On November 12, I wrote about an odd encounter that I had at Kaldi's coffee house. The barista and I had a little tet-a-tete via visual communication.
After I posted the story on my blog, my friend Josh informed me that I had just experienced the art of "eye flirting."
"Eye flirting?" I asked. "Is that really what its called?"
"I don't know," he said. "But that's what I'm calling it now. Eye contact is a good thing. He was looking at you; that means he's interested. If you're interested in him, you eye flirt back to let him know. Then it's up to him to step up and talk to you."
Last year I was at a party with a friend. She left the dance floor to get something to drink. twenty minutes later I found her standing by the wall talking to a guy. They appeared to be in intimate conversation, and she had a smile on her face.
"Good for her!" I thought.
After the party I asked her about the conversation.
"It was weird," she said.
"What do you mean? He seems like a nice guy."
"Well, the whole time he just kept eye contacting me."
"Eye contacting you?"
"Yea, you know, when a guy is like looking at you really hard and trying to like gaze into your eyes. It just makes things really awkward."
"Maybe it means he's interested in you."
"Well maybe I just wanted to have a normal conversation without being eye contacted."
A little over a month has past since my experience at Kaldi's and my conversation with Josh; since then, I have tested out the art of eye flirting a few times--the most recent of which happened tonight:
I was walking out of the candlelight service at church. A herd of people shuffled between me and my mom so I stopped. A guy, who appeared to be around my age, stopped right in front of me. I looked at him with no intention of making eye contact, but he was already looking at me, and...it happened, our eyes locked.
I got confused and glancedto the right, then looked back--his eyes were still there--I looked at the ceiling, then back again. I think we may have smiled at each other. Then I looked at the ground and walked away.
What the heck are you supposed to do in a situation like that?
A couple nights ago I was at the piano bar with my friend Michelle. We were standing up, laughing at people singing karaoke when a cute guy in a camouflage hat (yes, I felt like I was back in Tennessee for a moment) turned around and looked at me.
Eye contact.
I looked away. So did he. Then we both looked back and I smiled.
"Hi," I said.
"Hey," he replied. Then he walked over and stood beside me.
The rest of our conversation isn't worth recording. He didn't have much to say. My one successful attempt at eye flirting turned out to be worthy of the fail blog.
I could continue giving you snippets and stories of my eye flirting escapades, but I think that would eventually bore you. I have yet to nail down the proper technique of eye flirting. In all honesty, I think its just freakin' awkward.
If you ask me, I think all you guys should just suck it up and go talk to whatever girl you're interested in. And ladies, be nice to the men. Maybe then they wouldn't be so afraid to say hi. Be approachable, then you can bypass the kooky concept of eye flirting.
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Its okay to complain sometimes
I saw a really depressing movie yesterday....The Soloist with Robert Downey Jr. and Jamie Fox. For some reason I thought it would be a nice, uplifting film to watch while I wrapped presents and decorated a scrapbook page, but it ended up the other way around. The presents were the only thing that kept me sane as I watched Jamie Fox get sucked into the life of a homeless schizophrenic. It was terribly creepyAnd What does this have to do with dating, you might ask? Absolutely nothing. Just like my life and just like my blog.
I might sound a little bitter, but I'm not. Okay, maybe I am. Its just that its hard to find a date when you don't go out, and you don't go out because you don't really have anyone to go out with. And I really don't like to whine so I'm gonna to try to prevent that from happening by writing about some other random aspect of my life. But maybe that's the problem...I don't whine enough when parts of my life aren't going the way I want them to.
At the moment, I can't seem to think of anything to write about that wouldn't involve me whining just a little bit so if whiny people get on your nerves, then stop reading. Today I went to a baby shower and it was actually a ot of fun. For some reason everyone was dressed in some shade of green or pink or purple so the pictures turned out nice.
After the baby shower I went to a surprise party for my friend Jamie. This week is Jamie's last week working for The Upper Crust--a job that she really hates. And Unlike me, Jamie doesn't mind whining about her job, but somehow her whining ends up being funny because a story about delivering soup at 2:00 in the morning always accompanies the self pity.
We played taboo at the party and my team lost. However, Jamie's team won so I guess that's how it should have been anyway.
So now that you are completely confused and bored out of your mind, I will stop writing and go do something more productive--like finish a short story or read a book. Its my day off. Actually its my week off so I really have no need to be complaining right now.
Moral of the story: when life sucks, don't just sit there and complain; go do something about it.
The End
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
You are way too critical
Okay...so I slacked a little bit on keeping up with this blog over Thanksgiving break. But I'm back and hopefully good things will follow.
I realize that I have been keeping this blog for over a month and have only gone on one date. That probably has something to do with the fact that I don't go out that often and when I do, I usually find something wrong with whatever guy I'm talking to. I'm picky, what's wrong with that?
On my way home from Columbia, I stopped in St. Louis to have lunch with a friend. He told me he'd been reading my blog so I asked him if he had any advice.
"Well," he said, "the only thing I thought when I read your post about your date was 'man, this girl is way to critical.'"
"I know," I said. "And I'm trying not to be so critical."
I have my reasons for being critical; most of them have nothing to do with the men that I meet, but have everything to do with me and my fears. However, over Thanksgiving break I realized that I am not the only female that has the bad habit of being too critical.
My cousin Erica is 24 and just started dating a guy named Wes. I hung out with Erica and Wes the night before Thanksgiving and the morning of before we ran our Turkey Day 8k. He seemed like a nice guy--a little on the quiet side at first, but so am I, so who cares. He was attractive--especially in Erica's roommate's running clothes (he decided to run last minute), and he had a small sense of humor. He has a good job and from what I could tell, he treats Erica really well (although there have been plenty of guys who have treated her well in the past, but obviously they're still not around).
After lunch on Thanksgiving, I was sitting by Erica on the couch listening to our family members banter about this and that and whatever else.
"Look at this text Wes just sent me," Erica said
Oh, by the way. i meant to tell you that you're hair looked nice
I gave Erica a quizzical stare.
"Why would he say that?"
"I don't know!" she said. "My hair was up in a ponytail the whole time."
"Weird."
"Well, maybe I did tell him that I got it colored or something, but it's not that big of a difference and I don't know why he would text me that."
"Yea, I guess he's just trying to compliment you but that's still a really random text message.
I got up and went to the kitchen to get something to drink. When I came back Aunt Denise was sitting in my seat beside Erica so I sat down next to my mom on the other couch.
"Oh! Hahahahaha!"
Aunt Denise was laughing. I glanced up to see her looking at Erica's phone with her hand over her mouth.
"Diane," she said to my mom, "did you see this text Wes sent Erica?"
"No," my mom said.
Aunt Denise read her the text.
"Isn't that weird?" she said. "Why would he send her a random text about her hair?"
"Uh oh Erica," said my mom, "be careful, he might be turning into one of those stalker boys again.
"He probably came into your room last night to look at it. I can imagine him now, stroking your head and saying 'its my precious (in the voice of Gollum).'"
Everyone laughed, and while my mom and aunt continued mocking Wes, something dawned on me: this poor guy was probably on the other end of this text message simply trying to be nice.
"Y'all, "I said, "we are so mean! Poor Wes probably thought it was a great idea to send her that text. He probably just wanted to pay her a compliment and here we are analyzing it and making fun of him."
Aunt Denise gave another little laugh burst and put her hand over her mouth.
"Ya know," she said. "You're probably right. Ha! He has no idea what we're doing."
Everyone laughed again and my mom continued her Gollumnesque impression.
Later, I thought about the text situation in relation to what my friend had told me at lunch. Girls really are too critical. It's like we look for things to be wrong with someone so we don't have to talk to them anymore. I wonder if guys are that critical. I can't imagine it, but I would hate it if the tables were turned and I was the one being made fun of all the time. Maybe it's time for us, as women, to stop being so particular and recognize that everyone man is going to have something wrong with him. Prince Charming does not exist, but some men out there are trying their best to be him. Maybe its time we give them a chance and recognize that we're no Cinderella either.
I realize that I have been keeping this blog for over a month and have only gone on one date. That probably has something to do with the fact that I don't go out that often and when I do, I usually find something wrong with whatever guy I'm talking to. I'm picky, what's wrong with that?
On my way home from Columbia, I stopped in St. Louis to have lunch with a friend. He told me he'd been reading my blog so I asked him if he had any advice.
"Well," he said, "the only thing I thought when I read your post about your date was 'man, this girl is way to critical.'"
"I know," I said. "And I'm trying not to be so critical."
I have my reasons for being critical; most of them have nothing to do with the men that I meet, but have everything to do with me and my fears. However, over Thanksgiving break I realized that I am not the only female that has the bad habit of being too critical.
My cousin Erica is 24 and just started dating a guy named Wes. I hung out with Erica and Wes the night before Thanksgiving and the morning of before we ran our Turkey Day 8k. He seemed like a nice guy--a little on the quiet side at first, but so am I, so who cares. He was attractive--especially in Erica's roommate's running clothes (he decided to run last minute), and he had a small sense of humor. He has a good job and from what I could tell, he treats Erica really well (although there have been plenty of guys who have treated her well in the past, but obviously they're still not around).
After lunch on Thanksgiving, I was sitting by Erica on the couch listening to our family members banter about this and that and whatever else.
"Look at this text Wes just sent me," Erica said
Oh, by the way. i meant to tell you that you're hair looked nice
I gave Erica a quizzical stare.
"Why would he say that?"
"I don't know!" she said. "My hair was up in a ponytail the whole time."
"Weird."
"Well, maybe I did tell him that I got it colored or something, but it's not that big of a difference and I don't know why he would text me that."
"Yea, I guess he's just trying to compliment you but that's still a really random text message.
I got up and went to the kitchen to get something to drink. When I came back Aunt Denise was sitting in my seat beside Erica so I sat down next to my mom on the other couch.
"Oh! Hahahahaha!"
Aunt Denise was laughing. I glanced up to see her looking at Erica's phone with her hand over her mouth.
"Diane," she said to my mom, "did you see this text Wes sent Erica?"
"No," my mom said.
Aunt Denise read her the text.
"Isn't that weird?" she said. "Why would he send her a random text about her hair?"
"Uh oh Erica," said my mom, "be careful, he might be turning into one of those stalker boys again.
"He probably came into your room last night to look at it. I can imagine him now, stroking your head and saying 'its my precious (in the voice of Gollum).'"
Everyone laughed, and while my mom and aunt continued mocking Wes, something dawned on me: this poor guy was probably on the other end of this text message simply trying to be nice.
