Um, that was kinda awkward

So yesterday, I found myself sojourning down to the UC, to have a celebratory joint-birthday dinner with bestie, Kenna.

Naturally, we went to my former place of employment to dine (because, let's be honest, I still crave the food sometimes). It's always kind of surreal for me to go back, because a lot has changed (including the prices... hello, over-priced much?) and I don't know that many people who work there anymore. (It has been almost three years since I left.)

Thus I was quite pleased when I was sat in the section of one of my former co-workers, who I've never had any problems with, and think is a great person. I greeted him/her with a happy "Hey, how are you doing?" and was a bit disheartened when s/he basically grunted a reply.

I sat down in the booth, waiting for Kenna to arrive. As I open my menu and begin to peruse it, I overhear former co-worker asking someone else to take my table. You know, in that "trying-to-be-clandestine" whispery voice that you usually encounter when people are gossiping or something else like that.

Wow, this is getting awkward.

I mean, I worked there for four years. I know how it works. It would have been awkward enough to suddenly have a completely different server from a completely different section (you bet I still know the sections and the table numbers) come to serve my table. But the fact that I heard him/her ask the server to take my table was even worse.

And it was a tinge hurtful because it made me wonder if I had somehow offended this person and didn't know it. {Let's just say I had another experience where someone believed that I had spread awful and salacious rumors about them, and it was completely untrue. But the fact that someone thought I was even capable of that in the first place is what made me sick to my stomach. Still does sometimes. So I think I'm extra paranoid about things like that now. Why don't people just talk things out anymore? I don't get it.} I wondered if s/he though I was lowbrow enough to still try to garner a discount or something. (Haven't gotten one of those in years, thanks.) There was another former co-worker there who came up and chatted for a bit and was totally pleasant and nice. I kinda wished we had been put in his/her section instead.

But then I just felt grateful I got out of there when I did. I had a great time working there... I met a lot of great people and learned a lot about myself; however, there comes a time in life where change has to happen, where you have to move on. And I'm so glad I did, when I did. If I hadn't made that change, I bet I would still be there. Single. With no health insurance.

Depressing thought.

Other than that, dinner was lovely. Our server was nice and we tipped her generously. (Guess former co-worker just had to miss out on that one. Shrug.) And Kenna is one of the few people who I love enough to brave the traffic and UC drivers for. Just fyi. :)

The Tale of Two Brothers, Part Two

{Missed part one? Read it here.}

May 2002

Two months had passed, and the feelings of ickiness and annoyance that were a product of the aforementioned occurrence finally began to subside. In the mean time, one of my friends decided to befriend Dave's little brother, "Glen," who happened to be a year younger than us.

I was fine with it, because Glen seemed nice and sweetly shy, and I was not going to begrudge him for something his older brother had done. It is important to note, too, that during this time I was not as involved with my typical group of friends, for various reasons too convoluted to discuss here, though I will say that I was studying a lot more and focusing on college applications and whatnot. Among other things. Thus, I knew Glen even less that I had known his older brother. (This is important to know because of what happened next.)

My 18th birthday fell on a Sunday that year, and my whole extended family was over at the house for a birthday dinner. The house phone rang, and it was for me. (Which was odd, since most of my friends called my cell.)

I was even more surprised to discover that Glen was on the other line. He wished me a happy birthday, and said that he had something for me and wondered if he could stop by for a minute and give it to me. In my mind I thought that perhaps Dave felt bad about "the incident" and wanted to send his brother over as a gesture of kindness. Or something like that.

I couldn't think of another explanation.

I hesitated, just because I had all of my family over, but he seemed so insistent, that I said he could drop by for just a quick minute. Soon after, the doorbell rang, and there was Glen, standing there with a plate of brownies.

Glen: "Happy Birthday, Lauren. I made these brownies for you."

Me: (surprised, but flattered) "Well thanks Glen, that was really nice of you to do."

Glen: "I just wanted to do something for your birthday." (His expression turns slightly mischievous... where had I seen that expression before?) "Actually, I have another present for you, but it's down at my car. Will you walk down the driveway to come and get it?"

{My "uh oh" alarm decided to malfunction I think, because in that moment, it FAILED me. Miserably.}

We walked down my hill of a driveway to his car. I looked inside it expectantly, not knowing what exactly Glen had in store for me. I should have just stayed inside my house. There's a long pause, and then Glen begins to stammer...

Glen: "So... 18... that's a big one. Do you feel old?"

Me: (at this point super confused) "Um, not really. Pretty much the same as I felt at seventeen."

