited supply of money to be spending at a Starbucks that won't secure me a date for Saturday night.
99 more Starbucks to visit until I find my Starboy.
Friday, October 22, 2010
Operation Starboy
I knew I hadn't posted in awhile, but I didn't realize that it's nearly been a month!
(AKA, time to do my roots again.)
Anyway, I've been gone because my computer decided to have a complete meltdown on me. Literally. My hard drive went kaput, leaving me without a computer for about a week and a half. What happened to the other 2 and a 1/2 weeks whilst I was gone? Ohh a mere popped tire on the way to failing a midterm, babysitting consumed my life (I. Need. Money.) and the fact that I pretty much became a baby Chihuahua trying to doggie paddle to keep its head above water when it came to schoolwork and passing my midterms. This past month has been----there are no words.
So I'm in need of some lovin'. Haha, just kidding....well sort of. I'm not that tacky, but you may change your mind once you hear the new experiment I've cooked up. My friend Mary Kate (from my twins Mary Kate and Ashley-not their real names) dubbed it "Operation Starboy." And it is a completely covert operation. For now.
It entails this: visit every Starbucks in the Dallas/University Park area (100+) to find your soul mate. It's gonna work, I swear.
My friend and I decided to embark on this operation after not one, but TWO of my good friends found their boyfriends at Starbucks. The first time it happened I was in Europe and she met him while visiting a friend in California. She lives in Colorado while he's in California and they're doing the whole long-distance thing after they met at Starbucks. When she told me about it, I thought, "Wow, that's crazy. That's like in a movie; too bad that doesn't happen that often." Or does it?
A few weeks ago, another friend was sitting at Starbucks when she met a guy. They talked for a few hours and he asked her out. I was like, "Are you serious? This is not real life." They met a week later--for coffee--and departed on good terms. She went on with her day until she needed another caffeine hit and went back to the same Starbucks, met another guy, talked to him for awhile, and then was asked out by HIM!!! WTF IS GOING ON AT STARBUCKS?!
Therefore, my friend and I decided that we were going to give this whole "look approachable at Starbucks" thing a try. We came down here yesterday afternoon and sat outside trying to look attractive as the 4:00 PM Texas sun brought the temperature up to a warm 83 degrees. I was in black pants and a sweater. Sweating profusely and trying to juggle my coffee, laptop, and book, I was a mess. Not approachable.
On the way home, we decided to turn this into an experiment. And maybe we shouldn't go together every time because two girls are less approachable than one. We decided that we are going to visit different Starbucks in the area and then record the interactions that happen between us and different Starbuckians. Maybe it can become a book or something. Like a coffee table book. You know, the ones that people buy but never actually read? Except hopefully people would read this one. Wouldn't that be funny if it ended up on the coffee table at Starbucks? Hahaha I'm so funny.
Anyway, since my trip here yesterday was a failure (including the part where a guy standing across the outdoor patio from me wearing headphones and NOT drinking coffee or doing anything stared at me for about 20 minutes and failed to look away or move--weird) I decided to come back in the morning by myself, sit inside, and look attractive and not too busy to interrupt. And all I've got so far is some small talk in line with a late-20-something and the inevitable sharing of a couch. Except I'm squished as far as possible to the left side because I'm scared shitless to talk or even move an inch closer to the cutie sitting on my right.
I think I need some pointers from my friends. Or maybe I just need to try another Starbucks.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
I don't CARE if you're a freshman...
YOU'RE SO HOTT!!!
