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.

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...

Neighbors

Raise your hand if you are poor and have to live in a semi-jank apartment! Yup, that's me. I'm young, poor, and living in an apartment complex. It's not really gross, but it's also not the nicest place. But that's ok. I feel like being young and poor and living with crazy neighbors is part of life and will benefit sometime in the future... give me perspective... or at least encourage me to work hard so I can move out of here...

Anyway, I live around some pretty weird and awkward people so I thought I'd take a Sunday afternoon and write about. So, blog world, I give you a run-down of the complex crazies:

Complex crazy #1: Squirrel guy:

Many super heros have animal related personas. Batman, Quailman, Spiderman, Hawkman, Cheetara... and it's cool... if the person has a super power. But squirrel guy does not. He does not save the world from evil super villains, build cool weapons, or fight regular crime. What he does do is to buy bags of trail mix and sit on the sidewalk, feeding the squirrels. He has a big grin on his face, feeding the squirrels, sometimes stalking them to the bushes. And he does this almost every single day. That is some kind of devotion. 

Complex crazy #2: Apartment Band

They are like a garage band, but different... because they are stuck inside and all the sound comes right into my apartment. These guys are terrible. They attempt to play songs like 'Smoke on the Water' and 'Back in Black'. Except they miss about every third chord and the amps [cranked up to 11!] muffled by our walls cause their 'band' to sound like the teacher on Charlie Brown. Wa-wa-wa-wa... If you see me walking around with a pencil sticking out of my ear, it's because I just couldn't take it anymore. 

Complex crazy #3: Brain Injury man

The guy on the patio right across from me is quite a character. Our patios are about 10 feet from each other, so going outside meant having a conversation with this guy was inevitable. Every time I went outside, we had the same conversation. He would ask what I did for a living and I responded, I am a social worker. And every time, he told me that he a social worker too, because he had a brain injury. We literally had this conversation almost every time I saw him. One day, he said, I bet you think I'm stupid because of my brain injury. In my head, I thought, that's not why I think you're stupid. I think you're stupid because of comments like this:

1) The other night, I had 6 guys on my porch, each about 200 pound guys. That's like.... well, I don't know how much that is, but it's a lot!

2) When discussing global warming...? What a lot of people don't understand is that the sun directly influences the temperature of the earth. Good point...?

3) First day I met, he asked a guy walking by: Hey, do you need anymore weed?... Then he turned to me and asked, Wait, you're not a cop are you?

Complex Crazy #4: Regular Joe

How to describe this guy? He is about 40 years old, lives with his mom, has a beer belly, and a country accent so thick, you can barely understand him. One time, I was walking by his porch and I heard: 'Who's a pretty pretty? You're a pretty pretty. Yes you are! You're a pretty pretty!' I looked around, praying that he wasn't talking to me, when I noticed that he was sitting on his porch, no shirt, petting a cat. And the cat was pretty, but he was being a little weird about it. When he isn't petting his cat, he likes to stand with his arms above his head, leaning on his porch, rubbing his stomach... sometimes with a finger in his belly button. Just what I want to come home to everyday. 

So, those are a few of my neighbors. And i guess this is where I belong. An awkward girl in the complex of crazies. At least I'm funny awkward and not stick my finger in my belly button while watching people walk by awkward....

Back row Buffalo

As I have mentioned in previous posts, I have man hands... and large rear end. It doesn't take a scientist to realize that I am not a small girl. I am about 5'9" or 5' 10", depending on the gas station I'm standing in when I measure myself against the door. I inherited my mother's childbearing hips and thighs [yeah for biology!]
I have been a big girl from a small age. I was never petite. I used to wish I could be one of those girls that was about 5'2" and weighted a buck oh 5. But I'm not. I like to think of myself as an Amazon woman... but not as scary


In high school, I was in the show choir. I can box step to a show tune with bright lights in my face with the best of them... or at least with the mediocre of them... Imagine the show Glee without the slushies, sexual tension, glitter, drama, and stereotypical characters [really? a quarterback who sings, plays an instrument, AND is good looking? soooo refreshing!]. In choir, I stood in the back row for all four years. If I had stood in the front row, those adorable little girls may age who wore size zeros through high school and were cold in 90 degree weather because they have not body fat would have been hidden by my amazon frame. So, I stood in the back with the other big girls. We lovingly called ourselves the back row buffalos. And then cried in the bathroom... 