Glen: "And you're graduating and stuff in a few days... that's pretty cool."

Me: (wanting to get on with it and go back inside) "Um yeah. Sure. Glen--"

Glen: (interrupting me) "So I bet you're wondering what you're present is."

{Um no, I just left my family party and am standing out here with a person I barely know just for kicks and giggles.}

Glen: "Well, I was just wondering if I could give you a birthday kiss."

{Holy heck are you kidding me? He must be joking. Except this really isn't funny. Like not even the littlest bit... NOT AGAIN.}

Me: (equal parts flabbergasted and annoyed and completely unsure of what to do) "Well um, gee, I guess you could give me a nice kiss on the cheek. I think that would be a great present." {And yeah, that's all I could come up with. You try being put on the spot like that.}

Glen: (looking dejected... whispers) "It wouldn't be the same."

{ARE. YOU. SERIOUS?}

Me: "Um well... I think I should probably head back up to my family party. Er... thanks for the brownies. They look delicious." {Never ate one, btw.}

Glen stays silent... then, as I am turning to leave...

Glen: "Now me and my brother have something in common... we've both been rejected by you."

I decided not to answer him. I think all I could muster was a polite head nod. Because at this point the awkwardness that had just transpired was beginning to hit me. I headed up the driveway and didn't look back.

In the days that followed, there was a rumor that Dave had put his brother up to it, that there was a bet of some sort. Which really irked me. I mean, I'm not a piece of meat, people! I politely tried to avoid Glen during the last week of school, mainly because my feelings were hurt at the idea that people would make me the source of such a cruel joke. You know, it's high school, people can be kind of ruthless.

At any rate, I felt it best not to deny him on yearbook signing day, when he meekly approached me and asked if he could sign my yearbook.

I believe in his yearbook all I could muster was "Have a great summer. -Lauren" without my typical heart and a slash, because I wouldn't want him to get the wrong idea. I actually shut my yearbook after he signed it, not wanting to read what he wrote right away. I did offer him as genuine of a smile as I could muster, because I was trying to just be nice and move on. Despite the awkwardness that permeated my being. {Because I was really quite sensitive to awkwardness back then, just fyi.}

Later that day, I came across his message, and was dismayed to read:

"There wasn't a bet. I just plain wanted to kiss you."

And that, my friends, is The Tale of Two Brothers.

The Tale of Two Brothers, Part One

I think I have mentioned before that in high school I did not date a lot. I did not kiss many boys, and I believe that I was altogether oblivious (my little sister affectionately referred to it as "the social skills of an eleven year old") to boys who liked me, or maybe just the ones who wanted to kiss me. (For as you know, in high school, these categories don't always jibe.)

At any rate, I will begin this story in the spring of 2002, not even a week after I had gotten my wisdom teeth (all of which were impacted, might I add) pulled. Since my mother had hidden my Loritab after I had taken exactly one pill, I believe I just may have been hopped up on 200 mg pills of Ibuprofen and had barely began attempting to eat solid foods again. "Attempting" being the operative word here. Why I am providing this little aside will become known shortly. Oh yeah, and the names have been changed in this story to protect the not-so-innocent.

It was a Friday night, and my parents were away for the weekend in New York with my little sister; thus, I was in charge of watching my little brothers until their return. I had a few friends over, which consisted of girls my own age and the remnants of our older guy friends who hadn't yet left on missions for our church. Since I was still feeling a bit woozy and tired from all that wisdom tooth extracting, we ended the night early... probably around 10:00-10:15.

So I was surprised when, about ten minutes later, there was a knock on my door. It was "Dave," one of the guys in our little group of friends that I didn't know super well, but well enough to let him inside for a drink because he was panting like a dog.

Me: (thoroughly taken aback) "Hey Dave, how's it going?"

Dave: (panting profusely) "I'm good."

Me: "Sorry, everyone's already taken off tonight." Dave looks a bit dejected, yet inexplicably smug. "May I ask why you're breathing so hard?"

Dave: "Oh, I rode my bike up here. That's why it took so long for me to get here." {His house is forever away and completely downhill from where I lived. And I thought it was odd he hadn't caught a ride from our other friend who lives down the street from him.}

Me: "Well sorry you missed the party {I'm a tad concerned because he looks like he's about to pass out}... do you want a glass of water or something before you head back home?"

Dave: "Sure. That'd be great."

He comes in and sits on a chair opposite from where I had been sitting/reading/watching TV, and I get up to get him a glass of water. After I bring it to him, he gulps it down and takes the cup back to the kitchen... and comes back and practically sits on my lap. It is at this point where the "uh-oh alarm" begins to sound in my head.