So we were assembled for our athlete welcome-back dinner in the basketball auditorium. And that's about the time I started considering myself a very lucky girl. Yes, I'm able to go to a great school, live in a great city, have great friends, be loved by a great family, and have two arms, two legs, and a head on my shoulders. But that's not why I'm lucky. No....but think about it. I am assembled in the gymnasium with 500+ other student-athletes who work out EVERY DAY. A.K.A. their bodies are jacked. Roughly half of these are women, so knock that down to a super-jacked group of 250 guys. Shave off another 100 or so for assholes, 75 for the not-so-attractive ones, 50 for those shorter than me, 24 for those who already have girlfriends, and you get the ONE super-hott guy who walked up the aisle past me. I swear to you right now on my business school GPA, he has the bod of a god. And hair to go with it. I haven't seen that 'do since I looked at my dad's pictures from the '70s, but he totally rocked it. A little long, parted to the side, with some slight curl to it. As he sauntered past, the heavens opened up, angels began swirling around his perfect golden locks, and cupid came out and struck me with his arrow. I was done for. My roommate had to pick my jaw up off the ground and wipe up my drool with her Kleenex: "Pull yourself together! He's a freshman." I whip around and respond with: "I don't care if he's eighteen or thirty-five! He's got the look. And I can't stop looking!"
Technically, our relationship would be acceptable considering I was asked if I was 15 or 16 multiple times this summer. So if you want to give the cougar label based off of looks, HE would be the cradle-robber and I would be dating an older man. Plus he looks like he's about 23. Either way, I WIN.
I haven't seen him around campus YET, but it's only a matter of time before I run into him in the weight room. So, until then, I must try to look extra attractive (and maybe 19) whenever I'm lifting weights. Which is actually pretty hard to do when you're squatting over 100 pounds and sweat is dripping down the side of your face.
I'll let you know how this progresses....
So we were assembled for our athlete welcome-back dinner in the basketball auditorium. And that's about the time I started considering myself a very lucky girl. Yes, I'm able to go to a great school, live in a great city, have great friends, be loved by a great family, and have two arms, two legs, and a head on my shoulders. But that's not why I'm lucky. No....but think about it. I am assembled in the gymnasium with 500+ other student-athletes who work out EVERY DAY. A.K.A. their bodies are jacked. Roughly half of these are women, so knock that down to a super-jacked group of 250 guys. Shave off another 100 or so for assholes, 75 for the not-so-attractive ones, 50 for those shorter than me, 24 for those who already have girlfriends, and you get the ONE super-hott guy who walked up the aisle past me. I swear to you right now on my business school GPA, he has the bod of a god. And hair to go with it. I haven't seen that 'do since I looked at my dad's pictures from the '70s, but he totally rocked it. A little long, parted to the side, with some slight curl to it. As he sauntered past, the heavens opened up, angels began swirling around his perfect golden locks, and cupid came out and struck me with his arrow. I was done for. My roommate had to pick my jaw up off the ground and wipe up my drool with her Kleenex: "Pull yourself together! He's a freshman." I whip around and respond with: "I don't care if he's eighteen or thirty-five! He's got the look. And I can't stop looking!"
Technically, our relationship would be acceptable considering I was asked if I was 15 or 16 multiple times this summer. So if you want to give the cougar label based off of looks, HE would be the cradle-robber and I would be dating an older man. Plus he looks like he's about 23. Either way, I WIN.
I haven't seen him around campus YET, but it's only a matter of time before I run into him in the weight room. So, until then, I must try to look extra attractive (and maybe 19) whenever I'm lifting weights. Which is actually pretty hard to do when you're squatting over 100 pounds and sweat is dripping down the side of your face.
I'll let you know how this progresses....
Monday, July 19, 2010
Recovering.
Never in my wildest dreams could I have planned a weekend so amazing.
You know how you get so excited for an event or something so you build it up in your mind, romanticize it, and literally CANNOT WAIT for it to arrive? And then when it does, it always fails to live up to your expectations? This always happens to me. I always dream about something that's going to happen and I set these extremely high hurdles for it to surpass and it never does. Ever. So when in Paris, France with two of my best friends my weekend went above and beyond anything I had ever hoped, I was shocked.
All weekend I was saying, "I could not have planned it better in my mind." Seriously, that good.
Of course there is a price to be paid for such an amazing experience. And that price has been my day today.
First, I wake up with a third eye right in the middle of my two natural eyes...yes, a pimple the size of the state of Texas. It's massive. I've honestly never had one so big. Oh, and yeah did I mention I have another one right under my lip? If that's not enough, I woke up with a swollen lip from being stung by a bee in the middle of the night! I put an ice pack on it as I was getting ready this morning and that helped a little. But it was still really swollen. So at breakfast this morning, my friend gave me all of her Benadryll.