"Y'all, "I said, "we are so mean! Poor Wes probably thought it was a great idea to send her that text. He probably just wanted to pay her a compliment and here we are analyzing it and making fun of him."
Aunt Denise gave another little laugh burst and put her hand over her mouth.
"Ya know," she said. "You're probably right. Ha! He has no idea what we're doing."
Everyone laughed again and my mom continued her Gollumnesque impression.
Later, I thought about the text situation in relation to what my friend had told me at lunch. Girls really are too critical. It's like we look for things to be wrong with someone so we don't have to talk to them anymore. I wonder if guys are that critical. I can't imagine it, but I would hate it if the tables were turned and I was the one being made fun of all the time. Maybe it's time for us, as women, to stop being so particular and recognize that everyone man is going to have something wrong with him. Prince Charming does not exist, but some men out there are trying their best to be him. Maybe its time we give them a chance and recognize that we're no Cinderella either.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Behind Wall number one........
A couple years ago I freaked out because I thought that God might ask me to marry a guy I wasn't attracted to.
"Its not about looks," the Christian dating talks said. "God can change your heart."
It was the fall of my junior year of college, and I was burrowing deeper and deeper into my fear of men and dating. I sat down at church one Sunday morning and was unexpectedly greeted by a guy named David.
David was 27 and finishing his masters in some kind of engineering at the University of Missouri. He seemed nice enough, but he looked like someone my dad would be friends with (not that I don't love my dad, but I don't want to date any of his 40-something-year-old friends).
Anyway, David sat down and started talking to me. His parents used to be missionaries so he was very interested in my recent trip to Uganda.
"It was amazing!" I said.
I continued to explain to him everything I learned about God and myself and how awesome Africa is. The people literally have nothing, yet they are so joyful. More joyful than any American I've ever met. They're friendly and inviting and let their guests have the only chair in their homes. They go out of their way to make strangers feel comfortable. I was so humbled by the whole expirience.
I described our safari and how hippos invaded our camp. I laughed about getting stuck in the mud and taking a 2 mile treck down a gravel road through the game park wearing no shoes.
My enthusiasm must have intrigued him because he leaned in closer and began asking more personal questions--about my family and how I grew up and what my major was--thats when red flags went up and sirens went off.
"Good morning!" the pastor said as he walked up on stage.
Thank goodness. I can stop talking to him.
"I hope everyone has had a refreshing weekend and is looking forward to Valentine's Day on Tuesday," the pastor continued. "In light of the upcoming holiday, we're going to talk about what the Bible says about love and marriage."
My body tensed. I looked around. David and I were the only ones sitting on our row.
Oh no. This is so awkward.
I could feel the "I kinda like you" vibes oozing off of David and couldn't concentrate the entire sermon.
Why does he have to be talking about love?
I spent the entire hour praying that David wouldn't ask me out and devising a plan to turn him down incase he did.
The pastor ended the sermon with a word of prayer. As soon as he said "amen," I reached down, grabbed my purse, and stood to leave. The only problem was that David was standing between me and the aisle.
Crap. Don't ask me out. Don't ask me out.
"So, would you want to go to lunch later on this week?" he asks.
"Umm....maybe." I said. "Well, actually I can't. I'm leaving Wednesday morning to go home and I have class Monday and Tuesday."
"Well what about today?"
"Uuuhhh...."
Caught off guard.
"I, uh, actually can't today. Me and my friends always meet for lunch after church on Sundays." I said. Which wasn't a complete lie. After church, I'd change clothes then go to the cafeteria--at least one or two of my friends would always be there!
"Well," he said. "Maybe some other time then."
"Yea! That'd be good!"
Why did I just say that?
I left the service unsure of how felt. Flattered? No. Annoyed? A little. Confused? Maybe. Indignant? Probably.
Who did he think he was asking me out? He's not even attractive. Okay, maybe he does like to hike and bike and be outside and lead Bible studies for the youth group, but he's definitly not good enough for me.
I look back on that situation and wonder what made me think I was too good to date someone. David was a great guy and I shut him down. Maybe I should have said yes. Maybe something would have happened.
I doubt it. I'm pretty sure I would have found out we weren't compatable, that our personalities didn't fit. That's what happened with "Jim." I fought my pride and said yes to a date, had a good time, then spent the entire weekend with him at a confrence and realized that I could never seriously date him. He annoyed me too much. But that doesn't make me better than him.
"Its not about looks," the Christian dating talks said. "God can change your heart."
It was the fall of my junior year of college, and I was burrowing deeper and deeper into my fear of men and dating. I sat down at church one Sunday morning and was unexpectedly greeted by a guy named David.
David was 27 and finishing his masters in some kind of engineering at the University of Missouri. He seemed nice enough, but he looked like someone my dad would be friends with (not that I don't love my dad, but I don't want to date any of his 40-something-year-old friends).
Anyway, David sat down and started talking to me. His parents used to be missionaries so he was very interested in my recent trip to Uganda.
"It was amazing!" I said.
I continued to explain to him everything I learned about God and myself and how awesome Africa is. The people literally have nothing, yet they are so joyful. More joyful than any American I've ever met. They're friendly and inviting and let their guests have the only chair in their homes. They go out of their way to make strangers feel comfortable. I was so humbled by the whole expirience.
I described our safari and how hippos invaded our camp. I laughed about getting stuck in the mud and taking a 2 mile treck down a gravel road through the game park wearing no shoes.
My enthusiasm must have intrigued him because he leaned in closer and began asking more personal questions--about my family and how I grew up and what my major was--thats when red flags went up and sirens went off.
"Good morning!" the pastor said as he walked up on stage.
Thank goodness. I can stop talking to him.
"I hope everyone has had a refreshing weekend and is looking forward to Valentine's Day on Tuesday," the pastor continued. "In light of the upcoming holiday, we're going to talk about what the Bible says about love and marriage."
My body tensed. I looked around. David and I were the only ones sitting on our row.
Oh no. This is so awkward.
I could feel the "I kinda like you" vibes oozing off of David and couldn't concentrate the entire sermon.
Why does he have to be talking about love?
I spent the entire hour praying that David wouldn't ask me out and devising a plan to turn him down incase he did.
The pastor ended the sermon with a word of prayer. As soon as he said "amen," I reached down, grabbed my purse, and stood to leave. The only problem was that David was standing between me and the aisle.
Crap. Don't ask me out. Don't ask me out.
"So, would you want to go to lunch later on this week?" he asks.
"Umm....maybe." I said. "Well, actually I can't. I'm leaving Wednesday morning to go home and I have class Monday and Tuesday."
"Well what about today?"
"Uuuhhh...."
Caught off guard.
"I, uh, actually can't today. Me and my friends always meet for lunch after church on Sundays." I said. Which wasn't a complete lie. After church, I'd change clothes then go to the cafeteria--at least one or two of my friends would always be there!
"Well," he said. "Maybe some other time then."
"Yea! That'd be good!"
Why did I just say that?
I left the service unsure of how felt. Flattered? No. Annoyed? A little. Confused? Maybe. Indignant? Probably.
Who did he think he was asking me out? He's not even attractive. Okay, maybe he does like to hike and bike and be outside and lead Bible studies for the youth group, but he's definitly not good enough for me.
I look back on that situation and wonder what made me think I was too good to date someone. David was a great guy and I shut him down. Maybe I should have said yes. Maybe something would have happened.
I doubt it. I'm pretty sure I would have found out we weren't compatable, that our personalities didn't fit. That's what happened with "Jim." I fought my pride and said yes to a date, had a good time, then spent the entire weekend with him at a confrence and realized that I could never seriously date him. He annoyed me too much. But that doesn't make me better than him.
A couple weeks after the encounter with David, me and my friend LeeAllie were running on the treadmill at the Health Connection.
"LeeAllie," I said. "What if God wants me to marry David or someone like him?"
"What are you talking about?" she said.
"I just mean that maybe God has someone in store for me that I don't even like. That like freaks me out."
"Rachel, that's the dumbest thing I've ever heard." (okay...those may not have been her exact words but it was something like that.
"You're going to be attracted to whoever God has for you," she continued. "Why would he ask you to marry someone that you wouldn't be happy with."
I don't know why I was thinking about marriage at that time. That was almost three years ago and I was no more ready for marriage then than I am now. But in light of my recent trek into dating, I realize that I have put up several walls around my heart and around who I am, in an effort to keep myself from getting hurt.
People see me as a pretty confident person, but I've realized that when it comes to dating, this confidence is a wall I've put up to intimidate men and keep them away. It's a confidence that says I'm perfect, have it all together, and I'm always happy. But the truth is, I'm not, and neither is anyone else.
I know this is a wall that needs to be knocked down. However, one problem arises with the demolition: I will have to face the fact that I'm not as good as I think I am. I have flaws, I have emotions. I am needy and angry and moody. I have opinions and I don't like things, and people may not like this aspect of who I am. But you know what, that's okay.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
At least this time I noticed...
Okay....I did it again! I reeeeaaaaallly tried not to, but I did it again!
After our weekly meeting at Campus Crusade tonight, I went to Kaldi's to meet a friend for coffee. I got there a few minutes before he did (yes...I said he, but don't read into it. he is on my staff team and we were meeting to discuss staff related things) so I decided to order a chai latte while I waited (yumm....i've been waiting for an excuse to indulge in one of those!)
So I walk up to the counter and no one is around. Whatever, I'm in no hurry. I don't want to sit at a table by myself anyway. I stand there patiently and pretend to look at the menu. I'm pretending because I already know what I want.
A couple minutes pass. I hear some rucus in the kitchen, but still see no one. A guy in a charcol t-shirt walks out of the kitchen, but quickly passes through another door. I know he had to have seen me. Why won't he come take my order!?!
A poofy haired lady walks up behind me. I see her staring at the menu in my perephrial vision. Maybe she's just pretending as well. I tap my debit card on the counter, lean to my left to peer into the kitchen (no more noise, no more people), then turn to my right to smile at this lady.
"Have you been helped yet?" she asks.
"No," I say. "I think they need a bell."
I finish my statement just as the guy in the charcol t-shirt walks up to the register. I expect him to be abrupt, to exude the irritated attitude of a night time barista, loathing the customers that come in at 10:05, 55mintues before closing, 5minutes past clean up. However, I'm met with a smile and a chipper, "Hey! What can I get for you?"
I take my eyes off his charcol t-shirt and meet his smirking gaze, long enough to say, "ummm...yea! Can I get a tall chai latte?"
I look at the register as he rings me up, $3.05.