Dave: (who is now definitely in my personal bubble, much to my dismay) "So there's a reason I'm here so late. I actually wanted to get here after everybody left."

Me: (gulping whilst trying to politely inch away from him) "Oh really. And why would that be?" {Remember, social skills of an eleven year old. My much older and wiser self most likely would have never let him in the door in the first place.}

Dave: "Well I just really wanted to see if I could, you know, like kiss you."

Me: (completely at a loss of what to say/do/think coupled with being entirely creeped out) "Um, well I just got my wisdom teeth out... and I still have the stitches in my mouth... and aren't you leaving on your mission in a week... so yeah, um, and I'm pretty tired... you know... and maybe you should take off." {This was my polite way of saying "HELL no." Just fyi.}

Dave leaves, and though I am relieved at my aversion of what would have inevitably been a gross-out situation, I couldn't help being a bit angered by his audacity. I mean, he was leaving in a week for a two-year, absolutely no contact with girls, mission and was trying to get some while he still could. I thought it was pretty insulting. So did my girl friends once they heard about the story.

Luckily, I did not see him again before he left. And I tried to put the awkward and unsavory experience out of my head.

But little did I know that I would soon be reminded of this occurrence in a most unexpected way.

To be continued...

A big rock and my first kiss

Since I seem to be a glutton for punishment in the embarrassing stories/moments department, I'm going to hit you guys with another lovely gem from my HUGE embarrassing stories vault as a weekend treat. A special thanks to Chel, who reminded me of this horror and requested that it make an appearance on this hallowed blog.

First the background to the story...

It was the summer after my Sophomore year in high school, and my dear friend Kate was hanging out with a boy who was on the baseball team. He, in turn, had an attractive friend who was also on the baseball team (and the next year would turn out to be a captain of the football team, might I add, since that stuff is important in high school) who I started hanging out with because I was hanging out with Kate a lot. (I mean, we all remember high school... no one really dated much... you know what I mean.) I thought he seemed nice and cute, and being a baseball player was a plus (because we know I'm obsessed), but there was one small problem:

I'd never kissed a boy.

The shame of it right? I mean my little sister had already kissed boys, and here I was, 1/3 of my way through high school, and I hadn't even come close. So needless to say, I was scared to death to even attempt it, my obsessive compulsive brain convincing me that I'd be terrible at it and that no other boy would ever kiss me again, let alone my little crush.

I didn't even think I'd need to worry about whether or not he was a good kisser.

So one night, Kate, her guy, me and baseball player go up to the mountains (that should have tipped me off right there... eesh) to appreciate the foliage and the mountainous environs (yeah right). As soon as we stop the car and get out, my dear friend and her partner in crime disappear. Lovely.

So baseball player walks me down this little path and suggests we sit on this rock. Which rock ended up being the MOST uncomfortable thing I have ever sat on in my entire life and was not conducive to the TWO HOURS we spent sitting on it. Seriously, TWO HOURS. Oh yeah, and I had to pee. Real bad. Romantic, no?

So basically I'm sitting there with baseball player, and, bless his heart, he more awkward than I was. I mean, I pretty much got the hint that perhaps he was planning on kissing me, but he just kept on talking. Besides, I wasn't totally sure I wanted to kiss him... it's kind of unsanitary if you think about it... and I had only known him a few weeks. Plus, there was that whole fact that I was scared to death of it to consider.

I get to the point where I'm practically writhing in agony because my butt hurts and my bladder's about to explode and I just want to go home. Instead, he asks if I want to play a game.

(I got a big pit in my stomach when he said that... call it intuition.)

I say sure, hoping that we can get the game over with and finally go home so I can finally use the facilities and let this night of awkwardness be over. He says he wants to play the "I'll write something on your back and you have to guess what I wrote and then you write something on my back and I have to guess what you wrote" game.

I think the last time I played that I was about seven.

To appease him, I oblige (not like I had a choice because I'd already said "sure" to a game) and he writes down Kate's name.

"Kate," I reply.

So then I write his friend's name on his back and he guesses correctly.

He then tells me the next one's going to be a phrase. He begins to write... I repeat each word aloud...

"Can..."

"I..."

"Kiss..."

"You..."

(Um, would "hell no" be an appropriate response at this point? Oh wait, I never swore then. Not even the p-i-double s word.)

As I was fumbling for the words to answer my brain was simultaneously thinking the aforementioned thought, along with stuff like: "well you haven't kissed anyone..."/"he is cute..."/"he DID not just ASK me in THAT way to kiss him..."/"ew, saliva" etc.