I wish she had only given me one or two.
Because I took two big pills. The swelling was so bad so we decided that was the right amount. Until about an hour and a half later, when I was still waiting for my lip to go down, I decided to take another pill. It did make the swelling go down, but it also made me extremely tired. And, unfortunately, I couldn't go to sleep because I had about 3 hours of class left, so I had to fight through the drowsiness.
And have you ever been forced to fight through being so extremely exhausted that you literally can't keep your eyelids open? I have. Many times during the school year when about 5 papers are due and you have practice two times a day and every single school club you're in decides they need to have emergency meetings all around the same time and you run out of gas and food and all you want to do is sleep for a week? Well this was worse than that. Way worse. Because I had to fight through the drowsiness, I fell into an altered state of being. The room was never stable ALL DAY LONG. It was as if chairs and couches could move all on their own. And instead of having one professor speaking in front of me, I had two of them walking around the room. Whenever I tried talking to my friends, they began to sway back in forth in front of me. I volunteered to act out Shakespeare for my professor and stood in the middle of the room and acted out a monologue for about 5 minutes.
So I tried to participate in class. And I took notes. And I just looked at the notes, and they are all a bunch of scribbles that weave in and out of lines all over the paper. Some lines go up, some go down, some go diagonally, some go backwards....you literally can't read anything. I'm not even sure if it's English....
It was literally like I was on drugs. It was so weird. One of my friends went to Amsterdam a few weeks ago and she got a bug bite that got swollen so she went into a drug store and asked them for Benadryll. The pharmacist started yelling and waving his hands rapidly, "What kind of place do you think this is?! What kind of person are you?! Benadryll is ILLEGAL here!!" Really? She was shocked. Even more so to find out that in the bar that night people were LEGALLY smoking weed. And Benadryll is illegal? Interesting.
Luckily, I was able to pass out at my desk while writing (starting and finishing) a paper on a book I was supposed to read this weekend but didn't. It was due in a few hours...well, since I fell asleep it was then due in one hour. Fortunately I woke up in enough time to read over my paper and find a bunch of stuff that didn't make any sense. So I quickly edited my thoughts and ran over to The Common Room to print out my paper. I had 5 minutes to run, print, and turn it in. I made it over there fine and started printing out my paper until....yep, you guessed it...the printer ran out of paper when I only had one page left to print! I was like, "Are you serious right now?!" So I tore out some notebook paper, hoped against hope that the printer would take it, and after about 15 tries at printing it on notebook paper, it worked! I was pretty impressed with myself.
So now I'm going to procrastinate even more and not read my Shakespeare play and not write my paper for tomorrow. Why? Because I'm so exhausted, drained, and just don't care about school right now. How can you care about school when you're in Europe having the time of your life? Advice on this matter is accepted.
You know how you get so excited for an event or something so you build it up in your mind, romanticize it, and literally CANNOT WAIT for it to arrive? And then when it does, it always fails to live up to your expectations? This always happens to me. I always dream about something that's going to happen and I set these extremely high hurdles for it to surpass and it never does. Ever. So when in Paris, France with two of my best friends my weekend went above and beyond anything I had ever hoped, I was shocked.
All weekend I was saying, "I could not have planned it better in my mind." Seriously, that good.
Of course there is a price to be paid for such an amazing experience. And that price has been my day today.
First, I wake up with a third eye right in the middle of my two natural eyes...yes, a pimple the size of the state of Texas. It's massive. I've honestly never had one so big. Oh, and yeah did I mention I have another one right under my lip? If that's not enough, I woke up with a swollen lip from being stung by a bee in the middle of the night! I put an ice pack on it as I was getting ready this morning and that helped a little. But it was still really swollen. So at breakfast this morning, my friend gave me all of her Benadryll.
I wish she had only given me one or two.
