022. Dear Boys and Girls...

I am one of you. I am your friend. I come in peace to give you loyal counsel on a particular matter which so many of us have need of advisement. It is the matter of your questionable flirtation methods. Please do not be offended. I understand this is a sensitive issue. But if you don't know why the men or women you admire appear uninterested, irresponsive, or anti-responsive to your attentions, please review the following list of no-no's and see if your tactics need revision.



Scheme 1: Password Please?

If you're one who likes to intentionally prevent a girl from walking past you by blocking her way with your body, and perhaps in a teasing sort of way ask her for a password, please re-think this. At best, you're showing yourself to be childish; at worst you're an ass. It is not funny, or cute, or productive in getting to know a person. Particularly, if the girl indicates by her pace and focus whether she is in a hurry or has a task to complete, better leave her be. Choose a moment when she is leisurely to seek her out. If you try to compete with her time, you will lose. And leave your password-asking for the second graders on the playground.

Scheme 2: Smile!

Permanently remove these phrases from your flirty repertoire: "Smile, beautiful! It's not so bad!" "Hey, long face...smile!" These and any other variations which include the direction to smile should be obliterated from existence. I know you mean well. But most of the time, it just comes off as bossy and/or dismissive. So leave it.

Scheme 3: The Guessing Game

Don't make us guess at anything - your age, your profession, number of brothers and sisters, what your favorite color is, ETC. Just tell us.

Scheme 4: The I'm-Just-Kidding Verbal Backslap

I don't know how this became a trend, but guilting someone for not calling you, in a so-called "flirty" way, ie. "Hey, thanks for not returning my call the other night, loser! hahahaha!" Not okay. This does not make anyone want to call you ever again. This goes for "Fine, don't say hi to me," and so on. If you insist that you're just playing around, then I hope you like playing by yourself.

Scheme 5: Take A Bite

Please don't hand/spoon/fork feed us food. The only person who enjoys this is you. Maybe after you're in a relationship and you know each other more intimately, you can add this back in. But for now, play it safe and leave it out. It's creepy.

Scheme 6: I Am Funny. Really.

Don't tell us you've got a stand-up routine. Only persons who make an actual living doing stand-up are allowed to say they have a stand-up routine.


Scheme 7: Surprise Shoulder Rub


If you've been on less than three dates, avoid massaging his or her shoulders unless he or she specifically requests it. I know you want to touch him. Touch his forearm. Shoulders are off-limits.

Scheme 8: Premature Terms of Endearment

If you don't know her first name, don't call her honey. If you know her first name but not her last, don't call her honey. If you know her full name but she doesn't know yours, don't call her honey. Honey is for couples. You are not a couple, you take the same train. No honey for you.

Scheme 9: I Had the Craziest Dream About You

Maybe in your mind you think this sentence will intrigue that boy in your office you've been trying to talk to. This has crazy written all over it. Three months into your exclusive relationship you can start talking dreams.

Scheme 10: Brute Force

Please refrain from throwing us into swimming pools, pushing us into walls playfully, holding our arms down, making us arm wrestle with you. This is just lame, people. We aren't in the market for a doofus big brother; most folks aren't turned on by feeling weak or humiliated.

These are just a few. If you know of a big one I left out, please add it in a comment. I've given you 10 Dont's. Here are three Do's:

• Do everything you can to make him or her feel confident and comfortable; that is Priority One
• Stop to look and listen for any cues he or she is giving you, and let that inform your next move
• Be patient and confident; make sure to smile and keep it in the friend zone until you've gotten to know each other better

the things we choose to ignore...

Today I passed this young couple in an outdoor mall. They were holding hands in the interlocking-finger fashion. In my life I must have seen thousands, maybe even a million, couples holding hands and walking. But for some reason today, this particular couple reminded me of the very first time I ever held hands with a boy.

His name was Mark. I was a freshman in high school. Mark was a senior, and the lead piper on the bagpipe squad. I know it seems weird to say this, but his bagpipe skills were outrageously good; the boy could wail. In fact, he performed this solo at graduation later that year that impressed us all. His fingers moved like hummingbird wings over the stops, fluttering to create this quick-paced melody which transported us back in time and place, a time and place where burly men wore skirts every day and ate mutton stew and liked it. So I was extremely flattered one day in the autumn when Nancy, a fellow Highland Dancer, told me that Mark had a crush on me.