I finally said, what would become one of my favorite words to use with him, "Sure."

And it was nothing short of awful, bless his heart.

Which is probably why I didn't start liking kissing until I was 19...

It's anybody's guess.

I'm just not attracted to you

It is because I married the most incredible (not to mention gorgeous) man on the planet that I can share the following story with you all without feeling horrendously abashed. What happened felt like something out of a bad made-for-tv-movie about college or something. (You know, the one where one of the characters is scorned by a love interest and then goes nuts?) Only I didn't go insane and kill people. And the term "love interest" is probably a little too strong as well. But I digress...

Let's go back to the late summer/early fall of 2005, shall we? We have me, in my lovely 102 pound and tanner form (what was I thinking frying my skin like that?) struggling in the world that is dating. I had wasted a whole chunk of my collegiate time being involved and then not involved with someone who really wasn't worth my time, and was looking for a new, happier pursuit.

So naturally I would start hanging out with his next door neighbor. (I know, I know, I suck.)

In my defense, "John" and I had been friends for awhile... sharing a bunch of common friends and typically a lunch table at The Terrace (right off the Cougar Eat... mmm). I didn't really think he was that cute, just really nice and genuine. A welcome change from what I was used to.

Since I didn't have ESPN, "John" generously allowed me to come over and watch all my Yankees games, and so we ended up hanging out just the two of us. We never really went on a date, but I started to think that maybe I could like him that way... eventually... and at any rate, it was just fun to have a friend to watch sports with. And ok, I'm woman enough to admit that I derived some pleasure from knowing that it drove a certain someone kind of crazy... but I was really immature back then. I have now found ZEN. ;)

So one Sunday night, "John" calls for a chat and says he'll meet up with me tomorrow at lunch (with the rest of our buds) as usual. Monday rolls around, and no "John." He didn't show up that whole week actually, so by Saturday I thought it best to send him a text and see if something was up. Almost immediately I get a response that says "I can't talk about it right now. I'll call you tomorrow."

Ooh, how I love a cryptic and intriguing text.

So I get a call from him the next day. And he's totally shooting the breeze and dancing around some issue he was having. So I just cut the crap and asked him if something was wrong. (At this point I'm thinking he's got some rare disease and has ten days to live or something.) He stammers and sputters and finally gets it out in the open:

"Um... the thing is... I'm just not attracted to you."

Was that all? I quickly suppressed a giggle, because, let's be honest, I was having the exact same thought over the past couple of weeks... and we hadn't even been on a date, so why was he stressing? He felt bad though, so I quickly swallowed my laughter and asked if we were still "cool" (per my lovely college slang) and whatnot. At that point the laughter began to erupt and I had to end the convo.

I'd be lying though if my pride didn't take a hit. No one, and I mean NO ONE wants to be told that they are not attractive. (And yes, I realize that he was not saying that I was universally ugly; rather, that I was not his type of pretty, but COME ON.) I still cringe occasionally when I think about it. But the great thing is, his honesty preserved our friendship. Things weren't weird after that at all. In a way, it was refreshing to encounter such honesty.

I guess at the end of the day, I prefer it that way.

(Besides I ended up with someone who surpasses every paltry standard I held for guys when I was in college, which is both relieving and gratifying. Now I can share these stories without wanting to sob into my pillow lamenting my single status. There were times when I did that a lot. Which is also an embarrassing admission. Oh well.)

I know you and you, but I don't know you

[Sorry, this is going to be a bit long... but it's worth it, I promise.]

I think I may have previously mentioned that high school was not my finest hour. Not that I didn't have fun or have a great group of friends... it was just that I never was a "high school" girl. (You know the type I'm talking about... the ones who will look back at high school as being the best time of their lives.) Not that there's anything wrong with that, I just knew that there was more to life than high school. Like college. With harder classes. I am a nerd.

That being said, my senior year was a bit of a downer. All of my guy friends were graduated, and I happened to have a gorgeous, vivacious little sister who was much more appealing to the guys my age than I. So I dated someone from a different high school for a few months, but was done with that relationship by the end of the year.

Needless to say, my prom prospects were pretty bleak.

And truly, I wanted to go. I hadn't gone the previous year because all of my buddies took girls their age (which speaks of how great they all were, to make sure that senior girls got to go to their senior prom). But honestly, I couldn't think of a single person who would ask me. Major bummer.