Because I took two big pills. The swelling was so bad so we decided that was the right amount. Until about an hour and a half later, when I was still waiting for my lip to go down, I decided to take another pill. It did make the swelling go down, but it also made me extremely tired. And, unfortunately, I couldn't go to sleep because I had about 3 hours of class left, so I had to fight through the drowsiness.
And have you ever been forced to fight through being so extremely exhausted that you literally can't keep your eyelids open? I have. Many times during the school year when about 5 papers are due and you have practice two times a day and every single school club you're in decides they need to have emergency meetings all around the same time and you run out of gas and food and all you want to do is sleep for a week? Well this was worse than that. Way worse. Because I had to fight through the drowsiness, I fell into an altered state of being. The room was never stable ALL DAY LONG. It was as if chairs and couches could move all on their own. And instead of having one professor speaking in front of me, I had two of them walking around the room. Whenever I tried talking to my friends, they began to sway back in forth in front of me. I volunteered to act out Shakespeare for my professor and stood in the middle of the room and acted out a monologue for about 5 minutes.
So I tried to participate in class. And I took notes. And I just looked at the notes, and they are all a bunch of scribbles that weave in and out of lines all over the paper. Some lines go up, some go down, some go diagonally, some go backwards....you literally can't read anything. I'm not even sure if it's English....
It was literally like I was on drugs. It was so weird. One of my friends went to Amsterdam a few weeks ago and she got a bug bite that got swollen so she went into a drug store and asked them for Benadryll. The pharmacist started yelling and waving his hands rapidly, "What kind of place do you think this is?! What kind of person are you?! Benadryll is ILLEGAL here!!" Really? She was shocked. Even more so to find out that in the bar that night people were LEGALLY smoking weed. And Benadryll is illegal? Interesting.
Luckily, I was able to pass out at my desk while writing (starting and finishing) a paper on a book I was supposed to read this weekend but didn't. It was due in a few hours...well, since I fell asleep it was then due in one hour. Fortunately I woke up in enough time to read over my paper and find a bunch of stuff that didn't make any sense. So I quickly edited my thoughts and ran over to The Common Room to print out my paper. I had 5 minutes to run, print, and turn it in. I made it over there fine and started printing out my paper until....yep, you guessed it...the printer ran out of paper when I only had one page left to print! I was like, "Are you serious right now?!" So I tore out some notebook paper, hoped against hope that the printer would take it, and after about 15 tries at printing it on notebook paper, it worked! I was pretty impressed with myself.
So now I'm going to procrastinate even more and not read my Shakespeare play and not write my paper for tomorrow. Why? Because I'm so exhausted, drained, and just don't care about school right now. How can you care about school when you're in Europe having the time of your life? Advice on this matter is accepted.
Sunday, July 4, 2010
I Really Did it This Time!!
For a person going to Oxford, I really am dumb.
Is it honestly that hard to mis-read something as simple as a time and date that you need to be somewhere? Guess so!
So I scheduled the wrong flight to Oxford. I thought I was really cool and everything that I got myself out of paying for a flight from KC to Dallas. So, instead I bought one ticket that connected from KC to DFW and I thought I was on the group flight.......but no. I scheduled my flight for A DAY LATER THAN I WAS SUPPOSED TO BE THERE. Can you believe that? No, me either.
So my dad and I tried to figure it out. We called American Airlines to see if I could switch my flight to a day earlier. First, they were going to charge us $250 just to push a few buttons to change my flight. No sir! That was not going to fly with us (hahaha, I'm so funny). So they waived that fee. Then, they told us that I booked my ticket at a great time and a great price (told you, Dad--and I was feeling really good about this compliment) but unfortunately, I would have to pay the ticket price for the other flight. Which was, I donno, an extra 700 DOLLARS! Hahaaa yeah right! I don't need to pay an extra 700 dollars just so someone older than me can tell me to do what I already know how to do. I'm pretty sure I can get myself from Kansas City, USA to Oxford, UK all on my own. Sort of.
