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
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