"That'll be three dollars and five cents!" he says.
I lift my eyes as I hand him the debit card and notice that his gaze has not stopped grinning, nor has it stopped focusing on me. Our eyes lock for just a second and I notice his sideways smirk broadens to a smile.
"Can you sign this please?" he asks.
"Ummm...sure!" I say and look down at the reciept. I fumble for the pen that is lying on the counter and scrawl my signature on the paper. Oh crap! The pen doesn't work.
I set it down and scan the counter for another one...I know that they keep their pens in a tiny, metal flower pot.
"Oh," he says. "I guess that's why that one was laying over there." And he hands me another pen. I don't look up until I'm finished writing.
"Ha. Yea," I hesitate to look at him. "Here ya go." I hand him the reciept, let my eyes drift towards his, then dart them back to the counter.
"I'll have that right out for ya," he says and my eyes creep back up. I see him still smiling, still ogling, and I look away again.
"Oh," I say with a timid grin. "Okay!" One sideways glance, and I meet his eyes one more time then walk away.
What is going on? Is that guy really trying to make eye contact with me? I'm so stupid. He's doing no such thing.
He calls my name over the intercom a few minutes later. I stand and begin the trek to my long awaited latte.
He's looking at me--standing directly behind my drink, I can't deny it, but I can't return the favor.
Look at him! No don't! He's trying to smile at you. No he's not, stop reading into things. Stop ignoring things.
The schitzophrenic battle ensues in my mind and continues as I struggle to secure the lid on my tea.
"Tall chai latte?" I hear him ask, and I tear my eyes off the cup long enough to smile and say yes. His eyes try to pull me in.
I press the lid, tug my eyes back to the cup, and turn to walk away. But his gaze is like a magnet--and it entices my eyes to look at him once more.
He has really good hair! Oh my gosh...he is totally trying to make eye contact with you! Walk away!
I walk towards my table. One more look. Contact. Only a moment. I see his smile and giggle inside.
What is going on?
I sit at my table and sip my latte.
Oh man, Rachel. You did it again. Stop ignoring the signs!
At least this time I noticed = /
After our weekly meeting at Campus Crusade tonight, I went to Kaldi's to meet a friend for coffee. I got there a few minutes before he did (yes...I said he, but don't read into it. he is on my staff team and we were meeting to discuss staff related things) so I decided to order a chai latte while I waited (yumm....i've been waiting for an excuse to indulge in one of those!)
So I walk up to the counter and no one is around. Whatever, I'm in no hurry. I don't want to sit at a table by myself anyway. I stand there patiently and pretend to look at the menu. I'm pretending because I already know what I want.
A couple minutes pass. I hear some rucus in the kitchen, but still see no one. A guy in a charcol t-shirt walks out of the kitchen, but quickly passes through another door. I know he had to have seen me. Why won't he come take my order!?!
A poofy haired lady walks up behind me. I see her staring at the menu in my perephrial vision. Maybe she's just pretending as well. I tap my debit card on the counter, lean to my left to peer into the kitchen (no more noise, no more people), then turn to my right to smile at this lady.
"Have you been helped yet?" she asks.
"No," I say. "I think they need a bell."
I finish my statement just as the guy in the charcol t-shirt walks up to the register. I expect him to be abrupt, to exude the irritated attitude of a night time barista, loathing the customers that come in at 10:05, 55mintues before closing, 5minutes past clean up. However, I'm met with a smile and a chipper, "Hey! What can I get for you?"
I take my eyes off his charcol t-shirt and meet his smirking gaze, long enough to say, "ummm...yea! Can I get a tall chai latte?"
I look at the register as he rings me up, $3.05.
"That'll be three dollars and five cents!" he says.
I lift my eyes as I hand him the debit card and notice that his gaze has not stopped grinning, nor has it stopped focusing on me. Our eyes lock for just a second and I notice his sideways smirk broadens to a smile.
"Can you sign this please?" he asks.
"Ummm...sure!" I say and look down at the reciept. I fumble for the pen that is lying on the counter and scrawl my signature on the paper. Oh crap! The pen doesn't work.
I set it down and scan the counter for another one...I know that they keep their pens in a tiny, metal flower pot.
"Oh," he says. "I guess that's why that one was laying over there." And he hands me another pen. I don't look up until I'm finished writing.
"Ha. Yea," I hesitate to look at him. "Here ya go." I hand him the reciept, let my eyes drift towards his, then dart them back to the counter.
"I'll have that right out for ya," he says and my eyes creep back up. I see him still smiling, still ogling, and I look away again.
"Oh," I say with a timid grin. "Okay!" One sideways glance, and I meet his eyes one more time then walk away.
What is going on? Is that guy really trying to make eye contact with me? I'm so stupid. He's doing no such thing.
He calls my name over the intercom a few minutes later. I stand and begin the trek to my long awaited latte.
He's looking at me--standing directly behind my drink, I can't deny it, but I can't return the favor.
Look at him! No don't! He's trying to smile at you. No he's not, stop reading into things. Stop ignoring things.
The schitzophrenic battle ensues in my mind and continues as I struggle to secure the lid on my tea.
"Tall chai latte?" I hear him ask, and I tear my eyes off the cup long enough to smile and say yes. His eyes try to pull me in.
I press the lid, tug my eyes back to the cup, and turn to walk away. But his gaze is like a magnet--and it entices my eyes to look at him once more.
He has really good hair! Oh my gosh...he is totally trying to make eye contact with you! Walk away!
I walk towards my table. One more look. Contact. Only a moment. I see his smile and giggle inside.
What is going on?
I sit at my table and sip my latte.
Oh man, Rachel. You did it again. Stop ignoring the signs!
At least this time I noticed = /
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
India's House Part 1
Am I the only one that has a difficult time recognizing when a guy is flirting with her?
On Monday, my staff team and I went to eat at a restaraunt in town called India's House (it is owned by an Indian family and serves Indian food). We all ordered the lunch buffet and indulged in an Indian feast (nan dipped in mango custard was one of my favorites along with some fried vegtable, but I can't remember it's name).
Matt and I were up getting seconds and he asked me if I had ever had Indian food before. I answered, "no I haven't."
"Well, what do you think?" he said.
"I like some of it. Other things, I'm not so sure...like that stuff," I said pointing to some green spinachy goo that resembled regurgiated baby food. Everyone on my team recommended it to me as their favorite, but I couldn't taste its appeal.
"Well, this stuff's alright," he said, "but it's also buffet style so its probably not the best."
I sat back to enjoy some more deliciousness when our waiter, Sunny, walked up with a pitcher of water to refill our glasses.
"So who here has never had Indian food before?" he asked.
Sunny was an attractive Indian in his 20's. He was about 5'10", had dark curly hair, good bone structure, and of course, a good complection (like most people of Indian decent).
"I heard you say you hadn't," he said pointing to me. Apparently he was listening to my conversation.
"Nope," I said.
"Is this anyone else's first time?"
"I've just had one time before this," Michelle said.
"Oh ok. Just one time," Sunny said.
He went away and came back a few minutes later and stood at the end of the table next to my seat.
"So, you've never had Indian food before?" he asked. "What do you think?"
"I like some of it," I said hesitiantly, not wanting to offend him.
"Is it too spicey?"
"No, I just don't like it
"What do you like?"
"I like this chicken and the nan and these vegtables," I said.
"Do you like the ____(I can't remember what he said but he was referring to the spinach stuff)."
"Oh, no."
"Really?" he seemed shocked.
"That's usually a favorite!"
"Yea, everyone recommended it to me, but I just don't like it."
He then proceeded to give me tips on what to eat and how to eat it, and then made a little more small talk. Then, he walked away.
"Uh oh, Rachel," Jamie said. "I think he likes you."
I thought that comment was a little unneccessary. That's what waiters are supposed to do, give you recomendations on food.
When we got up to pay, Alan approached me and said, "Sunny is obviously interested in you. We were talking about it at our end of the table."
"No he's not," I said.
"Yes he is. He singled you out and was talking to you."
"Its just because I've never had Indian food."
"Okay, you keep telling yourself that."
We walked up to the cash register and Sunny rang us up. I paid with my debit card and he asked for my I.D. since there was no signature on the back.
"is this really you?" he asked.
"Yes," I said.
"You sure?" he smiled. "I'm just kidding."
Michelle looked at me in confusuion. Sunny continued talking.
"My friend once dated a girl that looked different all the time. Her hair was crazy and her make-up was crazy. She looked like a...like a..."
"Like a clown?" I said.
"Yes! Like a clown! I did not like her with this crazy make up. Then, one day, he came here and her hair was short and she did not have on crazy make up. She was pretty, and I asked my friend, 'why are you dating this girl now?' And then he told me it was the same girl. You couldn't even recognize her!"
I laughed and commented that maybe he was really dating two girls at one time. Sunny thought that was funny (there I go sounding like Dr. Suess again).
On the way back to the office my staff team teased me.
"Sunny is a nice guy," Alan said. Alan and his wife have eaten at India's house several times. "You need to go back in there and give him your number. Then you can have something to blog about it."
Obviously I'm blogging about it anyway.
Sometimes I think my staff team is a little to obsessed with dating. In fact, if you've ever been to any event involving Campus Crusade, you will notice that dating is a top three topic in all conversations, talks, and seminars. It's a little overwhelming.
But this isn't the first time someone has pointed out that a guy is flirting with me and I make up some excuse to prove that he was not. In all honesty, I think I really do notice it when guys flirt, and I choose to ignore it. If you haven't noticed, dating scares me and I like to be mean to guys so they will leave me alone. I wasn't always this way. In high school, I knew alot of guys and alot of guys liked me. I wasn't oblivious to their flirting and I flirted back (sometimes a little more than I probaby should ). However, after making several mistakes, dating a few jerks, and getting hurt a number of times, ignoring a man's signals and pushing him away becomes second nature.
I realize that if I'm serious about this dating thing, I'm going to have to turn off the blinders and turn on the flirt.
"Guys need a little motivation," Michelle always tells me. "You have to flirt back!"
On Monday, my staff team and I went to eat at a restaraunt in town called India's House (it is owned by an Indian family and serves Indian food). We all ordered the lunch buffet and indulged in an Indian feast (nan dipped in mango custard was one of my favorites along with some fried vegtable, but I can't remember it's name).
Matt and I were up getting seconds and he asked me if I had ever had Indian food before. I answered, "no I haven't."
"Well, what do you think?" he said.