So I called my program director and student advisor and they convinced me everything would be fine. And it was. Sort of. I still don't really know what all is going on with my classes or where ANYTHING is on campus (because I missed the whole "Intro" day) but whatevs. All I know is that I'm completely exhausted and got tipsy off of one little glass of champagne because I was sooooo dead tired and didn't have time to eat today. (The champagne was in celebration after our induction ceremony at Oxford where, yep you guessed it, I feel asleep....3 times.....and had dreams. One involved Harry Potter and another involved cabbages. Don't ask.) We had dinner afterwards where they served a different wine with every course. I was like, "Hey! I'm really starting to like Britain!" I traded some of my food for my neighbor's wine. I believe I am the winner in that transaction.
But really, I am very proud of myself for finding my way from KC to Oxford. I first landed in Big D after an hour and a half flight of the boy sitting next to me professing his love of and dedication to Jesus. Hey, don't get me wrong, I'm a Jesus fan just as much as the next person....just not when I'm trying to do my homework that I had all summer to do. Just sayin'. I guess it was my own fault in a way because I sat next to him because he was cute and I thought we could hit it off. Walked myself right into that one. Maybe that's a sign from God that I should be thinking less about boys and more about Him. Probably.
Then when I landed I had to find my other gate, which involved getting on the SkyLink and getting myself to another terminal and gate at DFW which, if you didn't know, is a massive airport. So I felt accomplished after that. Then I boarded a NINE HOUR FLIGHT to LondonHeathrow Airport and sat between a lady who loved her red wine and a little girl who probably loved Hannah Montana just as much as that lady who loved her red wine (we're talking a couple of bottles and at least 60 dollars worth of wine on the flight). She thought we were best friends after that! And the little girl was drivin' me nuts with "The Best of Both Worlds" by good ole' Miley Cyrus. In the middle of the flight I was beginning to think I got the worst of both worlds sitting between two females who were WAY out of my age range. I started wishing that there was something I had on the flight that I loved as much as those two loved wine and the beloved Disney Star who is currently trying to make the leap to real stardom (sorry, hunny, I'm not buyin' it). So I looked around.....but there were no boys. Only old ladies taking girls' trips abroad and European/Asian people who didn't speak English. Go figure. I slumped back into my chair and proceeded to watch 3 more movies while I put off my homework even more...which is also what I'm doing now.
Then, I successfully got off the plane...sort of. I left my beloved and expensive camera in my seat. So after I waited 30 minutes for everyone else to get off (the plane was loaded), I tried to re-enter when the nice British Airport Folk kindly informed me that it was against the law to re-enter a plane after you get off. I almost burst into tears. Convinced one of the 100+ people who got off the plane after me had seen my amazing camera and swiped it as they walked by, the airport people said they would go back on board and look for it. It was taking forever and I was getting so nervous I started shaking and my stomach hurt so bad! Mom and Dad were gonna kill me! That camera was expensive! I told God that if He let me have this camera back again I be really, really, extra good on this trip. And then I was like, "Crap. That was a sucky promise to make while you're in Europe. Oh well, I really want this camera." And then I got it back! And then I was really regretting my promise to be extra good.....but I'm gonna try and stick to it!
Then I found ALL of my bags at baggage claim and THEN found my way to the bus terminal! Which took about 30 minutes of walking down hallways underneath London Heathrow Airport and going up and down elevators. I was amazed I did it! Then I got on the bus, got off on THE RIGHT STOP in Oxford, found my room and everything! I'm so proud of myself. Look at me, world traveler, gettin' myself from country to country all alone.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
I'm In A Glass Case of Emotion!!
....or should I say 30 case...
When you mix alcohol with college kids, you know there's bound to be trouble. But it's kind of like separating peanut butter and jelly or jam and bread or mac and cheese: NOT GONNA HAPPEN.