I’d never had a boyfriend ever. More than that, I’d never even had a boy pretend to be my boyfriend, or rumor that he was going with me, or steal a kiss during P.E. and run back to his friends, or anything. The closest thing to it came when, in eighth grade, Trent asked me for the stupid pink barrette I’d worn in my hair that day. He asked for it so he could wear it in his black, feathered hair to make the other kids laugh. (I liked Trent major, so of course I nearly died of hyperventilation in the girls bathroom moments following the transaction.) As far as male attention of the romantic ilk, that was it. So here in my first year of high school, to learn that a boy, a senior boy, had an actual, bona fide, personally declared, openly-defined Crush on me was almost beyond comprehension.

Soon after Nancy’s disclosure, I had a letter passed to me in the band room in first period. That’s right, the band room. It was from Mark. The first thing I noticed about it was he had very feminine-looking handwriting. The second thing I noticed was he wrote it in pencil. A true musician. I don’t remember exactly what the note said but, to summarize, this lead bagpiper, Mr. Lungs, wanted to be my boyfriend. At the end of class, I met him at the door and told him yes.

My first boyfriend! This was awesome! Right then and there, he asked to walk me to my next class. I said okay. And then…Mark took my hand, interlocked my fingers with his, and we headed for the A Building.

We walked across campus holding hands. Something you see every day, I know, but for me this was mind shattering. I had never, NEVER, walked with a boy, as my boyfriend, to a class, holding hands. With people around! People saw us holding hands! That means they think we’re boyfriend and girlfriend! Because we are! We were “going” together, ya’ll. The kicker? I didn’t even like him. Felt absolutely nothing for the guy.

I was blown away that a boy liked me, and that he’d admitted it to someone aloud. I was further mind-blown by the fact that he did something about it! He asked me to go with him! So what was I supposed to say, no? No, I won’t seize this entirely new and exciting enterprise, all because I’m not even remotely attracted to this person, or have had any real connection with the guy prior to this blessed day? Sure, the note he’d given me represented the most words he’d ever spoken to me, and we’d never so much as spent an afternoon hanging out together, but so what? It’s a boyfriend! In all honesty, I’m not sure if I understood back then that in order to date someone, first you have to like them. To my naive adolescent mind, all that was required was he had to ask. Don’t trifle with small matters such as my own feelings about him. Just date the dude! He said he wanted to! Sadly, there are times, even as a grown woman, when I recognize that first impulse inside me to not disappoint a man who shows interest. At fourteen, however, it was more than an impulse; I truly didn’t know to do any different.

I’d had this wah-wah feeling in my stomach the moment Nancy told me. I ignored it. The stomach feeling came back the moment he took my hand, but even still I went along with it. I remembered all the hookups from junior high, the boys and girls making out in the back of science class during the movie on cellular osmosis, and thinking…what in the world does that feel like? Does it feel like you’re going to be sick? Walking down the hall holding hands with Mark made me want to put my head between my knees, what does kissing do to you? I guess you learn to live with it, I thought. I guess you don’t mind the nausea after a while. You keep holding the guy’s hand and call it good. I resolved to forget what wasn’t comfortable about being Mark’s girlfriend, the whole didn’t-want-to thing, and forge ahead.

I made it a week. By the following Monday I had prepared to break up with him in the most staggeringly mature manner my fourteen year-old self could invent. I wrote him a note, and passed it to him in the band room, first period. My heart was pounding, and I dared not look behind me. I wondered if he’d start crying, or maybe throw a music stand. Not much time passed before I got a tap on the shoulder, and someone handed me my note back. He’d written on the back side of the paper his reply. He said it was okay, that he understood. No drama whatsoever. And after that, we never really spoke again.

Later that year at graduation, listening to his amazing bagpipe solo, I felt proud to have been his girlfriend for a whole week. The hands making that music were the same hands that wanted to hold mine. Never mind I didn’t like him; he had liked me. And I was proud of that.

boyfriends have i loved and some have i liked a whole lot

Well, kids...another relationship bites the dust.

The BF and I decided to split a month ago. It was hard at first, but it's always easier to break up with someone when you both feel strongly that it's right. Other breakups are more painful because one or the other doesn't feel strongly that it's right. Mercifully, this one was pretty darn mutual. And I'm doing all right.

