It's been a while since I've posted, but here is my most recent awkward encounter, straight to you from a the bridal shower I just left.
I arrived at a bridal shower for a friend of mine, looking cute and ready to party. Or shower. Whatever you say about bridal showers. It was a lovely time with good food, punch, and funny stories. It was hosted by a lady in her home. And by home, I mean super nice, should be on the cover of one of those magazines that tells you how you should have your home. The basement was bigger and nicer than my entire home. But whatever, I am a master at fitting in, being cool, nonchalant.... yeah right. I wouldn't have a blog if I was normal in social situations.
ANYWAY, I had to use the restroom, as one often does. I went to the guest bathroom and... well, we don't need to know the details of that. While in the bathroom, I was struck with how beautiful this bathroom was. The shower had not one shower head, but a SECOND shower head. One of those that comes straight from the ceiling so your showering experience is comprable to being bathed in a waterfall, a rain storm, or drops of liquid from heaven. I want one. so bad.
After my coveting experience in the bathroom, I went to rejoin the party. I was filling up a cup of coffee when I got to met the hostess of the party. Now let me preface by saying that the following is what a normal conversation would be:
Hostess: Hi, I'm so and so, and you are?
Me: I'm Katie, may I say, you have a lovely home.
Hostess: Why thank you, how nice of you to say.
Me: Of course, thank you for hosting, it's a lovely party.
But that's not blog worthy. Here's how the conversation really went:
Hostess: Hi, I'm so and so, and you are?
Me: I'm Katie and wow, you have a great house. That bathroom is amazing. Such a cool shower. I want it. So bad.
Hostess: haha [awkward laugh] my husband walks down from the bedroom every morning just to shower in that thing.
Me: I know! [what? I don't know that! I don't know her husband's showering habits. anyway] I almost stripped down and showered myself!
Hostess: [states at me uncomfortably]
Me: Oh, is that cake? Yeah, I'm gonna get some of that...
Yup, that's what I do. I can socialize with the best of them. Some people are social butterflies. I'm more a social moth. I make you uncomfortable and kind of fly in your face. it's not pretty...
Another successful encounter with a person!! and, I will try to update this thing more often :)
Sunday, September 9, 2012
Monday, February 20, 2012
sickness....
Ladies and gentlemen, I am sick. Stuffy nose, sneezing, generally fogginess of the head... It is no fun at all. But, it did allow for me to have the following awkward moments during the day....
1) Sleeping: Sleeping when you're sick is so difficult. You can literally feel snot shifting from one side of your head to the other. You're hot then you're cold [raise your hand if you just started singing Katy Perry!], you wake-up 17 times because you were probably snoring like a wookie, it just never goes well. Sometime in the middle of the night, I woke-up and needed to blow my nose. So, I grabbed a robe, wandering to the bathroom... except it wasn't the bathroom. I stumbled into a walk-in closet in my apartment, groping around the random supplies we have back there looking a for a tissue. I eventually blew my nose in the bathroom, but I may have used a sweater that was being stored in the closet. That'll be a nice surprise for another day...
2) Going in public: I know I shouldn't work when I'm sick, but I had to... a little bit. I had two families to visit and some paperwork to do, so I took care of business and tried to get home and back to my quarantine state without infecting the public. However, while at a family's home, I sneezed into my sleeve... and a ball of snot came out on my sleeve. I tried to play it cool, not gag at my own disgusting-ness. I left the meeting, no one noticed and I used so much hand sanitizer on my hands and sleeves. I'm sure it smelled like rubbing alcohol in my car, however I'm congested, so I didn't notice.
3) My face: Doesn't matter how much make-up I wear, if I'm sick, you know it. Ever seen the walking dead? If I have a cold, you could throw me on that set and I would be an extra. I look disgusting. And, if you were to see me, guaranteed you will say one of the following comments: 'you feeling ok today?' 'You look a little tired.' 'You look like you aren't feeling well...' 'did you sleep ok?" ' Oh honey, you look stressed"
I get it!! I do not look my best. I look like I went on a 3 day bender with charlie sheen and woke up sleeping under a cactus. Thank you for pointing it out. Back to bed.
