Tonight is the first church activity that I'll be in charge of, and I'm kind of freaking out a little bit. I have all the stuff for dinner, and have made the desserts. I can't start making the food yet because it's pasta, but I should probably prepare the garlic bread soon.
Everything about this makes me nervous. I would much prefer to be hiding in the kitchen all night, but unfortunately I neglected to enlist the help of my committee members. I really wish I was one of the committee members instead of a co-chair. I'm sure this will help me grow, but I really don't like being in charge of things and having to delegate and be the public face of something.
I hope hardly anyone shows up. Not only do I want leftovers, I also want to be embarrassed in front of only a small group of people.
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Saturday, March 12, 2011
And today I was asked out on Facebook by someone I don't know.
Him: Hi, this is (insert name here). Can I ask you something?
Me: Go right ahead.
Him: Can I take you to dinner?
Me: Do I know you?
Him: No.
Me: I don't feel comfortable going out with someone I've never met.
Him: Ok.
The End. And that's not even much of an exaggeration, it really was that abrupt.
Despite being a little weirded out, I'm actually kind of offended he gave up that easily. But at least he's not 21.
The other day I went with my roommate to get the water jugs refilled. After filling them we put them in the back of her truck for the short drive home, but one of the caps came loose after ten seconds and started splurting water everywhere while we were stopped at the light. I jumped out, climbed in the back to fix it, and we went home that way, cool night air blowing through my hair. I love that that's legal here. It wasn't in California, so after awhile we weren't allowed to even hop in the back of Mr. Garwood's truck and ride down the street with him. One of many simple childhood joys outlawed.
So the other night, in defiance of justifiably-curtailed childhood joys, I turned to face the air and spread my arms wide. And I pretended I was a Quidditch player speeding around on a broomstick.
Him: Hi, this is (insert name here). Can I ask you something?
Me: Go right ahead.
Him: Can I take you to dinner?
Me: Do I know you?
Him: No.
Me: I don't feel comfortable going out with someone I've never met.
Him: Ok.
The End. And that's not even much of an exaggeration, it really was that abrupt.
Despite being a little weirded out, I'm actually kind of offended he gave up that easily. But at least he's not 21.
The other day I went with my roommate to get the water jugs refilled. After filling them we put them in the back of her truck for the short drive home, but one of the caps came loose after ten seconds and started splurting water everywhere while we were stopped at the light. I jumped out, climbed in the back to fix it, and we went home that way, cool night air blowing through my hair. I love that that's legal here. It wasn't in California, so after awhile we weren't allowed to even hop in the back of Mr. Garwood's truck and ride down the street with him. One of many simple childhood joys outlawed.
So the other night, in defiance of justifiably-curtailed childhood joys, I turned to face the air and spread my arms wide. And I pretended I was a Quidditch player speeding around on a broomstick.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
B! Y! U! Cougars!
Okay, forget what I said last month when I was worrying about looking old - today I got chatted up by a 21-year-old.
It was kind of hilarious, actually, in a this-is-going-to-be-awkward-for-someone-other-than-me way. I sat in the front row for Sunday School, because my roommate was teaching and I wanted to be supportive but I also am a front-sitter and will use any excuse I can to feel like I'm in the middle of things and really participating, or at least visible. After a few minutes a guy sat down next to me, one I recognized as having a pronounced stutter. Commence the polite conversation. He mentioned he'd got back from his mission less than a year ago, and I smiled inwardly and thought he was a cute ickle thing.
My roommate had a meeting after church, so I waited for her in the foyer, listening to a girl talk about the really fascinating way her mother handles her fourth-grade class (which the girl is subbing right now because she knows it really well), and while I was waiting, the guy walked up and started talking to me again. And it wasn't long before it became quite clear he was trying to figure out how old I was. He said he was going to school but didn't know what he wanted to study yet, which made it clear he really was only 21 or 22, because past that, people usually have more of an idea. He said he was turning 22 next month. He asked how long I'd been down here, and I said just a month. Where had I been living before? Oh, up in Provo, having gone to BYU. Then came the best question of all:
"Did you go to BYU for two years, four years...?"