Last night was Saturday night and oh what a night! Starts off at my friends' townhouse where we are just hanging out and relaxing until people come and pick us up to take us to another apartment where we, again, just hangout and relax until we go to the actual party around 11 (at another apartment). Why 11 and so late? Because that's the time that people actually start going out and you don't want to get somewhere so early and have no one be there. Duh. The boys watch the game--I think USC?--and the girls play with the dog or take pictures of themselves (guilty). Then, my friend asks me to go to the bathroom with her. Yes, she is a fully enabled human being who is pretty good (most of the time) at dressing and grooming herself, so I immediately knew she wanted to talk about something kinda big and maybe not all that good because A) the bathroom is where you go when you're around alot of people in an unfamiliar place and even though the music is loud it's that big of a deal so you need privacy and B) she asked me and not her twin sister (who was also there). Uhh oh.
So she tells me she likes this guy, we'll call him Jason, who we have been hanging out with recently. Great, I say. Go for it. He's cute, you're cute, what's amiss here? Nothing. WRONG.
So my friend, we'll call her Mary-Kate, starts hanging around him more and they play a drinking game and everything is good. I'm talking to someone else when her sister, we'll call her Ashley, asks me to go to the bathroom. Are you guys trying to make me look like I have a bladder disorder so no guys here will talk to me? So we're coming back down the stairs when Ashley tells me that she likes Jason too. Ohh shit. I say, "Ohh ok. Umm I think you should talk to your sister." "Why?" "I don't know. Have you told her you like him?" "No. Why would that matter?" "Ohh, it wouldn't. I just assumed that you had told her. Before you do anything, you guys should talk." "Oh my God does she like him too?!?" "Uhh......."
Seriously. Out of ALL the guys in the world, ALL the guys at SMU, ALL the guys at the party, they have to like the same one. Superb.
So we come back from the bathroom and go talk to different people. Five minutes later I see, out of the corner of my eye, Mary-Kate and Ashley BOTH talking to Jason, vying for his attention, and he's cornered. Poor guy.
Go to the party. It's fun. I meet people. A guy from Russia and a guy from Germany, among others. Mary-Kate and Ashley are trying to talk to Jason a lot throughout the night as well as other people to not seem desperate...but mostly him. While giving each other the evil eye. So I'm talking to Russia when, all of a sudden, he starts taking jabs at me and making fun of me! What the hell? "It's all in good fun," he assures me. "No, it's not. It's not funny." I turn to leave when he grabs my hand and WON'T. LET. GO. Germany tries to direct my attention by talking about the weather in Germany and the Winter Solstice (WTF?) and Russia reassures me that I DO want to stay and talk to him and listen to him make fun of me some more. Riiiiiight. I give him the death stare as I command him to LET GO OR REGRET IT. So weird. What is it with internationals? Communication barrier. Weird sense of humor. It's not attractive.
So I'm kind of liking this one guy who Mary-Kate knows. I ask her to introduce me and all is good. I tell her that if she talks to him later to bring me up and see what he says. She does. Then, later, I'm talking to Mary-Kate and Jason when this guy, we'll call him Freddy, starts motioning for me to come over. Ok cool, I think. WRONG. He asks if Mary-Kate has said anything about him. What? I'm confused. He likes her. Should he ask her out? he asks. Trying to be a nice person but really wanting to scream, "SHE DOESN'T LIKE YOU AT ALL-I DO!" I politely say, "I don't know. Just go talk to her." Before she's blindsided, I give her a heads up. She's ecstatic! Not. Not knowing what to do and fed up with Russia AND Freddy, I realize that this is not turning out to be my night. I decide to go outside for fresh air and find one of our friends, we'll call him Kruger, outside and sad. Good, I think, a bonding opportunity. We can bond in our sucky nights. I ask him what's wrong and, bet you would never have guessed it, he's basically in love with Ashley and she's not giving him any attention and he doesn't know why. HAHAHAHAAAHA, I think, you couldn't write this stuff! Everyone likes someone else who likes someone else who likes someone else. Fabulous. We bond.