4) Home remedies: While out in public, I stopped at kroger for the essentials... tissues, nose spray, heating pad [which I put on my face for the rest of the day] and throat lozenges. So, I'm laying on the couch, wallowing in self pity, when I decide to use my saline nose spray... while laying down. This caused a flood of saline solution to go through my nose, down my throat, and caused me to choke. I sat up and starting coughing, sounded like 'gollum' from lord of the rings [raise your hand if you're a dork!] I got myself together and decided to try again in the other nostril [this time sitting up of course]. I sprayed the saline into my nose, panicked because I thought I might choke again, so took the bottle out of my nose quickly. Too quickly, in fact. I forgot to stop squeezing the bottle. So, I sent a shower of saline up my nose, on my face, in my eyes, on the couch... like an ocean of cold medicine washing over me and kind of drowning me.... again.
So, I sit on my couch, eyes still burning from the nose spray, wondering what new experiences this sickness will bring my way. Bring it on cold, I am ready!
1) Sleeping: Sleeping when you're sick is so difficult. You can literally feel snot shifting from one side of your head to the other. You're hot then you're cold [raise your hand if you just started singing Katy Perry!], you wake-up 17 times because you were probably snoring like a wookie, it just never goes well. Sometime in the middle of the night, I woke-up and needed to blow my nose. So, I grabbed a robe, wandering to the bathroom... except it wasn't the bathroom. I stumbled into a walk-in closet in my apartment, groping around the random supplies we have back there looking a for a tissue. I eventually blew my nose in the bathroom, but I may have used a sweater that was being stored in the closet. That'll be a nice surprise for another day...
2) Going in public: I know I shouldn't work when I'm sick, but I had to... a little bit. I had two families to visit and some paperwork to do, so I took care of business and tried to get home and back to my quarantine state without infecting the public. However, while at a family's home, I sneezed into my sleeve... and a ball of snot came out on my sleeve. I tried to play it cool, not gag at my own disgusting-ness. I left the meeting, no one noticed and I used so much hand sanitizer on my hands and sleeves. I'm sure it smelled like rubbing alcohol in my car, however I'm congested, so I didn't notice.
3) My face: Doesn't matter how much make-up I wear, if I'm sick, you know it. Ever seen the walking dead? If I have a cold, you could throw me on that set and I would be an extra. I look disgusting. And, if you were to see me, guaranteed you will say one of the following comments: 'you feeling ok today?' 'You look a little tired.' 'You look like you aren't feeling well...' 'did you sleep ok?" ' Oh honey, you look stressed"
I get it!! I do not look my best. I look like I went on a 3 day bender with charlie sheen and woke up sleeping under a cactus. Thank you for pointing it out. Back to bed.
4) Home remedies: While out in public, I stopped at kroger for the essentials... tissues, nose spray, heating pad [which I put on my face for the rest of the day] and throat lozenges. So, I'm laying on the couch, wallowing in self pity, when I decide to use my saline nose spray... while laying down. This caused a flood of saline solution to go through my nose, down my throat, and caused me to choke. I sat up and starting coughing, sounded like 'gollum' from lord of the rings [raise your hand if you're a dork!] I got myself together and decided to try again in the other nostril [this time sitting up of course]. I sprayed the saline into my nose, panicked because I thought I might choke again, so took the bottle out of my nose quickly. Too quickly, in fact. I forgot to stop squeezing the bottle. So, I sent a shower of saline up my nose, on my face, in my eyes, on the couch... like an ocean of cold medicine washing over me and kind of drowning me.... again.
So, I sit on my couch, eyes still burning from the nose spray, wondering what new experiences this sickness will bring my way. Bring it on cold, I am ready!
Sunday, January 15, 2012
Stalker
Stalking is weird. The word 'stalker' brings to the mind images of a guy in the bushes with binoculars, someone who sends letters to their beloved made up from cut up magazines, someone who collects creepy dolls and sends them as presents... It is not a pleasant image and stalking is not something to joke about... usually. In this story, I was not the stalked. That's right. I was the stalker. Here we go...