In the privacy of my mind, I burst out laughing. Outwardly, I gave a demure if slightly amused smiled - a bit Mona-Lisaish, I like to think.
"Oh, about four years. It was a good time."
Something about the way I said it must have set off alarms, because instead of making more assumptions, he actually said, "So, that would make you around 22...?"
I smiled up at him again. "No, I stayed around Provo for a while after."
More alarms. "For quite a while?"
"For about five years," I said, smiling broadly. "But thank you very much."
Let's hope the next time I get chatted up, it's by someone a little older.
It was kind of hilarious, actually, in a this-is-going-to-be-awkward-for-someone-other-than-me way. I sat in the front row for Sunday School, because my roommate was teaching and I wanted to be supportive but I also am a front-sitter and will use any excuse I can to feel like I'm in the middle of things and really participating, or at least visible. After a few minutes a guy sat down next to me, one I recognized as having a pronounced stutter. Commence the polite conversation. He mentioned he'd got back from his mission less than a year ago, and I smiled inwardly and thought he was a cute ickle thing.
My roommate had a meeting after church, so I waited for her in the foyer, listening to a girl talk about the really fascinating way her mother handles her fourth-grade class (which the girl is subbing right now because she knows it really well), and while I was waiting, the guy walked up and started talking to me again. And it wasn't long before it became quite clear he was trying to figure out how old I was. He said he was going to school but didn't know what he wanted to study yet, which made it clear he really was only 21 or 22, because past that, people usually have more of an idea. He said he was turning 22 next month. He asked how long I'd been down here, and I said just a month. Where had I been living before? Oh, up in Provo, having gone to BYU. Then came the best question of all:
"Did you go to BYU for two years, four years...?"
In the privacy of my mind, I burst out laughing. Outwardly, I gave a demure if slightly amused smiled - a bit Mona-Lisaish, I like to think.
"Oh, about four years. It was a good time."
Something about the way I said it must have set off alarms, because instead of making more assumptions, he actually said, "So, that would make you around 22...?"
I smiled up at him again. "No, I stayed around Provo for a while after."
More alarms. "For quite a while?"
"For about five years," I said, smiling broadly. "But thank you very much."
Let's hope the next time I get chatted up, it's by someone a little older.
Saturday, January 1, 2011
Happy New Year
My roommate and I talked about New Year's today, and she even brought up the subject, so I stopped being annoyed at her about a second in.
Now I'm annoyed at another friend instead.
What an amazingly charming person I am, and what a lovely start to 2011. Ring out, wild bells.
Now I'm annoyed at another friend instead.
What an amazingly charming person I am, and what a lovely start to 2011. Ring out, wild bells.
2011
Sometimes I wish people wouldn't do nice things for me. Knowing you should feel grateful can be a burden, especially when you're not because the things that were done weren't anything you would've chosen. Or when you would normally be grateful but it was the wrong timing for that particular good deed. Or when it goes on. And on. And on.
Sometimes knowing someone's heart was in the right place is just not enough.
I watched four movies today. In order: Exit Through The Gift Shop, Salt, She Done Him Wrong, and Scott Pilgrim Versus The World. All good movies. All very different movies! But still, four movies. I watched them (all of them) at my roommate's parents' house, with my roommate and various members of her family. It's wonderful that she spends time with her family. It's really sweet that she wants her family to "adopt" me, and it's not like she expects me to be having stimulating, heartfelt conversations with her family all the time - she suggested I bring my laptop and my DS in case I wanted them. I wish I'd brought the laptop, actually, the DS eventually ran low on batteries because I was there from one to shortly after midnight. But I didn't think I was going to be there that long.