We recently exchanged some emails where we could say all the positive things we feel, and assure one another that we're doing okay. It feels good to be able to do that wholeheartedly.

It's all going in my book, "12 Lessons I Am Learning Because I Am Single".

Confidence and reassurance can only come from what you receive by the Holy Ghost. Affirmation of who I am, how much I am loved, how purposeful my life is, all come from one divine source. If I look anywhere else for that confidence, I will not be satisfied. Breakups are potential culprits for heart theft. When we experience a loss like that, our little souls are exposed to adversarial elements in a very real and treacherous way. But the healing balm of the Atonement, our Savior's love, offers a protection unlike anything else. Jesus Christ can turn that vulnerable place into a breeding ground for some of the best lessons of our lives. I'm so grateful for Him. I'm starting to trust Him more.

020

The first time I waxed my eyebrows was in preparation for the eighth grade Spring Dance at Ahwahnee Middle School. I agreed to this almost without knowing it. I remember it came as a school dance-prep package deal. The beautician who lived across the street from us was going to give me a new haircut, style it for me into a fierce up-do, then give me a full makeup job, oh, and she’ll wax my eyebrows, all for a very reasonable price. My excitement for the first three numbed my ears to the fourth I guess, because I don’t remember even blinking before I said “Like, totally! Yes!” or something to that effect. (Did I mention this was 1987?)

Here’s the thing. I don’t need my eyebrows waxed. Didn’t then, don’t now. I’m part Norwegian. To put it differently, I don’t grow much hair. I shave my legs maybe three times a year, and it’s always in the summer, and it always comes in blond. Those women blessed with an abundance of hair shouldn’t be too envious of me; it doesn’t grow much on top of my head either. When I’m sixty, I’ll be teasing out the three strands remaining, clinging to my scalp for dear life, as they’re spread out like a rice paper fan over my whole head and shellacked with Aqua Net. You who need the depilatory kits and loathe every moment of it now, just remember me with the three strands then and be content. Anyway, why we felt the need to wax the brows of a one-day balding eighth grader feels more like a “we can, so we will” thing rather than a “we will, and we must” kind of thing. Shoulda said no to that last one I think.

Today I was looking at my eyebrows in the mirror of the office bathroom. I believe it was almost three years ago I plucked a few strays. They’ve only partially grown back in.
And that’s when it hit me. My eyebrows succinctly illustrate my growing concern over the economic stimulus package and President Obama’s overarching economic redevelopment plan.

First, let me state plainly that I am an Obama supporter. I was thrilled when he was voted into office, and I’m genuinely excited to see what happens next in his tenure as CIC. I love his speeches, I am inspired by his history and I admire his values. But what if his speeches are the haircut, his history the up-do, his values the bangin’ makeup job, and his performance as President of the United States is the wax job? I was lulled into loving the fourth unwittingly by loving the first three. But am I being smart about this? Am I looking at each item objectively? Can I honestly say that I’m reading the economic stimulus bill with an eye of fair scrutiny? No. No I can’t. Because the haircut is soooo cute, and I looove the blue eyeliner, freak.

Is there anything in this plan that is a “we can, so we will,” only if we do, are we just going to get back some partially grown hairs in three years? Is there anything in this plan that would indicate a Scandinavian blood strain? Because this could be very critical to its global success.

I don’t think there’s any way for me to know for sure unless – you know – I’d studied economics or something. Bi-partisan leadership is what I was counting on, what I voted for. As more legislation rolls forward, I’m hoping to see it play out. I’m skeptical. Optimism and positive thinking can be incredibly powerful. But what if the follicles are dead? (Sorry, I mixed that metaphor pretty badly just there.) In other words, what if we don’t listen, and they don’t budge, and we’re stalemate at every turn?

I went to the dance. No one paid any attention to me. I bet they didn’t even see my perfectly shaped brows. Even when I asked a boy to dance, he refused me. I cried in the back of the Voyager all the way home. This paragraph isn’t part of the analogy. Just want you to feel sorry for me a little bit.

019

This was taken from a real card given to a former roommate:

You have just been serviced by a fellow ward member! Take this little card and "pay it forward" to service another ward member. Then give them this card. It will give them the opportunity to service someone else!

Brought to you by the Ward Service Committee

Can't stop laughing about it.