Then Mary-Kate comes out to tell me that we're going to leave. Finally. It's 3 AM but it feels like we've only been there for 20 minutes. It was a fun...scratch that...interesting and life lesson learning night. Then Freddy comes out, gives me the thumbs up, and says he got her number. "Great," I say, trying to be reassuring with my plastered smile. One of our friends drank too much and we have to carry her to the car. In the rain. It's pouring buckets and you can't see ten feet in front of you. The umbrella rips. I'm soaked. And in a white t-shirt. Carrying my friend. So fun. We get back to their apartment and everyone who jammed themselves into the car with us decided that they're ALL going to spend the night. I get my friend upstairs and safely in bed and when I come back down, everyone has claimed their sleeping spots. I get to sleep in a little chair while one of the guys takes over the blow up mattress. Chivalry is definitely dead. I find the floor much more comfortable until I finally resign to going upstairs and sleeping next to my friend on her pillow-top mattress. This is around 4 AM after the guys decided that they wanted Chinese. Yes, there is a Chinese food delivery place that delivers until 4 AM. Who would have known.
Wake up to some really loud noises coming from the middle floor. The twins don't have dogs but it legitimately sounds like there are dogs BARKING in their house. Ten Bull Dogs. I go down to see what the deal is when the sound reverberates off the walls and stuns me still. It like traps me and I cannot think of what to do, where to go, or how to get my body moving. The sound takes over my brain. The guys are ALL snoring. The sound is so loud when they snore, but it bounces off the walls and makes it twice as loud in the second floor until it travels up the stairs to the twins' rooms. I find ear plugs on the kitchen counter and am really surprised that they have such a random thing lying around and put a few in. NOT HELPING. There is no way I can go back to sleep and it's only 8 in the morning. 4 hours of sleep. I go back upstairs to lay in bed for an hour trying, trying, trying to sleep. No luck. The sounds are haunting me.
Ashley finally wakes up and we go over the previous night, laughing hysterically at the ridiculousness and hoping against hope that it never happens again. So until the next Saturday night, this is Ron Burgundy and
Stay Classy. Or just try to get there in the first place.
When you mix alcohol with college kids, you know there's bound to be trouble. But it's kind of like separating peanut butter and jelly or jam and bread or mac and cheese: NOT GONNA HAPPEN.
Last night was Saturday night and oh what a night! Starts off at my friends' townhouse where we are just hanging out and relaxing until people come and pick us up to take us to another apartment where we, again, just hangout and relax until we go to the actual party around 11 (at another apartment). Why 11 and so late? Because that's the time that people actually start going out and you don't want to get somewhere so early and have no one be there. Duh. The boys watch the game--I think USC?--and the girls play with the dog or take pictures of themselves (guilty). Then, my friend asks me to go to the bathroom with her. Yes, she is a fully enabled human being who is pretty good (most of the time) at dressing and grooming herself, so I immediately knew she wanted to talk about something kinda big and maybe not all that good because A) the bathroom is where you go when you're around alot of people in an unfamiliar place and even though the music is loud it's that big of a deal so you need privacy and B) she asked me and not her twin sister (who was also there). Uhh oh.
So she tells me she likes this guy, we'll call him Jason, who we have been hanging out with recently. Great, I say. Go for it. He's cute, you're cute, what's amiss here? Nothing. WRONG.
So my friend, we'll call her Mary-Kate, starts hanging around him more and they play a drinking game and everything is good. I'm talking to someone else when her sister, we'll call her Ashley, asks me to go to the bathroom. Are you guys trying to make me look like I have a bladder disorder so no guys here will talk to me? So we're coming back down the stairs when Ashley tells me that she likes Jason too. Ohh shit. I say, "Ohh ok. Umm I think you should talk to your sister." "Why?" "I don't know. Have you told her you like him?" "No. Why would that matter?" "Ohh, it wouldn't. I just assumed that you had told her. Before you do anything, you guys should talk." "Oh my God does she like him too?!?" "Uhh......."
Seriously. Out of ALL the guys in the world, ALL the guys at SMU, ALL the guys at the party, they have to like the same one. Superb.
So we come back from the bathroom and go talk to different people. Five minutes later I see, out of the corner of my eye, Mary-Kate and Ashley BOTH talking to Jason, vying for his attention, and he's cornered. Poor guy.