"I like some of it. Other things, I'm not so sure...like that stuff," I said pointing to some green spinachy goo that resembled regurgiated baby food. Everyone on my team recommended it to me as their favorite, but I couldn't taste its appeal.
"Well, this stuff's alright," he said, "but it's also buffet style so its probably not the best."
I sat back to enjoy some more deliciousness when our waiter, Sunny, walked up with a pitcher of water to refill our glasses.
"So who here has never had Indian food before?" he asked.
Sunny was an attractive Indian in his 20's. He was about 5'10", had dark curly hair, good bone structure, and of course, a good complection (like most people of Indian decent).
"I heard you say you hadn't," he said pointing to me. Apparently he was listening to my conversation.
"Nope," I said.
"Is this anyone else's first time?"
"I've just had one time before this," Michelle said.
"Oh ok. Just one time," Sunny said.
He went away and came back a few minutes later and stood at the end of the table next to my seat.
"So, you've never had Indian food before?" he asked. "What do you think?"
"I like some of it," I said hesitiantly, not wanting to offend him.
"Is it too spicey?"
"No, I just don't like it
"What do you like?"
"I like this chicken and the nan and these vegtables," I said.
"Do you like the ____(I can't remember what he said but he was referring to the spinach stuff)."
"Oh, no."
"Really?" he seemed shocked.
"That's usually a favorite!"
"Yea, everyone recommended it to me, but I just don't like it."
He then proceeded to give me tips on what to eat and how to eat it, and then made a little more small talk. Then, he walked away.
"Uh oh, Rachel," Jamie said. "I think he likes you."
I thought that comment was a little unneccessary. That's what waiters are supposed to do, give you recomendations on food.
When we got up to pay, Alan approached me and said, "Sunny is obviously interested in you. We were talking about it at our end of the table."
"No he's not," I said.
"Yes he is. He singled you out and was talking to you."
"Its just because I've never had Indian food."
"Okay, you keep telling yourself that."
We walked up to the cash register and Sunny rang us up. I paid with my debit card and he asked for my I.D. since there was no signature on the back.
"is this really you?" he asked.
"Yes," I said.
"You sure?" he smiled. "I'm just kidding."
Michelle looked at me in confusuion. Sunny continued talking.
"My friend once dated a girl that looked different all the time. Her hair was crazy and her make-up was crazy. She looked like a...like a..."
"Like a clown?" I said.
"Yes! Like a clown! I did not like her with this crazy make up. Then, one day, he came here and her hair was short and she did not have on crazy make up. She was pretty, and I asked my friend, 'why are you dating this girl now?' And then he told me it was the same girl. You couldn't even recognize her!"
I laughed and commented that maybe he was really dating two girls at one time. Sunny thought that was funny (there I go sounding like Dr. Suess again).
On the way back to the office my staff team teased me.
"Sunny is a nice guy," Alan said. Alan and his wife have eaten at India's house several times. "You need to go back in there and give him your number. Then you can have something to blog about it."
Obviously I'm blogging about it anyway.
Sometimes I think my staff team is a little to obsessed with dating. In fact, if you've ever been to any event involving Campus Crusade, you will notice that dating is a top three topic in all conversations, talks, and seminars. It's a little overwhelming.
But this isn't the first time someone has pointed out that a guy is flirting with me and I make up some excuse to prove that he was not. In all honesty, I think I really do notice it when guys flirt, and I choose to ignore it. If you haven't noticed, dating scares me and I like to be mean to guys so they will leave me alone. I wasn't always this way. In high school, I knew alot of guys and alot of guys liked me. I wasn't oblivious to their flirting and I flirted back (sometimes a little more than I probaby should ). However, after making several mistakes, dating a few jerks, and getting hurt a number of times, ignoring a man's signals and pushing him away becomes second nature.
I realize that if I'm serious about this dating thing, I'm going to have to turn off the blinders and turn on the flirt.
"Guys need a little motivation," Michelle always tells me. "You have to flirt back!"
Monday, November 2, 2009
Raising the Perfect Child through Guilt and Manipulation
The back story
Barnes and Noble is one of my favorite places to unwind. Sometimes I take whatever book I'm reading and curl up in a cushy chair by the window. Other times I'll sit in the cafe with my journal and a chai late, scribbling a story a just writing thoughts. But sometimes, I have no agenda, and it is at those times that I find myself standing in the humor section, reading a text and laughing out loud as other customers walk by. If you've never done this, you should try it. Witty works await you and your unenlightened brain.
I was heading out the door a few weekends ago to spend a Saturday afternoon drinking coffee at the Barnes and Noble cafe and editing an essay. My roommate, Isa, stopped me as I passed through the kitchen.
"Rachel," she said, "How would you tell your parents that you were dating an African Muslim?"
She was leaning against the counter and drinking tea with Laura, her boyfriend's younger sister.
"And he's five years older than you," Laura said.
"Are you dating a 25-year-old African Muslim?" I asked Laura.
She nodded.
"How did you meet him?" I asked.
"In class," she said. "He's really wonderful. He's studying so he can go help his country's economic situation. And we have a lot in common. He likes to read and he's good to me..."
"He really is a good guy," Isa interjected.
"So which part would they have a problem with?" I asked. "The African part or the Muslim part?"
Isa and Laura shot each other accusing glances. Isa rolled her head around to face me.
"Probably both," she said.
Laura took a sip of tea.
"Yea, they've never said they don't want me to date anyone who's black or Muslim, but they've made it clear the kind of guy they want me to date," Laura said.
"Laura used to date the perfect guy," Isa said.
"Yea, it's true. He was great. My parents loved him. He was smart and attractive and on his way to being successful, but I just didn't feel romantically for him."
I nodded.
"But they're always asking, 'how's Ricky?' and 'Ricky was a great guy, he'd be a great man to be with.' So basically implying that I should either go back to Ricky, or find someone else like him."
I was silent while they looked to me for an answer.
"I say just tell them!" I said. "And the sooner the better because if you really like this guy, they're going to find out anyway."
Laura looked timid, and I could see her parents held some sort of control over her--the kind of control all parents have over their kids. We don't want to disappoint them, we don't want them to think we are bad, and we can't stand the guilt that they throw on us for not living up to their expectations.
"Well, that's my answer. I gotta go!" I said, I went to Barnes and Noble.
The book
After an hour of reading and rereading my essay, I frustratingly put it back in my bag and stood up from my table.
I need a break, I thought and headed to for the humor.
I scanned the shelf, taking in the titles--something about porn (probably don't want to pick that up) a book about being snarky (already read it), Raising the Perfect Child Through Guilt and Manipulation.
Hmmm...what's this? And I picked it up and flipped it over to read the back:
Raising the Perfect Child Through Guilt and Manipulation is not one of those traditional, all-too-earnest parenting guides that, for generations, have sucked all the fun out of child rearing. The foundation of Elizabeth Beckwith's Guilt and Manipulation family philosophy is simple: We do things a certain way, and everyone else is an a**hole.
Is that something you should put on a bumper sticker and slap on your minivan? Of course not—that would be trashy. But in the privacy of your own home, you can employ these essential components of Guilt and Manipulation to mold the little runts ruthlessly yet effectively into children you won't be embarrassed to admit are yours:
Creating a Team: "Us" vs. "Them"
How to Scare the Crap Out of Your Child (in a Positive Way)
Don't Be Afraid to Raise a Nerd
Mind Control: Why It's a Good Thing
I was intrigued!
Author Elizabeth Beckwith then revealed to me the simple steps to take in establishing this sort of mind control over your children.
1. Encouragement
2. Loud disapproval for others
3. More encouragement- for example. "I'm so glad you're not like those people.
It is Beckwith's philosophy that successful parenting is not accomplished through rules and boundaries, but through guilt and manipulation via telepathic message.
For example, when you're mother says, "Oh my gosh, look at what that girl is wearing! That is so trashy!" Then you know that wearing a mini skirt up to your butt, high heels and a tube top is bad and unacceptable.
On the other hand, when Laura's mom says, "Ricky is the perfect guy. We love Ricky." Then Laura knows that anything less, or different, than Ricky is unacceptable.
The Conclusion
While my own parents didn't exactly brainwash me about the type of guy I should date (or if they tried, it obviously didn't work), they definitely used this tactic to mold me in other ways. Unfortunately, many of their words backfired because I rebelled and did what I wanted anyway. Or if I didn't rebel, I judged myself by my parents standards and deemed myself a bad person. Either way, kids are going to learn the hardway and get screwed up in the proccess. It's just part of life.
Maybe I'm being too harsh, especially since my parents read this. I love my parents. They're great people. But they're just that...people; and people mess up. I'll probably inadvertently brainwash my kids and send them to therapy as well.
So, my advice to Laura remains the same: date him! Do what you want! Set some boundaries with your parents; then you will have no one to blame but yourself and you will be better off because of it. Parents love us, but eventually, they have to let go.
Disclaimer: my attitude will probably change when I have kids
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
The first date
Well friends, the date with the Jim was a success. Nothing too awkward happened and I enjoyed two and a half hours of great conversation. While I left the date with a satisfied feeling of knowing I had found a good friend, I do have a few tips for all you men out there considering going on a first date:
1. Always give a compliment
I spent the entire week prior to the date convincing myself and everyone else around me that I didn't really want to go and that i didn't care what happened. But for some reason, I went to Target and bought a new shirt to wear with boots and a sweater that I already had. I took shower, straightened and styled my hair (which doesn't always happen), and spent a significant amount of time putting on make-up that matched my clothes and made my eyes pop. As I stood in the bathroom, bending over the sink with my face in the mirror, I kept asking myself, "Why am I even doing this? I don't care if he likes me. I don't even care if he finds me attractive. In fact, it would probably be best if he didn't find me attractive, then I don't have to worry about him asking me on a second date."
Nevertheless, I fixed myself up and I looked cute. Women spend time getting ready for dates and they like to know its appreciated. So compliment her. Tell her she looks pretty, compliment her outfit, tell her you like her hair. Something. Anything. Just make her feel good about herself. Jim didn't do this, and I noticed right away.
2. Open doors and pull out chairs
I attended a liberal women's college where the feminist movement is in full swing. In fact, a few of their philosophy's have stuck with me, and I'm totally for all girl power stuff. But that doesn't mean I don't like to be treated like a lady.
I will give Jim a little credit for this one. He opened the door at the restaurant and the coffee shop we went to afterwards. However, he did not open my car door (which would have been bonus points) and he didn't pull out my chair (which I can actually forgive that one because honestly, that can sometimes be a little awkward).