Remember the "winky mcgunslinger" story? In that story, I accidently winked and shot a finger guy at an attractive guy in my class. Well, enter that attractive guy again and another awkward interaction with him [can you call it an interaction when you are stalking and don't actually talk to them?]
There I am, graduate student, about mid-way through the semester. I'm learning the ropes of school, balancing homework, real work, and fun times, generally getting a good grip on things. However, I was not getting to know people in my class. If you know me, you know it takes me a while to warm up to people. I'm pretty ok being that person in class who sits in the back-ish, doesn't talk to their classmates, at least for a while. Give me a month or two before I start being social. This story occurs in the I'm-not-talking-to-anyone period of grad school.
So, it's mid-way through the semester and I'm walking to my friday night class. As I walked across the lawns of UL, I remembered suddenly that our class was moved to a different building. Oh shoot, I forgot to right down the building and room number! Now, UL is not a small campus, I couldn't just waltz around until I found my classmates. I also couldn't hop on-line using a fancy cell phone to find out where class was to be held because I don't have internet on my phone [I know, the mind reels that there could be someone out there over the age of 12 and under the age of 60 that doesn't have internet on their phone. But if I did have the ability to jump on-line, there wouldn't be a story... so I continue]
I stood, outside my usual building, pondering my next move. I debated just going home. I had given it the old college try, or in my case the grad school try, but there was no point walking around, peeking into rooms to see if I recognized anyone. And then, I saw him.
Like a beacon from heaven, I saw a guy from my class, walking across campus. Bingo! I could just ask him where class was. That's what a normal person would do. I, instead, debated the consequences of actually talking to this guy. Keep in mind, I hadn't really spoken to anyone in class. I was still hoping they had forgotten my first day of class in which I ran in sweaty and said something about bacon being my favorite food. Since that day, I had decided to lay low. And this particular day, I decided to continue that pattern.
So, I stalked him. I stayed about 50 feet behind him at all times, just walking, trying to be casual. Just casually stalking. At one point, he stopped to talk to someone on campus. Which meant I had to stop 50 feet behind him and stand in the middle of campus on a random sidewalk. I just stood their looking at the trees, checking my internet-less cell phone, looking through my book bag. Finally, he continued walking toward class. I called my friend Betsy to inform her of my new stalking habit. She told me this was silly and I should just ask him where class was... yeah, I couldn't do that.
In the end, I made it to class. Again, I sat in the back-ish and didn't talk to anyone. But who needs to? I was able to get to class successfully without making social interactions. So, I win? no probably not...
Remember the "winky mcgunslinger" story? In that story, I accidently winked and shot a finger guy at an attractive guy in my class. Well, enter that attractive guy again and another awkward interaction with him [can you call it an interaction when you are stalking and don't actually talk to them?]
There I am, graduate student, about mid-way through the semester. I'm learning the ropes of school, balancing homework, real work, and fun times, generally getting a good grip on things. However, I was not getting to know people in my class. If you know me, you know it takes me a while to warm up to people. I'm pretty ok being that person in class who sits in the back-ish, doesn't talk to their classmates, at least for a while. Give me a month or two before I start being social. This story occurs in the I'm-not-talking-to-anyone period of grad school.
So, it's mid-way through the semester and I'm walking to my friday night class. As I walked across the lawns of UL, I remembered suddenly that our class was moved to a different building. Oh shoot, I forgot to right down the building and room number! Now, UL is not a small campus, I couldn't just waltz around until I found my classmates. I also couldn't hop on-line using a fancy cell phone to find out where class was to be held because I don't have internet on my phone [I know, the mind reels that there could be someone out there over the age of 12 and under the age of 60 that doesn't have internet on their phone. But if I did have the ability to jump on-line, there wouldn't be a story... so I continue]
I stood, outside my usual building, pondering my next move. I debated just going home. I had given it the old college try, or in my case the grad school try, but there was no point walking around, peeking into rooms to see if I recognized anyone. And then, I saw him.