018

So true how life is funnier than fiction.

The BF is preparing for his finals after his first semester of grad school. After a big dinner, we headed upstairs to my room for some studying; I'm such a good girlfriend. I lay there holding his outline while he explains to me things like malfeasance and duty to act. It got a little silly in some places:

Me: So have you thought anymore about coming to my office christmas party?

Him: No. But let me do that right now. (pause) I don't really want to go...

Me: I don't either.

Him: But if I come for the dinner portion, and then we leave right after, is that a fair compromise?

Me: Deal. BF duty to act compliance.

Him: Actually, that's pretty funny. It may be a reasonable duty for BF to perform acts such as attending girlfriend's office party...

Me: But said BF has no duty to enjoy it.

Him: Precisely.

Me: Case closed.

Later on in the evening, the darndest thing happened. Remember that bottle of prenatal tablets I mentioned last post? Yeah, completely forgot they were visibly stationed on my desk. While I'm furiously making the bed, I hear this:

Him: Umm....(rattles bottle)...hi.

(moment of eyelock.)

Me: What? Those? I just want our babies to be healthy is all. Tick tock....

Him: Do you *want* to be single?

I then explain why I take them, and he basically says he figured and just wanted to tease me. He's a good one.

017

I went to the grocery store last night. I’m feeling a scratchy throat coming on, and I’ve made it a goal this year not to repeat every year past by getting a cold every fall and then again every spring. It’s not a goal you reach by subsisting solely on Diet Coke and ginger snaps. So I went to the grocery store last night.

After grabbing all the token essentials one might assume: orange juice, chicken noodle soup, Bud Light, carton of Pall Malls, Lysol toilet cleanser, I headed over to the pharmacy section to grab some Vitamin C. Um, okay, vitamins are expensive. Even the cost of pedestrian vitamins such as the C are just downright criminal. I select the chewables a) because they’re cheaper and b) the taste reminds me of my Flintstones days. Then I notice the flags on the vitamin shelves that read “Buy 1 Get One Free!” And I think, well, two vitamins a day have to be better than one, right? So which do I pick? I’m browsing along when my eyes meet the row of prenatal vitamins. This gets me remembering what my mother, my sister, my school nurse, what everybody says about prenatal vitamins - - they’re not just for pregnant women. In fact, they may be the best multivitamin out there for women because of their calcium, iron, folic acid content. I grab them and head for the registers.

This very blond woman behind the conveyor belt smiles and begins to scan my items. As she waits for me to find my Visa, she points to my prenatal vitamins. “Are these for you?” she asks. I look at her for a moment to process it, then answer truthfully a hesitant yes. And then it becomes clear that I have to follow up with something I shouldn’t have to say to this woman: “But I’m not pregnant.” “Oh,” she replies, “I was about to say – Congratulations!!” Small awkward laugh from both of us. “No, no,” I say with this ring of wist that I feel compelled to use. “Well,” she says back, “it’s nice that you’re thinking about it! Do you think you’ll have one pretty soon?” And suddenly I realize I’m in a conversation that makes me want to lie just to satisfy her curiosity. Ever been in one of those? “Well, actually…um, you know, first I’d have to get married.” I notice her glance down to check my left hand. “But, yeah it’s good to prepare ahead of time I guess.” I think this disappointed her. And gosh darn it, I just hate disappointing total and complete strangers who are nosey and have no sense of taste when choosing a home hair coloring kit you buy with your employee discount. I mean, I didn’t have to say this next part, but I did anyway. “Hopefully soon, though. You never know what can happen in the next year.” She beamed back, “That is so true! Well, good luck on that!” “Thanks!” I say and take my bag and go. Immediately I start thinking about the fact that if my boyfriend were standing next to me, listening to that conversation, I think he would have pooped in his pants.

This got me thinking. On the walk home from the store, I started scheming a new plot to scare my boyfriend tonight. We’re going to see Martin Sexton downtown, and he’s coming over for dinner first. The bottle says to take one tablet with a meal. Hmmm. Meal, as in...dinner? I might set the bottle on the table next to my water glass, nonchalantly face the label out. When he notices, the large letters spelling PRENATAL VITAMINS, I might say something like, “Just planning ahead a little, sweetums. You don’t want our baby to have brain damage, do you?”

Hey, it’s Halloween. Everyone loves a good scare, right?