Go to the party. It's fun. I meet people. A guy from Russia and a guy from Germany, among others. Mary-Kate and Ashley are trying to talk to Jason a lot throughout the night as well as other people to not seem desperate...but mostly him. While giving each other the evil eye. So I'm talking to Russia when, all of a sudden, he starts taking jabs at me and making fun of me! What the hell? "It's all in good fun," he assures me. "No, it's not. It's not funny." I turn to leave when he grabs my hand and WON'T. LET. GO. Germany tries to direct my attention by talking about the weather in Germany and the Winter Solstice (WTF?) and Russia reassures me that I DO want to stay and talk to him and listen to him make fun of me some more. Riiiiiight. I give him the death stare as I command him to LET GO OR REGRET IT. So weird. What is it with internationals? Communication barrier. Weird sense of humor. It's not attractive.
So I'm kind of liking this one guy who Mary-Kate knows. I ask her to introduce me and all is good. I tell her that if she talks to him later to bring me up and see what he says. She does. Then, later, I'm talking to Mary-Kate and Jason when this guy, we'll call him Freddy, starts motioning for me to come over. Ok cool, I think. WRONG. He asks if Mary-Kate has said anything about him. What? I'm confused. He likes her. Should he ask her out? he asks. Trying to be a nice person but really wanting to scream, "SHE DOESN'T LIKE YOU AT ALL-I DO!" I politely say, "I don't know. Just go talk to her." Before she's blindsided, I give her a heads up. She's ecstatic! Not. Not knowing what to do and fed up with Russia AND Freddy, I realize that this is not turning out to be my night. I decide to go outside for fresh air and find one of our friends, we'll call him Kruger, outside and sad. Good, I think, a bonding opportunity. We can bond in our sucky nights. I ask him what's wrong and, bet you would never have guessed it, he's basically in love with Ashley and she's not giving him any attention and he doesn't know why. HAHAHAHAAAHA, I think, you couldn't write this stuff! Everyone likes someone else who likes someone else who likes someone else. Fabulous. We bond.
Then Mary-Kate comes out to tell me that we're going to leave. Finally. It's 3 AM but it feels like we've only been there for 20 minutes. It was a fun...scratch that...interesting and life lesson learning night. Then Freddy comes out, gives me the thumbs up, and says he got her number. "Great," I say, trying to be reassuring with my plastered smile. One of our friends drank too much and we have to carry her to the car. In the rain. It's pouring buckets and you can't see ten feet in front of you. The umbrella rips. I'm soaked. And in a white t-shirt. Carrying my friend. So fun. We get back to their apartment and everyone who jammed themselves into the car with us decided that they're ALL going to spend the night. I get my friend upstairs and safely in bed and when I come back down, everyone has claimed their sleeping spots. I get to sleep in a little chair while one of the guys takes over the blow up mattress. Chivalry is definitely dead. I find the floor much more comfortable until I finally resign to going upstairs and sleeping next to my friend on her pillow-top mattress. This is around 4 AM after the guys decided that they wanted Chinese. Yes, there is a Chinese food delivery place that delivers until 4 AM. Who would have known.
Wake up to some really loud noises coming from the middle floor. The twins don't have dogs but it legitimately sounds like there are dogs BARKING in their house. Ten Bull Dogs. I go down to see what the deal is when the sound reverberates off the walls and stuns me still. It like traps me and I cannot think of what to do, where to go, or how to get my body moving. The sound takes over my brain. The guys are ALL snoring. The sound is so loud when they snore, but it bounces off the walls and makes it twice as loud in the second floor until it travels up the stairs to the twins' rooms. I find ear plugs on the kitchen counter and am really surprised that they have such a random thing lying around and put a few in. NOT HELPING. There is no way I can go back to sleep and it's only 8 in the morning. 4 hours of sleep. I go back upstairs to lay in bed for an hour trying, trying, trying to sleep. No luck. The sounds are haunting me.
Ashley finally wakes up and we go over the previous night, laughing hysterically at the ridiculousness and hoping against hope that it never happens again. So until the next Saturday night, this is Ron Burgundy and
Stay Classy. Or just try to get there in the first place.
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