3. Don't run down the stairs
Jim had a disadvantage from the start. He had previously taken one of my friends on a date, and she told me his chivalry wasn't the greatest.
He picked me up at 6:30 and we drove downtown to eat at the Pasta Factory. We parked on the third floor of a parking garage about a block away. We got out of the car and walked to the stairs where he proceeded to run down the stairs in front of me. He was talking the entire time, but I have no idea what he was saying because I was trying to keep up with him while holding in my laughter and promising myself not to forget to tell Emily about this.
I'll just chalk this mistake up to his high strung personality and nerves.
4. Don't reveal your mental processes
The Pasta Factory is a nice restaurant--not quite on the same scale as Macaroni Grill, but I would choose it over Olive Garden. Jim is 21 and I am 22; however, I'm not a big wine drinker. After we sat down the waiter presented us with a wine menu and asked if either of us would like anything to drink besides water. Jim paused and I could see him looking at me in my peripheral vision.
"No thanks, I'm fine," I said.
"Yea me too," he said.
The waiter left to get our waters and some bread, and a single moment of awkward silence lingered between us.
"Uh yea, I debated in my head if that would be appropriate or not," Jim said. I glanced up from my menu. "Should I order a drink? Should I not? Maybe that's inappropriate. Up, nope. We couldn't drink together anyway because I'm a student and you're on staff. Huhu...stupid rules. Ha. Ya know. Anyway..."
His arms flailed in nervous gestures through the entire monologues. I bit my lip to hide a smile.
5. Make sure you know where you are going
Jim had texted me earlier that day to let me know that we were going to the Pasta Factory. This is an important note to take because the girl always needs to know how she should dress.
However, once we parked the car, Jim revealed that he had never been to the Pasta Factory and he didn't exactly know where it was.
"Max told me you had to go down some ally and the door was in the back," he said as we walked down the side walk. "Oh, is this it?" he asked as we past a creepy side street on our left.
Luckily for him, I had been to the Pasta Factory several times so I knew where I was going.
"No," I said. "And it's not really an ally. It's this cute little entry that leads to an outdoor patio. You'll see."
We continued walking.
"Oh, here we are," he said. Then he tried to enter a tattoo parlor.
"No, that's not it either," I said. "The door is back there." And I pointed to the Pasta Factory sign
Moral of the story--its okay to go somewhere you've never been before. Just make sure you scope it out first so you know where you are going.
6.. Be sure to lead the conversation
My biggest fear going into the date is that Jim wouldn't talk--that I would get in the car and have to think of something to say first. In my opinion, he asked me out so he should be ready and willing to begin a conversation.
Jim receives a gold star in this category, and maybe things were a little easier for him because we had a lot that we could talk about. The conversation went from roommates, to college, to classes and family, to dogs, to religion, and to Harry Potter before landing on my senior project. It was fun. And I had a nice time talking to him. Good job Jim in the arena of conversation.
A question
This might be a little embarrassing, but I may have made a mistake.
After dinner, we walked to The Underground (formally known as The Artisan) to get hot chocolate. Jim ordered and paid, which was very nice of him, then we sat down to enjoy the after dinner treat.
Each cup had a dollop of whipped cream on top, which planted itself on Jim's nose after he took a drink. He must have felt it because he wiped it off with the back of his hand, but he missed a tiny dot on his left nostril.
He was telling me about some of the Celtic symbolism in Harry Potter; he's taking a class on it and I'm currently reading it. I found it fascinating and I was trying to listen, but I kept looking at the whipped cream and wondering if I should tell him.
A few minutes passed and he paused his discussion.
"Umm..." I said. "Maybe this is awkward but you have some whipped cream on your nose."
He didn't really say anything but he kind of looked to the ceiling and whipped his nose.
"Well, I just figured you'd rather me tell you than not..."
"Maybe..." he said.
Maybe? Should I not have told him?
"I mean, I think I would want you to tell me if I had whipped cream on my nose."
1. Always give a compliment
I spent the entire week prior to the date convincing myself and everyone else around me that I didn't really want to go and that i didn't care what happened. But for some reason, I went to Target and bought a new shirt to wear with boots and a sweater that I already had. I took shower, straightened and styled my hair (which doesn't always happen), and spent a significant amount of time putting on make-up that matched my clothes and made my eyes pop. As I stood in the bathroom, bending over the sink with my face in the mirror, I kept asking myself, "Why am I even doing this? I don't care if he likes me. I don't even care if he finds me attractive. In fact, it would probably be best if he didn't find me attractive, then I don't have to worry about him asking me on a second date."
Nevertheless, I fixed myself up and I looked cute. Women spend time getting ready for dates and they like to know its appreciated. So compliment her. Tell her she looks pretty, compliment her outfit, tell her you like her hair. Something. Anything. Just make her feel good about herself. Jim didn't do this, and I noticed right away.
2. Open doors and pull out chairs
I attended a liberal women's college where the feminist movement is in full swing. In fact, a few of their philosophy's have stuck with me, and I'm totally for all girl power stuff. But that doesn't mean I don't like to be treated like a lady.
I will give Jim a little credit for this one. He opened the door at the restaurant and the coffee shop we went to afterwards. However, he did not open my car door (which would have been bonus points) and he didn't pull out my chair (which I can actually forgive that one because honestly, that can sometimes be a little awkward).
3. Don't run down the stairs
Jim had a disadvantage from the start. He had previously taken one of my friends on a date, and she told me his chivalry wasn't the greatest.
He picked me up at 6:30 and we drove downtown to eat at the Pasta Factory. We parked on the third floor of a parking garage about a block away. We got out of the car and walked to the stairs where he proceeded to run down the stairs in front of me. He was talking the entire time, but I have no idea what he was saying because I was trying to keep up with him while holding in my laughter and promising myself not to forget to tell Emily about this.
I'll just chalk this mistake up to his high strung personality and nerves.
4. Don't reveal your mental processes
The Pasta Factory is a nice restaurant--not quite on the same scale as Macaroni Grill, but I would choose it over Olive Garden. Jim is 21 and I am 22; however, I'm not a big wine drinker. After we sat down the waiter presented us with a wine menu and asked if either of us would like anything to drink besides water. Jim paused and I could see him looking at me in my peripheral vision.
"No thanks, I'm fine," I said.
"Yea me too," he said.
The waiter left to get our waters and some bread, and a single moment of awkward silence lingered between us.
"Uh yea, I debated in my head if that would be appropriate or not," Jim said. I glanced up from my menu. "Should I order a drink? Should I not? Maybe that's inappropriate. Up, nope. We couldn't drink together anyway because I'm a student and you're on staff. Huhu...stupid rules. Ha. Ya know. Anyway..."
His arms flailed in nervous gestures through the entire monologues. I bit my lip to hide a smile.
5. Make sure you know where you are going
Jim had texted me earlier that day to let me know that we were going to the Pasta Factory. This is an important note to take because the girl always needs to know how she should dress.
However, once we parked the car, Jim revealed that he had never been to the Pasta Factory and he didn't exactly know where it was.
"Max told me you had to go down some ally and the door was in the back," he said as we walked down the side walk. "Oh, is this it?" he asked as we past a creepy side street on our left.
Luckily for him, I had been to the Pasta Factory several times so I knew where I was going.
"No," I said. "And it's not really an ally. It's this cute little entry that leads to an outdoor patio. You'll see."
We continued walking.
"Oh, here we are," he said. Then he tried to enter a tattoo parlor.
"No, that's not it either," I said. "The door is back there." And I pointed to the Pasta Factory sign
Moral of the story--its okay to go somewhere you've never been before. Just make sure you scope it out first so you know where you are going.
6.. Be sure to lead the conversation
My biggest fear going into the date is that Jim wouldn't talk--that I would get in the car and have to think of something to say first. In my opinion, he asked me out so he should be ready and willing to begin a conversation.
Jim receives a gold star in this category, and maybe things were a little easier for him because we had a lot that we could talk about. The conversation went from roommates, to college, to classes and family, to dogs, to religion, and to Harry Potter before landing on my senior project. It was fun. And I had a nice time talking to him. Good job Jim in the arena of conversation.
A question
This might be a little embarrassing, but I may have made a mistake.
After dinner, we walked to The Underground (formally known as The Artisan) to get hot chocolate. Jim ordered and paid, which was very nice of him, then we sat down to enjoy the after dinner treat.
Each cup had a dollop of whipped cream on top, which planted itself on Jim's nose after he took a drink. He must have felt it because he wiped it off with the back of his hand, but he missed a tiny dot on his left nostril.
He was telling me about some of the Celtic symbolism in Harry Potter; he's taking a class on it and I'm currently reading it. I found it fascinating and I was trying to listen, but I kept looking at the whipped cream and wondering if I should tell him.
A few minutes passed and he paused his discussion.
"Umm..." I said. "Maybe this is awkward but you have some whipped cream on your nose."
He didn't really say anything but he kind of looked to the ceiling and whipped his nose.
"Well, I just figured you'd rather me tell you than not..."
"Maybe..." he said.
Maybe? Should I not have told him?
"I mean, I think I would want you to tell me if I had whipped cream on my nose."
"In that case, you do," he said.
"Only now I don't believe you," I laughed before turning the conversation back to Harry Potter.
Any advice on what to do next time?
Conclusion
Like I said, the date was fun and I walked away feeling like I had made a friend. For some reason, I got a little nervous before the date. I think it had something to do with a thought in the back of my mind: I knew that this was the first of a series of first dates and opening up to myself and to other people. That scares me a little bit.
But this was a good place to begin. Thanks, Jim, for a good night. I realized that I could hold a conversation, that I can control myself from being mean to guys, and that it is possible to have fun on a date with someone you aren't necessarily attracted to.
So, here's to the start of an interesting experience. Stay tuned to find out when date number two will happen.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Dating Dreams
I was chatting with my friend Josh on facebook last week, and I told him about my blog.
"I had a dream about dating the other night," he said. "Three dreams actually, in two nights!"
"Really?" I asked. "What were they?"
"In the first dream, I met a girl older than me. We exchanged numbers and it was essentially the starting block of a possible relationship.
"In the second dream, the girl was younger than me, but we were already in a relationship. She had star tattoos on her face and it was the first time she said I love you and I said it back.
"In the third dream, I was with a girl that I already knew and have always had a thing for. She kissed me, and that's all I can remember."
He then asked me if I knew what it could mean. After carefully studying the information presented to me, I proceeded to study the art of dream interpretation over the course of many sleepless nights. This is what I came up with:
All three girls are essentially the same person. They represent Josh' desire for a relationship and more specifically, his desire for the girl he's always had a thing for.