It was spirit week my freshmen year. Pajama day was monday and it was my favorite day of the week. What's not great about getting to wear pajama pants, comfy sweatshirt and slippers all day long?! Add a pillow and snuggie and you would have the best day of school ever. So there I was freshmen year. I was wearing my Horton Hears a Who pants with a sweatshirt, feeling as comfortable as ever. I went to choir and we began rehearsing. I was in the back, as always, jazz-handing to 'Fever!'. We did a step turn and that's when it happened. I step turned on the bottom of my pants and felt my Dr. Suess bottoms slip to my thighs. I tried to quickly jump off the back of the risers so I could fix my pants and avoid an embarrassing moment.  


But, the risers were pressed against a wall. I jump turned into a wall of mirrors and ricocheted back down the risers. The back row buffalo went charging down into the rows of peppy oompa-loompas.  I fell in front of these petite high schoolers with my pants around my knees. National geographic would play this scene in slow motion, demonstrating the power of natural selection. And whatever hope I had of being a tall, cool, Amazon woman were washed away with the laughter of my peers. Nothing like my large rear end covered in unflattering underwear to end a potential career as a cool kid. But maybe I kissed that hope goodbye when I wore Dr. Suess pants...

awkward caressing

Human contact. It can break the ice, freak us out, make us happy, tell someone they are awesome [high-five!], and in general, human contact helps us communicate how we feel. People write songs about human contact, people crave human contact, people use it inappropriately at times. I am the latter. 

Freshmen year of college. If you think I'm awkward now, 3-4 years post college, you should have seen me freshmen year. Trying to make new friends, learning to live on my own, doing laundry by myself, learning that suggesting "Jersey Girl" for movie night is not well received, drinking wine through a Twizzler straw.... oh, just some of the mine fields I had to navigate through my freshmen year.

So, early in the semester, I was sitting in a meeting. I zoned out from whatever we were talking about and starting people watching around the room. I noticed the guy in front of me had really pretty hair. This isn't one of those, 'he was so handsome, I couldn't take my eyes off him....'. I just legitimately thought he had really pretty hair. It was about shoulder length, chestnut-auburn colored, and really shiny. Not 'hasn't showered in a month', but 'I use nice shampoo and probably conditioner'. Sitting in the meeting, I was just thinking about how soft his hair must be, wondering what shampoo he used, noticing that the lights made his hair sparkle a little. 

Gentle viewers, you may think that I'm being a bit creepy but two things: 1) yeah, I am a bit creepy and 2) this meeting was really boring and I tend to zone out a lot during meetings like this. So, cut me some slack and don't judge. 

Finally the meeting ending. I stood up at the same time as shiny hair boy in front of me. He semi turned around the grab his things and his hair look so bouncy and shiny...

And that's when it happened. My hand became a separate entity from my body, reached out in front of me and ran it's fingers through a strangers hair. Time stopped, he looked up, I stared at my hand and then at him.  

Side note: What the heck do you say when something that awkward happens? How do you respond? Are there any words that can help one recover?

No. But here's what I said:

"Hi, you have really nice hair... I'm Katie, nice to meet you?"

Is it? Is it nice to meet me? Probably not... 

Beer Pants

Beer. It's like liquid bread... or liquid gold. It makes pizza better, football games bearable, people more attractive, and bellies tubbier. Beer is the subject of my story.

The other night, I went to a college football game with some co-workers. We tailgated before the game and were having a really good time. Let me take a time-out on the field to explain that it was about 97 degrees outside. And you have never felt humidity like we have in the Ohio Valley. Seriously, walking outside is like jumping in a lake... a lake full of sweat and stickiness. Grossed out? You should be, the humidity up here is nasty.