Like a beacon from heaven, I saw a guy from my class, walking across campus. Bingo! I could just ask him where class was. That's what a normal person would do. I, instead, debated the consequences of actually talking to this guy. Keep in mind, I hadn't really spoken to anyone in class. I was still hoping they had forgotten my first day of class in which I ran in sweaty and said something about bacon being my favorite food. Since that day, I had decided to lay low. And this particular day, I decided to continue that pattern.
So, I stalked him. I stayed about 50 feet behind him at all times, just walking, trying to be casual. Just casually stalking. At one point, he stopped to talk to someone on campus. Which meant I had to stop 50 feet behind him and stand in the middle of campus on a random sidewalk. I just stood their looking at the trees, checking my internet-less cell phone, looking through my book bag. Finally, he continued walking toward class. I called my friend Betsy to inform her of my new stalking habit. She told me this was silly and I should just ask him where class was... yeah, I couldn't do that.
In the end, I made it to class. Again, I sat in the back-ish and didn't talk to anyone. But who needs to? I was able to get to class successfully without making social interactions. So, I win? no probably not...
Monday, November 21, 2011
Waffle House
Waffle House! Raise your hand if you love Waffle House! If your hand isn't raised, you are lying. We as a society love waffle house. It may be dirty and greasy and run through you like a firecracker [probably the grossest thing I've ever said via blog], but you love it! The plastic menus with their pictures [thanks, I forgot what eggs and bacon looked like!]. The greasy floor that you could easily pull a Risky Business on. The 24 hours of operation, perfect for early morning coffees or late night meals that soak up whatever your consumed that evening. Aw that yellow glowing roof top is like a house of worship for college students, truck drivers, and any other lonely sole in need of a good meal... well, a meal at least.
I worked at Waffle House. That's right, I wore the uniform, with the black shoes and visor, I ain't got no shame! mama gotta eat, which means mama gotta work. And during my junior year of college, I worked in a waffle house. It was an interesting experience. I got to wash dishes behind the counter, being hit on by truck drivers at 7 in the morning [oh yes, I have never been more attractive than when I'm in my waffle house uniform with a layer of grease covering my face]. It was great. One day, I was taken to the back to learn the joys of food prep. At first, I was a lowly dish washer slash girl who got to pour bleach down the drain in the bathroom when it started to stank. But that day, I was being promoted to food prepper. oh glorious day.
Food prep was fairly easy. The Waffle House runs on efficiency, meaning that the ingredients for your delicious [ok mediocre] food are prepped in advanced. You can't take the time to slice up a tomato on the line. You need tomatoes that are pre sliced, mayonnaise that is already divided from the jelly packets, eggs in a specific bowl. That's where I came in. An intricate part of the waffle house team.
My trainer was a man named Rob. He was a good ole' boy with a thick country accent who was always nice to me. He generally told the creepy truck drivers that I was off limits, which I appreciated. My knight in waffle house apron. He took me to the back [the magical food prep area] to show me what needed to be prepped and where it went. During this riveting explanation process, I was shown how to prep cheese. You took the pre-sliced cheese and peeled it from the block. You then laid a piece like a square. On top of this one, you laid a slice like a diamond. Square. Diamond. Square. Diamond. You did this so there was always an accessible corner, easy to grab and through on some scattered and smothered hash browns. While teaching me this process, I stated that it was kind of monotonous. To this, Rob replied, "well, I don't know about that, but is it like doing the same thing over and over!"
Good point Rob. I think I'll go back to the square diamond pattern. Need to practice...
I worked at Waffle House. That's right, I wore the uniform, with the black shoes and visor, I ain't got no shame! mama gotta eat, which means mama gotta work. And during my junior year of college, I worked in a waffle house. It was an interesting experience. I got to wash dishes behind the counter, being hit on by truck drivers at 7 in the morning [oh yes, I have never been more attractive than when I'm in my waffle house uniform with a layer of grease covering my face]. It was great. One day, I was taken to the back to learn the joys of food prep. At first, I was a lowly dish washer slash girl who got to pour bleach down the drain in the bathroom when it started to stank. But that day, I was being promoted to food prepper. oh glorious day.