Girl #1 represents his confidence and boldness. He knows what he wants. She represents the stable, mature characteristics the Josh will bring to the relationship. However, as he gets closer to meeting Girl #3, his boldness turns to childlike innocence and perhaps a little fear, as represented in Girl #2, the younger girl. Maybe he feels like he's not good enough to have the girl he wants so he's settling for something less. Don't do it Josh Jack! Listen to your brain! Stop being a sissy and ask her out = )
Tattoos generally represent a long, hard journey from home. I know that Josh has already taken a long journey from his home in California to the great land of the South--Atlanta, Georgia. The fact that they are on her face is a little strange. Stars mean that Josh is leaving a big decision in the hands of fate. "Who will the future Mrs. Josh Jack be?"
The dream world is a mysterious realm where conscious and subconscious collide. It's where our brains try to make sense of this mixed up thing we call our life. Will you get what you want, Josh Jack? That, I cannot say. I cannot tell you if Girl #3 has fallen in love and that's why she's kissing you, or if she's merely saying goodbye. What I do know, is that you need to take a risk. Ask her out. Or at least ask someone out. Who knows, maybe your dream girl or some other sweet southern bell is just waiting for you to sweep her off her feet. But beware, if you don't ask someone out, you may end up with a tattooed freak like Dalmatian man:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_0lSOOaaV_I
"I had a dream about dating the other night," he said. "Three dreams actually, in two nights!"
"Really?" I asked. "What were they?"
"In the first dream, I met a girl older than me. We exchanged numbers and it was essentially the starting block of a possible relationship.
"In the second dream, the girl was younger than me, but we were already in a relationship. She had star tattoos on her face and it was the first time she said I love you and I said it back.
"In the third dream, I was with a girl that I already knew and have always had a thing for. She kissed me, and that's all I can remember."
He then asked me if I knew what it could mean. After carefully studying the information presented to me, I proceeded to study the art of dream interpretation over the course of many sleepless nights. This is what I came up with:
All three girls are essentially the same person. They represent Josh' desire for a relationship and more specifically, his desire for the girl he's always had a thing for.
Girl #1 represents his confidence and boldness. He knows what he wants. She represents the stable, mature characteristics the Josh will bring to the relationship. However, as he gets closer to meeting Girl #3, his boldness turns to childlike innocence and perhaps a little fear, as represented in Girl #2, the younger girl. Maybe he feels like he's not good enough to have the girl he wants so he's settling for something less. Don't do it Josh Jack! Listen to your brain! Stop being a sissy and ask her out = )
Tattoos generally represent a long, hard journey from home. I know that Josh has already taken a long journey from his home in California to the great land of the South--Atlanta, Georgia. The fact that they are on her face is a little strange. Stars mean that Josh is leaving a big decision in the hands of fate. "Who will the future Mrs. Josh Jack be?"
The dream world is a mysterious realm where conscious and subconscious collide. It's where our brains try to make sense of this mixed up thing we call our life. Will you get what you want, Josh Jack? That, I cannot say. I cannot tell you if Girl #3 has fallen in love and that's why she's kissing you, or if she's merely saying goodbye. What I do know, is that you need to take a risk. Ask her out. Or at least ask someone out. Who knows, maybe your dream girl or some other sweet southern bell is just waiting for you to sweep her off her feet. But beware, if you don't ask someone out, you may end up with a tattooed freak like Dalmatian man:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_0lSOOaaV_I
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
A new outlook on dating
I am a self diagnosed schizophrenic. That sounded a little creepier than I meant so maybe its not that serious. Nevertheless, I do argue with myself in my head, and I often feel that two very different people are doing arguing (and you wonder why I haven't had a date). But hey, C.S. Lewis metnioned something similar in Mere Christianity when he said that all people have three selves. So if a brilliant philosopher/theologian/writer agrees with me, I can't be that crazy.
Jim, the guy I'm going on a date with next week(at least that's what I'm calling him here), finally called me last night, and we settled on next Wednesday for our date. Where we will go and what we will do, I have no idea. What I do know is that the thought of this first date sends my self into an argument with my other self:
First side (the louder side): Oh my gosh. I can't believe I'm going on a date with him. This is terrible. Can you believe he asked you to pencil him in? What kind of a question is that? It's not like it's an appointment. It's a date--something you should want to do, not have to do. Wow...this is going to be so funny. I can't wait to tell everyone what happens.
Second side (or the opposing side): Rachel, stop being mean. You're only being mean because you're afraid. Give the guy a chance. It might actually be fun. Just because you're going on a date with him doesn't mean you have to end up "dating" him. Relax. Get to know him, let him get to know you, and you will both walk away happy.
I realize that my tendency to want to be mean to guys stems from fear. Fear that I might get hurt, fear that the date will lead into a relationship I don't want, and fear that letting someone else see me and know me will mean that I also have to see and know myself.
These are all irrational fears.
I listened to a talk on dating a few weeks ago (don't judge me! it's a good talk and I'm going to post it on here soon). Two points mentioned in the talk really got my attention:
1. At the end of the night, each person should walk away feeling better about his or her self
2. One date doesn't mean you're going to end up in a relationship. Just take it for what it is--a date--a chance for you to get to know the other person and in the process, learn something about yourself.
I think this is the best philosophy of dating I've heard in a long time. It takes all the pressure off the single date and allows you to do you she wanted to do in the first place--have fun!
So, here's to a new outlook on dating and a no pressure night of fun with Jim! (oops...I almost let him real name slip.)
Oh, and don't worry Josh Jack...I'm working on that dream interpretation.
Jim, the guy I'm going on a date with next week(at least that's what I'm calling him here), finally called me last night, and we settled on next Wednesday for our date. Where we will go and what we will do, I have no idea. What I do know is that the thought of this first date sends my self into an argument with my other self:
First side (the louder side): Oh my gosh. I can't believe I'm going on a date with him. This is terrible. Can you believe he asked you to pencil him in? What kind of a question is that? It's not like it's an appointment. It's a date--something you should want to do, not have to do. Wow...this is going to be so funny. I can't wait to tell everyone what happens.
Second side (or the opposing side): Rachel, stop being mean. You're only being mean because you're afraid. Give the guy a chance. It might actually be fun. Just because you're going on a date with him doesn't mean you have to end up "dating" him. Relax. Get to know him, let him get to know you, and you will both walk away happy.
I realize that my tendency to want to be mean to guys stems from fear. Fear that I might get hurt, fear that the date will lead into a relationship I don't want, and fear that letting someone else see me and know me will mean that I also have to see and know myself.
These are all irrational fears.
I listened to a talk on dating a few weeks ago (don't judge me! it's a good talk and I'm going to post it on here soon). Two points mentioned in the talk really got my attention:
1. At the end of the night, each person should walk away feeling better about his or her self
2. One date doesn't mean you're going to end up in a relationship. Just take it for what it is--a date--a chance for you to get to know the other person and in the process, learn something about yourself.
I think this is the best philosophy of dating I've heard in a long time. It takes all the pressure off the single date and allows you to do you she wanted to do in the first place--have fun!
So, here's to a new outlook on dating and a no pressure night of fun with Jim! (oops...I almost let him real name slip.)
Oh, and don't worry Josh Jack...I'm working on that dream interpretation.
When life gets mundane
I look forward to updating my blog every week until I actually sit down to write. In reality, I could probably find something to write about every day. It's interesting--when you focus on a topic, your entire life is suddenly consumed by it. I can't go a day without someone at least mentioning dating. Maybe it has always been that way, and I didn't notice because I had chosen to ignore that aspect of life.
I'm beginning to view dating a lot like I do writing--the more you do it, the better you get at it. On the other hand, when you choose to ignore it, opt out of it, remove it from your life, you get a little worse.
I can't really control how many dates I go on...I guess that's kind of up to the guys I meet. However, I can control how much I write, which is why I'm committing to updating this blog at least three times a week. I hope that gets all you readers out there excited because I know my life is incredibly important to you and you itch with anticipation at each day that passes without a new post.
Sorry for the mundane post, but until I find more time tonight or tomorrow, I leave you with a few things you can look forward to reading about:
1. How to tell your uber conservative parents that you're dating an African Muslim that's seven years older than you.
2. My expert interpretation of a good friend's relationship oriented dream
3. How to avoid making a fool of yourself when it comes to dating
4. And of course, what happens on my very first date (which the guy still hasn't called and told me when and where. Strike One to him!)
Also...there is a creepy bald man looking at pictures of posing women at the computer across from me. Does anyone else find this inappropriate for the public library?
I'm beginning to view dating a lot like I do writing--the more you do it, the better you get at it. On the other hand, when you choose to ignore it, opt out of it, remove it from your life, you get a little worse.
I can't really control how many dates I go on...I guess that's kind of up to the guys I meet. However, I can control how much I write, which is why I'm committing to updating this blog at least three times a week. I hope that gets all you readers out there excited because I know my life is incredibly important to you and you itch with anticipation at each day that passes without a new post.
Sorry for the mundane post, but until I find more time tonight or tomorrow, I leave you with a few things you can look forward to reading about:
1. How to tell your uber conservative parents that you're dating an African Muslim that's seven years older than you.
2. My expert interpretation of a good friend's relationship oriented dream
3. How to avoid making a fool of yourself when it comes to dating
4. And of course, what happens on my very first date (which the guy still hasn't called and told me when and where. Strike One to him!)
Also...there is a creepy bald man looking at pictures of posing women at the computer across from me. Does anyone else find this inappropriate for the public library?
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Call me a jerk if you must
I'm sitting on a couch beside two women that are quickly becoming my close friends, Maria and Michelle. Michelle and I had just finished watching Grey's Anatomy and Maria had come over to watch a movie. Laurie, Michelle's roommate, and her boyfriend Eric were putting away their dinner dishes and preparing to head out for the night.
"So," Michelle said. "Tell me the story! I need to know the details!"
"Oh my gosh," Maria laughed. "I still can't believe he asked you on a date."
"Who is it?" Michelle asked.
While I don't think I can post his name on this blog because too many people that know him read it, I can announce that I am, in fact, going on a date.
The circumstances of the date might surprise you, and I'm a little embarrassed that I said yes. I've known the guy for two years, although I would still consider us only acquaintances, and the thought of dating him has never crossed my mind. Nevertheless, like a good little boy, he listened when his Bible Study leader and my Personal PR Guy, Alan, texted him and told him he should think about asking me on a date.
