Flirting

So this summer I decided I should meet some guys. I have met lots of guys, with some mixed results. Mostly I have just been a shameless flirt (as opposed to a shameless hussy, which is another story), and I've had some interesting adventures.

Por ejemplo:

Last Monday at family home evening I was chillin' out on a blanket with some people in my ward, just chatting and waiting for our outdoor movie to start. Sitting next to us in a tiny portable chair is this adorable returned missionary who insists he knows me every time we see each other and therefore thinks that we either had classes together in junior high or he had a premortal crush on me. I was innocently adjusting into a more comfortable blanket-sitting pose when my foot brushed his.

“Are you coming on to me?” he teased.
Deadpan, I nodded. “Yes.”

He blinked. “Oh, okay. That wasn't the answer I was expecting.”

It was fun to catch him off guard and avoid the additional teasing that probably would have come if I would have said no. We talked about lot of interesting things after that, which is something I always enjoy. Having common ground is not so important as being a conversationalist.

Common ground is something that one should make sure one establishes before one goes off on a subject. I learned that while nerd flirting is hilarious (see 17 Again for details), you should never nerd flirt unless you know the other person is as much as a nerd as you.

Por ejemplo:

A few family home evenings before that, we had a dessert night and a guy was wearing a shirt with one of my favorite images on it.

Geology cake! Two of my favorite things combined! This guy had to be my soul mate. So I came up to him and, playing with my hair, flirtyingly (to my eternal shame) said, “Can you name the order in which those layers were formed?”

He stared up at me. Blinked. “No, I just think this shirt is cool.”

“Oh.”

“Why?” he asked. “Can you?”

Yes, yes I could. And I rambled about geology nervously for a few minutes before bolting. I was really embarrassed about it, but I had fun relating the story at a party with a few of my friends later. Sometimes it's worth making a fool of yourself, especially if you can laugh about it later.

Go Home, Rodger!

I am like the Rodger of the Writing Center. Not like Mr. Rodgers (who spends more time playing with puppets than he does visiting the neighbors he professes to love, which I find a little disturbing), but like Rodger from Sister Sister, who invited himself over to the girl's house any time he wanted and practically lived at there. I am nearly as obnoxious as Rodger, cracking lame jokes, interrupting conversations, and stealing food from people's lunch; but unlike Rodger, I never get the feared, "Go home!" In fact, these people invite me to steal their food and laugh at my lame jokes. How cool is that?

Most people don't even realize that I don't work here. My name isn't on the board, and I never wear a name tag, but outsiders automatically assume that since I'm in with the writing tutors, I must be one myself. No such thing, folks, I just work with English 1000 classes. I'm not cool enough to work here.

I am cool enough, however, to answer the phone. I did so the other day, because everyone else was too lazy to stand up. With Amanda prompting me, I was able to fumble through setting up a tutoring appointment. How cool is that?

Maybe if they have an opening next semester, I can get my name on the board and have a box in the back room. Until then, I will just use their fridge and computers for my own intents and purposes.

The Case of the Missing Toothbrush

Sometimes I come home to find my roommate has cleaned something.  This wouldn't be so weird if she actually lived at our apartment, but about two weeks into the semester she started disappearing for long periods of time, supposedly staying at her mom's place in Enoch.  Every once in a while I come back from a weekend at my parents' to find her sheets in a crumpled mess, or ripped off completely, maybe being washed somewhere, maybe being made into clothing for gypsy children, who knows?  I am just glad that the gypsies leave my sheets alone.

Other than these occasional attacks on her sheets, I see her face every few weeks as she comes to rotate some of her clothing.  If I had so much clothing that I could keep my closets nicely dressed in two places, I would be more worried than if gypsies stole my sheets (which leaves me to wonder why the gypsies don't just steal her clothes in the first place).

Today I came home from school, happy to see the toilet I'd cleaned that morning, when I look over and see that her side of the sink is sparkling, and her toothbrush is missing.  I think--didn't she tell me last week that she was going to start living here again?  If she is, she apparently does not need clean teeth to do so, only a clean sink.  It is quite possible that she used the toothbrush to clean it, as I don't see any evidence of paper towels or dirty rags.  Or maybe the gypsies felt bad about taking her toothbrush, so they used her pillowcases to wipe up her side of the sink  It is a mystery.

Haiku Slam

I always get neat ideas for a blog entry, but then I think--something cooler happened a few days ago! I can't post anything until I write that down. Hah. You can bet how productive that mode of thinking is. So, the next slue of entries may be a little scatterbrained, but I've just got to get all of this awesomeness online.

In my senior year of high school I took a creative writing class that constantly demanded that I dish out all sorts of poetry and prose. It was a relief when we started writing haiku. The 5-7-5 form is fairly easy to produce (even if the results aren't always as beautiful or clever as Issa's), so I taught my sister, codename Blondie, how to make them up. We spend the rest of that week counting syllables out on our fingers as we talked. Some haiku were teasing, some were conversational, and many were about the artform itself. I think sometimes we had more fun with this than with our tomato fight.

When I came home for the Christmas break, I was pleased to see a haiku doodled on a notepad next to some groceries. It seems Blondie still remembers the 5-7-5 rule. I brought it up at dinner, and we started a haiku slam session right over the kitchen table, Blondie writing her favorite ones down as she went.

"Me and Rach--" she started, holding three fingers up.

"Rach and I," my mother corrected out of habit. While Blondie might be clever with haiku, she is terrible with grammar. I spent a lot of time correcting a fifty page paper of hers, crossing out countless "her and I"'s. With poetry, however, I believe that grammar can and should be ignored if a better piece will result because of it.

I put out a hand to stop her. "No, Mom, grammar doesn't matter in poetry."

"Yeah!" Blondie's finger count restarted.

"Yo, Mom, what the heck?
I write haikus my own way.
Me and Rach agree."


Slam. I think Issa would be proud.

Rachel's Fifty-Two Daring Deeds

Last night, I went with my friend Jamie to the track. We go every so often to walk and run a bit--last night we even hopped. It was rather crowded though, which was strange. We were there about a half-hour earlier than normal, so I wondered if that was the cause of the traffic, but Jamie came up with a more plausible reason. She pointed out that it is the first week of the new year. Everyone was starting a new resolution.

I realized that I hadn't actually come up with a resolution for 2009. After five seconds of consideration, I had it--I would become a daring person. Once a week, I will do something gusty (possibly reckless) and see if I can't overcome some of my anxiety and complacency. I might be willing to accept dares from others, so let me know if you have something in mind for me. Check back for updates!