Food prep was fairly easy. The Waffle House runs on efficiency, meaning that the ingredients for your delicious [ok mediocre] food are prepped in advanced. You can't take the time to slice up a tomato on the line. You need tomatoes that are pre sliced, mayonnaise that is already divided from the jelly packets, eggs in a specific bowl. That's where I came in. An intricate part of the waffle house team.
My trainer was a man named Rob. He was a good ole' boy with a thick country accent who was always nice to me. He generally told the creepy truck drivers that I was off limits, which I appreciated. My knight in waffle house apron. He took me to the back [the magical food prep area] to show me what needed to be prepped and where it went. During this riveting explanation process, I was shown how to prep cheese. You took the pre-sliced cheese and peeled it from the block. You then laid a piece like a square. On top of this one, you laid a slice like a diamond. Square. Diamond. Square. Diamond. You did this so there was always an accessible corner, easy to grab and through on some scattered and smothered hash browns. While teaching me this process, I stated that it was kind of monotonous. To this, Rob replied, "well, I don't know about that, but is it like doing the same thing over and over!"
Good point Rob. I think I'll go back to the square diamond pattern. Need to practice...
Sunday, November 13, 2011
Winter Olympics
I am not a fan of winter. I hate having to put on seven layers of clothes just to walk the garbage to the dumpster. I hate having my nose run for 3-4 months at a time. I hate the fact that my bones feel like icicles under my skin. I just hate it.
I know some of you are thinking, but what about cute scarfs and peppermint mochas and christmas music and snowflakes? To that I say, scarfs make my face look fat, you can get peppermint mochas anytime [eat a mint and drink some coffee], there is only one christmas song I like [all I want for christmas is you by Mariah Carey] and the rest are obnoxious, and snowflakes? It's like cold spit on your face. Sorry winter lovers, I'm just not a fan.
So, you will be surprised to know that once upon a time, I chose to go to Minnesota and spend a week there... in October. And October in Minnesota is the equivalent of dead middle of winter for everywhere else. It was crazy cold! But I went to visit a friend of mine who had recently moved there [oh, the things you will do for a bestie when you are in 8th grade]. And it was a fun trip. Until...
One day, my friend and her family decided we would go skiing. Now, I am uncoordinated walking in sneakers on solid ground. So, putting me on wooden sticks while sliding down the ice from the top of a mountain and you can imagine how that would go. But, you don't get good stories by making good decisions, so I hopped in the ice fortified van and went to the mountain.
I arrived at the ski resort bundled up like a marshmallow and ready to rock and roll. Well at least roll... right on down the mountain. I was fitted with boots that strapped into the death planks [my new word for skis]. I took the beginners class where I was taught the basics of skiing. As if 15 minutes with Chip, the northface wearing ski instructor, would be enough to stop me from dying on this mountain. But apparently, that's all you got. 15 minutes of Chip wisdom and up you went. After an embarrassing attempt at getting on the ski lift [that thing is tricky!] I went up the mountain. I did a few of the small runs and did well. I thought I had mastered 'the pizza'. What's the pizza? It's how you stop yourself while skiing. There is no way I could pull off the cool swing the side and stop while sending a pile of snow on your friends [thanks for that, btw, I love having cold wet snow flung in my face. what's next, a wedgie?]. Basically, you point your skis inward, in the shape of a pizza, and pray that you stop. After a few runs, I was told by my Minnesota friends that I was ready for a bigger hill. Boy were they wrong.
I headed up the ski lift... way up. At the top of the mountain, I hopped of the ski lift, landing directly on my rear end and unable to get up. But that wasn't the worst thing that happened. I then almost went down a snowboard half pipe [pipe? pike? who knows] thing before I was grabbed by a kind stranger, who informed me that I would have been killed that way. Still, not the worst thing that happened.