Anyway, we were outside in the hot weather, generally having a good time. We then walked to the stadium, walked up the 8 flights of steps to our seats [not joking] and watched the game. The sun was beating on us and I was sweating like [to use the proper term] a 'mo-fo'.

During the game, my friend Dot laughed and spilt some of her beer in my lap. No biggie though. It just looked like I peed my pants. But, I figured it was so hot anyway and I already smelled disgusting because I was so hot that I didn't care. The beer would eventually dry and I would live. I went about the night, my team lost the game, but other than that, I had a really good time :)

The next morning, I stumbled out of bed and threw on some pants. Now, let me stop you right now before you start judging. How many people wear pants multiple times before they wash them. Show of hands.... that's right, EVERYBODY wears pants a few times before you wash them. It's a basic instinct we pick up in college when we realize that drying pants takes way more quarters, so wash them sparingly.

So, I put on some pants from the floor of my room and went to my internship. At my internship, I helped set up for a festival downtown and had to lug boxes from the parking garage to my booth. Again, the humidity of the Ohio Valley was intense and I was sweating.... again. I then went to my real job and worked at the computer.

Once I sat down for a bit, typing up some case notes, I realized that I smelled funny. I secretly did the 'pit check'.... nope, not my pits, I definitely put on deodorant and do not stank.

But I kept smelling it. It was like sweat and....

beer. It was sweaty pants with dried beer. I wore my nasty beer pants for an entire day in a professional setting. I was officially disgusting....

Moral of the story: Beer is not always your friend. Sure, it seems like you and beer will always have a good time, but then it stays around for too long. It hangs out on the crotch of your pants, making you feel  gross and sad. That's what beer will do to you, children.

Having lady problems

Note to men reading this: The title is 'lady problems', but don't worry. I'm not going to be terribly graphic or gross. I know that issues of the feminine sort can make men uncomfortable, so I'll be as gentle as possible. On with the story. 


When ladies get to know each other, they tend to swap stories. It's a bonding moment and can sound like a gaggle of geese to the outside observer. So when I went to college, I spent many moments having these giggly conversations with girls. Ladies, you know what I'm talking about. We talk about men, we talk about school, we talk about our clothes, we talk about food, we talk about anything. One topic that usually comes up is our lady problems.


I was hanging out at good ole Murray State University [go racers] at the Baptist Campus Ministries building. I was getting to know some young ladies and we were having the above said conversations. We went on to discuss our lady problems and were swapping horror stories. 


If you haven't noticed, I like to tell stories. I like to make people laugh and have no problem talking about my embarrassing, awkward, sometimes inappropriate moments in my life. So, that's what I was doing. I was telling these ladies all sorts of embarrassing moments, including the time a accidently threw a tampon down a hallway at school and the time I had a gyno visit and 'strawberry wine' was playing in the background of the dimly lit office. Awkward. I was bearing my soul to a group of young ladies and was making people laugh [which is my favorite thing to do]. I'd been talking for quiet some time [I have a lot of stories] when I hear something to my right. 


And in walks a young man from behind a corner. Around this corner was a sitting area in the same room, where he had been for who knows how long. He gives a wave, says 'hello ladies', and went to bathroom. 


I have never heard a group of college aged women so quiet. A silence fell over the group that was haunting and reverent and creepy. All the girls looked at me and I stared at the bathroom door wondering, 'how long has that guy been over there? How much did he hear? How graphic was I? Should I just bolt from the building, stick my head in a hole like an ostrich and wait this thing out?'


The young man came out and I had to ask... 'so how long you been over there?'


'Oh, about 20 minutes... I heard you all talking, but didn't want to freak you out, so I thought I'd wait till you left, but I had to pee.... so....'


Great. I decided the only thing to do was to introduce myself. 


"Well, I'm Katie, nice to meet you... now that you know lots of things about me... Ok, see you later"


That's the price I pay for thinking I'm soooo funny and feeling the need to divulge all my awkward stories. 


Something to note: me and that guy became friends. I feel like there are easier ways to make friends, but I haven't figured that out :)