"Are you only doing this because Alan told you too?" I asked him when he approached me (apparently that was the wrong thing to say because every friend that I have told had a negative reaction. Oh well. What can I say. I wanted to know!)
"Well," he said, "that's what gave me the idea at first. But then I thought about it some more and I really do want to take you out. It could be fun."
"Fun," I thought, "that's what I'm looking for. No pressure, friendly fun."
"Okay," I said. "I think I can do that."
I then clarified that it would just be a friend thing. I didn't want him to start the date off with the wrong impression--the impression that this might actually go somewhere. Maybe that is mean of me. Maybe I should give the guy a chance. But for now, I'm simpy seeing it as good practice. Call me a jerk if you want.
"So," Michelle said. "Tell me the story! I need to know the details!"
"Oh my gosh," Maria laughed. "I still can't believe he asked you on a date."
"Who is it?" Michelle asked.
While I don't think I can post his name on this blog because too many people that know him read it, I can announce that I am, in fact, going on a date.
The circumstances of the date might surprise you, and I'm a little embarrassed that I said yes. I've known the guy for two years, although I would still consider us only acquaintances, and the thought of dating him has never crossed my mind. Nevertheless, like a good little boy, he listened when his Bible Study leader and my Personal PR Guy, Alan, texted him and told him he should think about asking me on a date.
"Are you only doing this because Alan told you too?" I asked him when he approached me (apparently that was the wrong thing to say because every friend that I have told had a negative reaction. Oh well. What can I say. I wanted to know!)
"Well," he said, "that's what gave me the idea at first. But then I thought about it some more and I really do want to take you out. It could be fun."
"Fun," I thought, "that's what I'm looking for. No pressure, friendly fun."
"Okay," I said. "I think I can do that."
I then clarified that it would just be a friend thing. I didn't want him to start the date off with the wrong impression--the impression that this might actually go somewhere. Maybe that is mean of me. Maybe I should give the guy a chance. But for now, I'm simpy seeing it as good practice. Call me a jerk if you want.
Monday, October 12, 2009
Hayride Hookups
I have been battling with this blog post for over three hours now. Okay….so I took a little break to catch up with John Stewart and Stephen Colbert, but that’s beside the point.
I have been trying to pull out my usual wit and humor (what little of it I have) in order to discuss with you the romantic rendezvous a hayride can create. But alas, after my less than enchanting evening aboard a hayride that was void of any hay, I have nothing funny to say! And now I’m talking like Dr. Seuss.
Anyway, I spent the weekend at Turkey Hill Ranch on our annual Fall Retreat. I was on kitchen duty for most of the weekend, but managed to sneak out Saturday night to enjoy a bonfire, a smore, and a hayride.
As I sat on the hard, wooden bench, listening to my friend Amelia talk about the boyfriend that she is going to visit next weekend, I couldn’t help but recall the giddy feelings I had once felt aboard a similar vessel.
It was November in the year 2000. I had yet to turn 14, and I was sitting next to TJ*, my second “real” boyfriend (you know what I mean). We were huddled together beneath the stars, watching our breath form clouds around the hazy moonlight. He was a freshman in high school, and I was in the eighth grade. The night was perfect. He rubbed my hands between his to keep them warm.
My friend Jodie sat on my right, and the rest of the youth group was a shadowy outline in the pitch black dark. TJ and I were alone. I rested my head on the puffy shoulder of his camouflage coat (yes…people in
Bump bum…What if he kisses me?
Bump bum…I don’t think I want him to!
I felt his breath on my ear as he moved his face towards mine, the heat warming up my neck. I scooted closer, his skin touching mine, and I turned to face him. Slowly, our lips came together in a cold, wet peck, and his tiny whiskers stuck me like the prickly hay I was sitting on.
My first kiss is over. I believe we broke up before Christmas.
If you think I’m trying to say that all hayrides produce this type of result, you are wrong. Two years later I rejected the hand holding invitation of fine friend, only to regret it later when I discovered he made out with another girl on the next hayride. They started dating and she became jealous of my friendship with him.
We’re just friends! That’s what I said to her and to myself, though on the inside, I knew he and I both wanted more.
The year after that I dated a guy named
What I am trying to say is that hayrides have the ability to fester up that emotion that comes along when you think you might be falling for someone. It’s that mix of right and wrong; good and bad; it’s that yes and no pull of wanting something to happen, but being too afraid to let it. Eventually,l all the fighting finally explodes into a confetti that sends you over the edge, and you are forced to admit that you like this person.
It’s a crazy feeling, one that a lot of people fear. They fear it because it means letting someone else inside. And letting someone inside means you might get hurt. That person may stab you in a vulnerable spot, causing you to crumble and feel smaller than you've ever felt. On the other hand, that person might just be the one God sent to pick you back up and set you on your feet. Either way, you can’t be afraid to let yourself feel. It’s a valuable part of any relationship. In fact, it’s the part that makes you human.
*the name has been changed
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
"Just consider me your PR person..."
I'm sitting at Dunn Bros. Coffee talking to my friend Michelle. We're supposed to be working on our New Staff Development for Campus Crusade, but that rarely ever happens on a Tuesday morning, even when we meet at the office.
"Michelle," I say, leaning towards her. "Guess what!"
"What?" she asks, peering over the screen of her white Mac book. I glanced at Alan who is sitting beside her listening to his ipod and reading a book.
"I started a blog," I say.
"Really? What's this blog about?"
I look at Alan again, just to make sure he isn't listening.
"Well," I smile sheepishly, "it's about my venture into the dating world."
"Oh! That sounds interesting!" Michelle says. "I'm going to have to read this blog."
"It's really embarrassing and stupid. But you can get to it on my facebook page."
I start reading again while Michelle searches for my blog. I look up a few minutes later when I hear her laughing.
"This is really funny!" she says. "I want to comment on it. You're a good writer!"
"Thanks! That's really encouraging!" I notice that Alan has stopped reading. He's looking at Michelle's computer.
"What are you guys talking about?" he asks, removing his ear buds. I look at Michelle and purse my lips.
"Rachel has a blog," Michelle says.
"Oh? What is it?" he leans closer to Michelle's computer screen and reads, "Diving into Dating....hmmm..." He looks at me quizzically.
"Okay Alan, let me explain..."
And I brief him on my new desire to experience the "magic" of dating.
"Have you gone on any dates?" he asks.
"Well, that's the problem. I have nothing to blog about...yet."
"Okay," he says. "We can fix that..." and in one swift motion, he flips open his cell phone and begins typing. He's wearing a devious smirk that makes me nervous.
"Alan, what are you doing?"
"Nothing...are you opposed to dating people younger than you?"
"What? I don't know!"
Michelle is laughing. My brain is scrambling. What do I do? This is awkward. Alan is texting. Who is he texting. Stop texting!
I haven't given anyone the opportunity to set me up in over four years. If anyone even mentioned the idea of me dating one of their friends, I would immediately respond with some excuse about how I was too busy to date anyone; I had more important things to do.
But this time, I don't have an excuse. I don't have basketball practice every night, I'm not the editor of a magazine, I don't have to organize a hall program, and maybe I actually want him to text these people. Maybe...
Alan snaps his phone shut and walks to the bathroom.
"Michelle!" I say. "This is so awkward!"
"No!" she says. "This is good. I think you need someone advocating for you."
No I don't. Okay...yes I do. But I don't. Yea I do. I'm in conflict with myself, fighting my natural tendency to pull away and assuring myself I can do it on my own. I can meet people by myself, I don't need your help.
But the truth is....I do. And I need to stop being afraid of letting people help me.
"Don't worry about it," Alan says when returns from the restroom."I'm just puttin' a few feelers out there for ya."
I'm still hesitant.
"Just consider me your PR person."
"Michelle," I say, leaning towards her. "Guess what!"
"What?" she asks, peering over the screen of her white Mac book. I glanced at Alan who is sitting beside her listening to his ipod and reading a book.
"I started a blog," I say.
"Really? What's this blog about?"
I look at Alan again, just to make sure he isn't listening.
"Well," I smile sheepishly, "it's about my venture into the dating world."
"Oh! That sounds interesting!" Michelle says. "I'm going to have to read this blog."
"It's really embarrassing and stupid. But you can get to it on my facebook page."
I start reading again while Michelle searches for my blog. I look up a few minutes later when I hear her laughing.
"This is really funny!" she says. "I want to comment on it. You're a good writer!"
"Thanks! That's really encouraging!" I notice that Alan has stopped reading. He's looking at Michelle's computer.
"What are you guys talking about?" he asks, removing his ear buds. I look at Michelle and purse my lips.
"Rachel has a blog," Michelle says.
"Oh? What is it?" he leans closer to Michelle's computer screen and reads, "Diving into Dating....hmmm..." He looks at me quizzically.
"Okay Alan, let me explain..."
And I brief him on my new desire to experience the "magic" of dating.
"Have you gone on any dates?" he asks.
"Well, that's the problem. I have nothing to blog about...yet."
"Okay," he says. "We can fix that..." and in one swift motion, he flips open his cell phone and begins typing. He's wearing a devious smirk that makes me nervous.
"Alan, what are you doing?"
"Nothing...are you opposed to dating people younger than you?"
"What? I don't know!"
Michelle is laughing. My brain is scrambling. What do I do? This is awkward. Alan is texting. Who is he texting. Stop texting!
I haven't given anyone the opportunity to set me up in over four years. If anyone even mentioned the idea of me dating one of their friends, I would immediately respond with some excuse about how I was too busy to date anyone; I had more important things to do.
But this time, I don't have an excuse. I don't have basketball practice every night, I'm not the editor of a magazine, I don't have to organize a hall program, and maybe I actually want him to text these people. Maybe...
Alan snaps his phone shut and walks to the bathroom.
"Michelle!" I say. "This is so awkward!"
"No!" she says. "This is good. I think you need someone advocating for you."
No I don't. Okay...yes I do. But I don't. Yea I do. I'm in conflict with myself, fighting my natural tendency to pull away and assuring myself I can do it on my own. I can meet people by myself, I don't need your help.
But the truth is....I do. And I need to stop being afraid of letting people help me.
"Don't worry about it," Alan says when returns from the restroom."I'm just puttin' a few feelers out there for ya."
I'm still hesitant.
"Just consider me your PR person."
And that's what I get...my very own PR person. And I guess that's what happens when I inadvertantly ask someone for help--they help me, and I appreciate it.