I looked out over the ski run. I saw that the way down was a long long way. But hey, I had mastered the pizza. I was young, athletic [ish] and ready to go! So, I tilted my skis downward and away I went. I tried to zigzag across the hill, like ole Chip taught me, but I was not doing too well. Because I wasn't zigzagging, I began to pick up speed. Before I knew it, I was barreling down the hill, going unbelievably fast. I tried to pizza. No luck. I kept pizza-ing. I point my skis inward and prayed that this pizza position would slow me down.
Nope. The pizza had failed me and I was realizing I was about to crash somewhere. As I got to the bottom of the hill, I looked both ways. To my left, a rack of ski stuff that would have impaled me and killed me if I had crashed into it. To my right, a bunch of school children, who I would have impaled and killed if I crashed into them. But straight ahead....
Straight ahead was the ski lodge. None of my options were great, but again I was going full speed so not a lot of time to think. I tried to just fall over before I hit the lodge, to lessen the impact. But considering every person inside drinking peppermint mochas jumped up from the impact of me slamming into a building, I don't think it helped much.
As I lay on the ground, disoriented and cold, I heard a familiar voice. "ma'am, you ok?"
I look up to see my buddy Chip, standing over me. I gave a nod and laid my head back in the snow. To this he replied, "you really should take the beginner class, it'll help you learn to stop"
Really Chip? Really? You don't even remember me? I thought we had something... you taught me to pizza... men
I know some of you are thinking, but what about cute scarfs and peppermint mochas and christmas music and snowflakes? To that I say, scarfs make my face look fat, you can get peppermint mochas anytime [eat a mint and drink some coffee], there is only one christmas song I like [all I want for christmas is you by Mariah Carey] and the rest are obnoxious, and snowflakes? It's like cold spit on your face. Sorry winter lovers, I'm just not a fan.
So, you will be surprised to know that once upon a time, I chose to go to Minnesota and spend a week there... in October. And October in Minnesota is the equivalent of dead middle of winter for everywhere else. It was crazy cold! But I went to visit a friend of mine who had recently moved there [oh, the things you will do for a bestie when you are in 8th grade]. And it was a fun trip. Until...
One day, my friend and her family decided we would go skiing. Now, I am uncoordinated walking in sneakers on solid ground. So, putting me on wooden sticks while sliding down the ice from the top of a mountain and you can imagine how that would go. But, you don't get good stories by making good decisions, so I hopped in the ice fortified van and went to the mountain.
I arrived at the ski resort bundled up like a marshmallow and ready to rock and roll. Well at least roll... right on down the mountain. I was fitted with boots that strapped into the death planks [my new word for skis]. I took the beginners class where I was taught the basics of skiing. As if 15 minutes with Chip, the northface wearing ski instructor, would be enough to stop me from dying on this mountain. But apparently, that's all you got. 15 minutes of Chip wisdom and up you went. After an embarrassing attempt at getting on the ski lift [that thing is tricky!] I went up the mountain. I did a few of the small runs and did well. I thought I had mastered 'the pizza'. What's the pizza? It's how you stop yourself while skiing. There is no way I could pull off the cool swing the side and stop while sending a pile of snow on your friends [thanks for that, btw, I love having cold wet snow flung in my face. what's next, a wedgie?]. Basically, you point your skis inward, in the shape of a pizza, and pray that you stop. After a few runs, I was told by my Minnesota friends that I was ready for a bigger hill. Boy were they wrong.
I headed up the ski lift... way up. At the top of the mountain, I hopped of the ski lift, landing directly on my rear end and unable to get up. But that wasn't the worst thing that happened. I then almost went down a snowboard half pipe [pipe? pike? who knows] thing before I was grabbed by a kind stranger, who informed me that I would have been killed that way. Still, not the worst thing that happened.
I looked out over the ski run. I saw that the way down was a long long way. But hey, I had mastered the pizza. I was young, athletic [ish] and ready to go! So, I tilted my skis downward and away I went. I tried to zigzag across the hill, like ole Chip taught me, but I was not doing too well. Because I wasn't zigzagging, I began to pick up speed. Before I knew it, I was barreling down the hill, going unbelievably fast. I tried to pizza. No luck. I kept pizza-ing. I point my skis inward and prayed that this pizza position would slow me down.