Which bummer got worse when my little sister got asked, by a senior naturally, to prom. It kind of typified the relationship we had at the time. I was slightly envious of her beauty and outgoing personality, and I suppose she perhaps felt the same about my academic prowess. That being said, my sister is my best friend, and she proved it when she devised a plan (along with my AP Psych teacher) to get me a date to prom.

You know you're a complete nerd when your little sister and your teacher set you up on a blind date for prom.

At any rate, what happened was I went to prom with the cousin of a guy friend my age, whom I had met before, but only briefly. He went to a different high school, but took one class at Bountiful (AP Psych) and always went to his and Bountiful's prom. He was trying to figure out who to take to prom, and my name was brought up. The rest is history. The dance was actually quite fun and he was a great date.

(I will add that I did end up getting asked by another guy after I had said yes to the set-up date, so he ended up taking my other friend who hadn't been asked. Thus, all of my girls and I got to go to prom that year. It made me quite happy.)

The funny part is, about nine months ago husband and I (along with our friend, Tyler) were at a mission farewell for one of our friends. We ran into my prom date after the meeting, and the following conversation took place:

Prom Date: Hey guys! It's been awhile.

Tyler: It's great to see you. I thought I saw you in there.

PD: Yeah I saw you guys in there too. And I thought, I know you (pointing to Ty) and you (pointing to Greg) but I don't know you (pointing to me).

Um... what to say, what to say...

Me: Actually, I was your prom date senior year. Dunno if you remember me. It has been awhile.

He pales and looks panicked. Greg and Ty look amused and slightly incredulous.

PD: (Stammering) Um, wow, I totally didn't recognize you. Um how are you doing?

Me: I'm well thanks, and it's ok, I have dark hair now, am paler. So I look pretty different.

PD: Um well it was great to see all of you...

(Makes a hasty escape.)

I'm glad I leave such an indelible impression on people.

College definitely treated me better.

Yet another reason why I'm glad I have the Gregory

I think the 22 and 3/4 years leading up to G and me were filled with more dysfunctional dates and relationships than many people encounter in their entire lives. Maybe I'm exaggerating just a tad, but mostly I am being gravely serious. In retrospect such dating debacles now seem quite entertaining, because now I am happily retired from the disaster that is the dating world.

Which is why I can share this snippet of a story and no longer cringe.

A few years back I was dating a guy who was nice but was a really slobbery kisser. This bothered me for multiple reasons, and I finally (delicately) brought it up to him. His reply: "So you seriously don't like the sauce?"

[Um, ew. I think I just threw up in my mouth a little bit when you said that. And while we're mentioning it, no I don't, which is why I brought it up in the first place. But thanks for making a potentially awkward conversation even more awkward and slightly creepy. Why exactly are we still dating?] = what I was thinking/should have said if I was totally mean

Needless to say, we didn't last very long. (Thank heaven.)

The chapstick conversation

There I was, sitting at my overly air-conditioned desk, gazing outside, wishing I had Lime Rickey spiked with adrenaline. A thought then popped into my head: "Lauren, why don't you share the chapstick story with your three loyal readers?" And it was decided.

To preface this story, I'll just say that my three and a half years of collegiate life at BYU hold a myriad of stories that are as laughable as they are pathetic. Pretty much every date I went on and every time I was hit on is a hilarious anecdote in of itself. Methinks I could write a book about them all. But why do that when I have a blog?

It was a normal day, back in the winter/spring of 2005. I was sitting in the Wilkinson Center in an open area called The Terrace, on a large round table with ten other chairs. Furiously cramming for a test I had in some stupid class I hated, I was dismayed to see that some weird, random guy had chosen the seat RIGHT NEXT TO ME to occupy. Barely two inches away from me. Let's just say he was in my bubble. Here is the event that followed:

Weird Guy: (flips open his computer and starts humming and typing)

Me: (audible and not-so-subtle sigh)

WG: (leans over FURTHER into my space) Hmm, looks interesting. Whatcha reading?

Me: Um... the history of women in American culture.

WG: Well that sounds like a great book.

Me: (a grunt followed by a very obvious attempt to shield further conversation by placing the book right in front of my face)

Two minutes of silence (save the humming and typing) pass; I reach for my chapstick in my bag. As I'm putting it away...

WG: So what flavor of chapstick is that?

Me: (bewildered and creeped out) I don't know, berry something.

WG: (whipping out his own chapstick) MINE'S blue raspberry.

Me: (in a thoroughly disinterested and thoroughly bewildered tone) Neat.

To spurn the remainder of his conversational advances, I make a quick exit and resolve to bs my way through the quiz.

The End.