Monday, October 5, 2009
Oh Happy Day
Two weeks ago, I was riding my bike home on a Friday afternoon. I had just finished having coffee with a friend and talking to her about who Jesus Christ was, and I was in an incredibly good mood. It was the end of September and the weather was that perfect mix of hot and cold, indicating that the leaves were about to change colors. I was wearing a cute shirt-dress with black shorts underneath and smiling to myself about the great day I was having.
I slowed my bike at an intersection on Cherry Street, just in time for an attractive guy in a business-casual outfit to pass me on my left. I was wearing gold aviator sunglasses and took comfort in the fact that he couldn’t see me checking him out (especially since I looked like a dork wearing a helmet and riding a red and khaki cruiser). The light turned green, and I was about to peddle off when the guy did something unexpected: He looked my way, smiled, and gave me the chin raise. The chin raise! You know…the thing that guys do where they raise their eyebrows and tilt their head back in acknowledgment and approval! I got the chin raise! Me! A girl wearing a stupid helmet! A girl who hasn’t dated in over four years! Me! A girl whose been told on numerous occasions that guys don’t ask her out because she is intimidating! I got the chin raise!
And it gets better…
I continued down Cherry Street, basking in my new found confidence when I passed another man. He was a little less attractive, but no less intriguing. He was burly and had a red beard. He wore a t-shirt and jeans and had dark, intellectual glasses over his eyes. An apron was slung over his shoulder, and I concluded he worked at Shakespeare’s Pizza. He walked casually across the street and seemed to be content with his life.
My mind was still replaying the chin raise I had just received when the burly bearded man glanced at me and said, “Hello!” in a more than enthusiastic voice.
“Hi!” I shouted as I rolled by him, and a toothy smile stretched across my face. A chin raise and a hello?!?! Today must be my lucky day!
I arrived home about fifteen minutes later to find my roommate, Jessica, sitting in the living room reading a book.
“Jessica,” I said. “You will never guess what just happened to me!”
I proceeded to tell her about the satisfactory encounters that I had on my bike ride home.
“And after all that happened,” I said. “I realized…I really can get a date!”
Jessica laughed and assured me that I would be able to get a date. I feel a little silly for finding so much encouragement in two miniscule encounters. But when you soul goal in life used to be keeping men away, it’s encouraging to know that once you’re ready to let them back into your life, they are willing forgive your for former ostentation.
I slowed my bike at an intersection on Cherry Street, just in time for an attractive guy in a business-casual outfit to pass me on my left. I was wearing gold aviator sunglasses and took comfort in the fact that he couldn’t see me checking him out (especially since I looked like a dork wearing a helmet and riding a red and khaki cruiser). The light turned green, and I was about to peddle off when the guy did something unexpected: He looked my way, smiled, and gave me the chin raise. The chin raise! You know…the thing that guys do where they raise their eyebrows and tilt their head back in acknowledgment and approval! I got the chin raise! Me! A girl wearing a stupid helmet! A girl who hasn’t dated in over four years! Me! A girl whose been told on numerous occasions that guys don’t ask her out because she is intimidating! I got the chin raise!
And it gets better…
I continued down Cherry Street, basking in my new found confidence when I passed another man. He was a little less attractive, but no less intriguing. He was burly and had a red beard. He wore a t-shirt and jeans and had dark, intellectual glasses over his eyes. An apron was slung over his shoulder, and I concluded he worked at Shakespeare’s Pizza. He walked casually across the street and seemed to be content with his life.
My mind was still replaying the chin raise I had just received when the burly bearded man glanced at me and said, “Hello!” in a more than enthusiastic voice.
“Hi!” I shouted as I rolled by him, and a toothy smile stretched across my face. A chin raise and a hello?!?! Today must be my lucky day!
I arrived home about fifteen minutes later to find my roommate, Jessica, sitting in the living room reading a book.
“Jessica,” I said. “You will never guess what just happened to me!”
I proceeded to tell her about the satisfactory encounters that I had on my bike ride home.
“And after all that happened,” I said. “I realized…I really can get a date!”
Jessica laughed and assured me that I would be able to get a date. I feel a little silly for finding so much encouragement in two miniscule encounters. But when you soul goal in life used to be keeping men away, it’s encouraging to know that once you’re ready to let them back into your life, they are willing forgive your for former ostentation.
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Dinner for 8
I had dinner with 7 other people from my church tonight. One of them was my friend and fellow single woman, Claire. Claire is 27 and working on her PhD. She recently ended a relationship with a man from Seattle and seemed pretty heart broken about it a month ago. But her spirits are now looking up. She's a great girl. Very smart and very savvy, and will have no problem landing a man in the future.
Irv and Sandy hosted the dinner. Irv is tall and slender and wears his trousers pulled up above his belly button like most 70-year-old men. Sandy is an extravagant red-head. Her sweater was black and decorated with sequined orange pumpkins. I had heard that she was a bit of a perfectionist and she lived up to the stereotype with a delicious dinner and well kept house. Likewise, she and Irv kept the conversation flowing by carefully calculating their questions and comments, allowing none of their words to seem out of place.
The Higgins (her name was Arlene but i didn't catch his--even after a two hour conversation) are in their fifties and work blue-collard jobs: she sells appliances at Sears and he works for a company that sells some kind of chemicals. They have three children, and Arlene is preparing to sew a wedding dress and bridesmaid''s dresses for her daughters wedding next August.
Polly Brown and her husband (again, a name I did not catch partly because it was so unusual. It sounded like they were calling him Ollen) are originally from Oklahoma, but moved here with the intention of staying for two years while he worked at the university. Fortunately for me, they have stayed much longer and now I have a chance to know this delightful couple. They are both in their seventies and are perfect compliments to one another. Throughout the night, Ollen would begin a story only to stop and announce that Polly could tell it much better. Then, he would politely step aside and let her take the stage. She was wonderful, telling stories with delightful animation and great voice inflection; she drew her audience in to every word. He had a dry sense of humor that would come out at awkward times with a seemingly cliche joke that no one else seemed to catch until he pointed it out. Both seemed humbly dignified, if there is such a combination, and like Irv and Sandy, they seemed perfectly at ease with one another.
The Higgins loved each other; you could tell. But I assume they haven't been married as long as the other two couples and it seems they are still figuring each other out. And that's okay because even my parents after 25 years still have a few things to work out. And I imagine, that even after the fifty years that Irv and Sandy have shared, rocky situations still occur. Yet, somehow, their gestures prove that they are completely in love and trust that the other will be there forever.
What does this have to do with a blog about dating? Well, after a four year hiatus from any sort of interaction with the opposite sex...I have decided it is time for me to step back into the dating world--something that scares me like nothing else has before. The thought of actually saying yes to a guy that asks for my number instead of making him feel like an ass, brings all sorts of fears to my chest and I get butterflies. Yes, butterflies--those silly little insects that haven't come to visit me since high school.
After high school I swore off dating , marriage, and relationships in general for various reasons, which you may eventually learn. But a series of events over the past year led me to a change of heart, and I'm ready to give the male population another chance.
Watching the three couples at dinner with tonight alluded to the fact that I have made the right decision. While I am by no means looking for marriage, they made me see that a relationship may not be such a bad thing. Listening to Ollen and Polly assist each other in story telling and laughing at Irv as he corrected Sandy's stories, I realized that marriage may not mean giving up what I love most or losing my identity in another person. If anything, the grace and comfort that these couples showed one another revealed to me that a relationship, at any stage, may actually cause me to find who I am. Each person that comes into our life has something to show us or teach us--something that, no matter how painful it might be, will hopefully grow us into a better person.
So, dating world....here I am. Give me what you got and teach me what you will.
Irv and Sandy hosted the dinner. Irv is tall and slender and wears his trousers pulled up above his belly button like most 70-year-old men. Sandy is an extravagant red-head. Her sweater was black and decorated with sequined orange pumpkins. I had heard that she was a bit of a perfectionist and she lived up to the stereotype with a delicious dinner and well kept house. Likewise, she and Irv kept the conversation flowing by carefully calculating their questions and comments, allowing none of their words to seem out of place.
The Higgins (her name was Arlene but i didn't catch his--even after a two hour conversation) are in their fifties and work blue-collard jobs: she sells appliances at Sears and he works for a company that sells some kind of chemicals. They have three children, and Arlene is preparing to sew a wedding dress and bridesmaid''s dresses for her daughters wedding next August.
Polly Brown and her husband (again, a name I did not catch partly because it was so unusual. It sounded like they were calling him Ollen) are originally from Oklahoma, but moved here with the intention of staying for two years while he worked at the university. Fortunately for me, they have stayed much longer and now I have a chance to know this delightful couple. They are both in their seventies and are perfect compliments to one another. Throughout the night, Ollen would begin a story only to stop and announce that Polly could tell it much better. Then, he would politely step aside and let her take the stage. She was wonderful, telling stories with delightful animation and great voice inflection; she drew her audience in to every word. He had a dry sense of humor that would come out at awkward times with a seemingly cliche joke that no one else seemed to catch until he pointed it out. Both seemed humbly dignified, if there is such a combination, and like Irv and Sandy, they seemed perfectly at ease with one another.
The Higgins loved each other; you could tell. But I assume they haven't been married as long as the other two couples and it seems they are still figuring each other out. And that's okay because even my parents after 25 years still have a few things to work out. And I imagine, that even after the fifty years that Irv and Sandy have shared, rocky situations still occur. Yet, somehow, their gestures prove that they are completely in love and trust that the other will be there forever.
What does this have to do with a blog about dating? Well, after a four year hiatus from any sort of interaction with the opposite sex...I have decided it is time for me to step back into the dating world--something that scares me like nothing else has before. The thought of actually saying yes to a guy that asks for my number instead of making him feel like an ass, brings all sorts of fears to my chest and I get butterflies. Yes, butterflies--those silly little insects that haven't come to visit me since high school.
After high school I swore off dating , marriage, and relationships in general for various reasons, which you may eventually learn. But a series of events over the past year led me to a change of heart, and I'm ready to give the male population another chance.
Watching the three couples at dinner with tonight alluded to the fact that I have made the right decision. While I am by no means looking for marriage, they made me see that a relationship may not be such a bad thing. Listening to Ollen and Polly assist each other in story telling and laughing at Irv as he corrected Sandy's stories, I realized that marriage may not mean giving up what I love most or losing my identity in another person. If anything, the grace and comfort that these couples showed one another revealed to me that a relationship, at any stage, may actually cause me to find who I am. Each person that comes into our life has something to show us or teach us--something that, no matter how painful it might be, will hopefully grow us into a better person.
So, dating world....here I am. Give me what you got and teach me what you will.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