Nope. The pizza had failed me and I was realizing I was about to crash somewhere. As I got to the bottom of the hill, I looked both ways. To my left, a rack of ski stuff that would have impaled me and killed me if I had crashed into it. To my right, a bunch of school children, who I would have impaled and killed if I crashed into them. But straight ahead....
Straight ahead was the ski lodge. None of my options were great, but again I was going full speed so not a lot of time to think. I tried to just fall over before I hit the lodge, to lessen the impact. But considering every person inside drinking peppermint mochas jumped up from the impact of me slamming into a building, I don't think it helped much.
As I lay on the ground, disoriented and cold, I heard a familiar voice. "ma'am, you ok?"
I look up to see my buddy Chip, standing over me. I gave a nod and laid my head back in the snow. To this he replied, "you really should take the beginner class, it'll help you learn to stop"
Really Chip? Really? You don't even remember me? I thought we had something... you taught me to pizza... men
Monday, October 24, 2011
Voicemail
I'm not great at leaving voicemails. There something awkward about leaving a message for a machine that's meant for a person. I stutter, I forget who I'm speaking with, my thoughts wander which lead to babbling sentences... so, I give you not one, but TWO examples of awkward voicemails....
1) The accidental 'I love you'
There are some people you can say I love you to. Your parents. Your bffs. Your significant other. The chinese restaurant if they say your order will only take 10 minutes to deliver.... but there are some people you should not say I love you to. It's even worse when you leave it on a voicemail.
Freshmen year of college. I had a guy friend named Dan. And, if I'm being honest, I was crushing on this kid a little bit. We hung out, had some laughs, all and all, we were good buds. And, he was cute. We were also preparing to go on a trip to France for two months [wasn't college great? You could go to other countries for months all in the name of education or humanitarian service? good times]. I left him a message about the trip, making arrangements for he and I to travel to a training together for the upcoming trip. The message when something together like, "blah blah blah, ok, talk to you later. Love you!"
Love you? LOVE YOU?! Did I just say I love you to a cute boy that I'm just friends with?!
Most people would just move past it, avoid the situation, not make it a big deal. I couldn't do that. An awkward person couldn't do it. So I called back and left the following message:
" Hey... I just left you a message and told you I loved you... but I don't really love you. I mean, you're cool and we're friends and I love you like a friend, but I don't love you love you... you know what I mean? Ok, so I'll see you around... and I'm not in love with you..."
What the heck....
2) Ace of Base
There's no easy way to introduce this recent voicemaili fiasco, so I'll just go right into it...
I saw a for sale sign outside a cute house near my neighborhood. I'm not really looking to buy a house right now, but I thought I'd call anyway, just to see. I called the number and left a message that started out normal... "Hi, my name's Katie Adams and I saw the sign... "
Of course, Ace of Base popped in my head. A normal person would move past it. Let it go. But I couldn't. I literally could not stop thinking about "I saw the sign... and it opened up my eyes..." So the message went like this:
"Hi my name is Katie Adams and I saw the sign.... um...... [Can't stop thinking of ace of base!]...I saw the sign ... which is an ace of base song! And I was wondering how many bedrooms are in the house... call me at this number... bye"
What on earth?! Really, did I feel the need to cite my source or just give a shout out to a fantastic 90s band?
Nope, I'm just awkward and that's how I roll.
1) The accidental 'I love you'
There are some people you can say I love you to. Your parents. Your bffs. Your significant other. The chinese restaurant if they say your order will only take 10 minutes to deliver.... but there are some people you should not say I love you to. It's even worse when you leave it on a voicemail.
Freshmen year of college. I had a guy friend named Dan. And, if I'm being honest, I was crushing on this kid a little bit. We hung out, had some laughs, all and all, we were good buds. And, he was cute. We were also preparing to go on a trip to France for two months [wasn't college great? You could go to other countries for months all in the name of education or humanitarian service? good times]. I left him a message about the trip, making arrangements for he and I to travel to a training together for the upcoming trip. The message when something together like, "blah blah blah, ok, talk to you later. Love you!"
Love you? LOVE YOU?! Did I just say I love you to a cute boy that I'm just friends with?!
Most people would just move past it, avoid the situation, not make it a big deal. I couldn't do that. An awkward person couldn't do it. So I called back and left the following message:
" Hey... I just left you a message and told you I loved you... but I don't really love you. I mean, you're cool and we're friends and I love you like a friend, but I don't love you love you... you know what I mean? Ok, so I'll see you around... and I'm not in love with you..."
What the heck....
2) Ace of Base
There's no easy way to introduce this recent voicemaili fiasco, so I'll just go right into it...
I saw a for sale sign outside a cute house near my neighborhood. I'm not really looking to buy a house right now, but I thought I'd call anyway, just to see. I called the number and left a message that started out normal... "Hi, my name's Katie Adams and I saw the sign... "
Of course, Ace of Base popped in my head. A normal person would move past it. Let it go. But I couldn't. I literally could not stop thinking about "I saw the sign... and it opened up my eyes..." So the message went like this:
"Hi my name is Katie Adams and I saw the sign.... um...... [Can't stop thinking of ace of base!]...I saw the sign ... which is an ace of base song! And I was wondering how many bedrooms are in the house... call me at this number... bye"
What on earth?! Really, did I feel the need to cite my source or just give a shout out to a fantastic 90s band?
Nope, I'm just awkward and that's how I roll.
Sunday, October 9, 2011
Michael Jackson strikes again!!
What is the matter with me?! Don't answer that, we could be here all day... but seriously, my love for the king of pop got me in trouble again! and it was a late night in the office [no, I did not get my hand stuck in the shred box again]. But I can't help it, Michael Jackson makes me do crazy things... here we go:
I was at the office late, again, by myself, again, trying to get some reports done. I was listening to some music and then, Michael Jackson came on my music shuffle. I instantly decided that one Michael Jackson song just wasn't enough. Is one Michael Jackson song ever enough? Can you ever hear 'Bad' and say, oh that was enough? No. You want to hear 'Beat it' and then 'The Way You Make me Feel'. Might as well pop in the HIStory album and jam.
Which is what I did. As I listened, I slowly turned the music up louder and louder. By the time I got to 'Man in the Mirror' the music was booming. And so was I. I was signing loudly, throwing my hands up in the air, and having a great time. I'm starting with the man in the mirror! If I wanna make the world a better place, got look at myself and make a change!! It starts with me! Oh yeah, I was inspired....
Then I looked up and saw one of our upper management folks walking through. And behind him, was a tour group of about thirty people. These thirty people witnessed me at my desk, singing loudly, dancing in my chair, with my hands in the air. heck, I may have been a little teary eyed [that song gets me!]
All I know is that I slumped down in my chair, quickly turned the music, and offered an awkward wave. You think this second incident would make me take a hiatus from Michael's music, but it won't. I love it too much...
I was at the office late, again, by myself, again, trying to get some reports done. I was listening to some music and then, Michael Jackson came on my music shuffle. I instantly decided that one Michael Jackson song just wasn't enough. Is one Michael Jackson song ever enough? Can you ever hear 'Bad' and say, oh that was enough? No. You want to hear 'Beat it' and then 'The Way You Make me Feel'. Might as well pop in the HIStory album and jam.
Which is what I did. As I listened, I slowly turned the music up louder and louder. By the time I got to 'Man in the Mirror' the music was booming. And so was I. I was signing loudly, throwing my hands up in the air, and having a great time. I'm starting with the man in the mirror! If I wanna make the world a better place, got look at myself and make a change!! It starts with me! Oh yeah, I was inspired....
Then I looked up and saw one of our upper management folks walking through. And behind him, was a tour group of about thirty people. These thirty people witnessed me at my desk, singing loudly, dancing in my chair, with my hands in the air. heck, I may have been a little teary eyed [that song gets me!]
All I know is that I slumped down in my chair, quickly turned the music, and offered an awkward wave. You think this second incident would make me take a hiatus from Michael's music, but it won't. I love it too much...
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