They're great people, don't get me wrong, and they fed me, which was also nice even if it was just frozen pizza (that's not a put-down, I like frozen pizza). I have no real beef with the company or the food, or even the entertainment although I'm a little appalled with myself for watching four movies in one day, it makes me feel so lazy even though I wasn't begging for movies. I just have a problem with spending that much time in one go with anyone, and the fact that I didn't even have time to prepare myself for it because I didn't realize we'd be there that long, and okay, also because I had something else I wanted to do even if, realistically speaking, I'm pretty sure I would've wound up hanging out at home with the cats instead of going to that dance. But that would've been me by myself - I can handle being by myself that long, I can't be around other people that long. I get antsy. I really can't be at someone else's house that long without getting stir crazy and grouchy. Several of my Utah friends can attest to that.
I want to say "it's only that" and "I just etc," but there is no only and no just, it's never one thing with me. I can't legitimately stay angry at my roommate because although she knew I had somewhere else I'd planned to go (because I tried to get her to go with me), she did say I could borrow her truck and drive it to the dance and I never asked. I never spoke up even though midnight was drawing closer. But I'm still upset. I didn't want to spend another New Year's not even celebrating the new year. I didn't want to be in the middle of a movie when it struck midnight. A holiday isn't a holiday if you're not observing it. If you don't treat it special, there's nothing special about it.
It is so stupid to be upset about that.
But they didn't even pause the movie.
Sometimes knowing someone's heart was in the right place is just not enough.
I watched four movies today. In order: Exit Through The Gift Shop, Salt, She Done Him Wrong, and Scott Pilgrim Versus The World. All good movies. All very different movies! But still, four movies. I watched them (all of them) at my roommate's parents' house, with my roommate and various members of her family. It's wonderful that she spends time with her family. It's really sweet that she wants her family to "adopt" me, and it's not like she expects me to be having stimulating, heartfelt conversations with her family all the time - she suggested I bring my laptop and my DS in case I wanted them. I wish I'd brought the laptop, actually, the DS eventually ran low on batteries because I was there from one to shortly after midnight. But I didn't think I was going to be there that long.
They're great people, don't get me wrong, and they fed me, which was also nice even if it was just frozen pizza (that's not a put-down, I like frozen pizza). I have no real beef with the company or the food, or even the entertainment although I'm a little appalled with myself for watching four movies in one day, it makes me feel so lazy even though I wasn't begging for movies. I just have a problem with spending that much time in one go with anyone, and the fact that I didn't even have time to prepare myself for it because I didn't realize we'd be there that long, and okay, also because I had something else I wanted to do even if, realistically speaking, I'm pretty sure I would've wound up hanging out at home with the cats instead of going to that dance. But that would've been me by myself - I can handle being by myself that long, I can't be around other people that long. I get antsy. I really can't be at someone else's house that long without getting stir crazy and grouchy. Several of my Utah friends can attest to that.
I want to say "it's only that" and "I just etc," but there is no only and no just, it's never one thing with me. I can't legitimately stay angry at my roommate because although she knew I had somewhere else I'd planned to go (because I tried to get her to go with me), she did say I could borrow her truck and drive it to the dance and I never asked. I never spoke up even though midnight was drawing closer. But I'm still upset. I didn't want to spend another New Year's not even celebrating the new year. I didn't want to be in the middle of a movie when it struck midnight. A holiday isn't a holiday if you're not observing it. If you don't treat it special, there's nothing special about it.
It is so stupid to be upset about that.
But they didn't even pause the movie.
Friday, December 10, 2010
Age and adulthood
Two days ago I was waiting to talk to someone at church when a teenage girl wandered in, then out of the foyer, then down and up one hall and back again. It turned out she had been dropped off at both the wrong place and time for a night of Christmas caroling, and since I'd arrived absurdly early for my appointment I was free to chat and commiserate - and, more importantly, to offer the use of my cell phone so she could call her people. Said people naturally wondered whose phone she was using, and the girl said that a woman had let her borrow her cell.
The use of that word shouldn't have surprised me, but it did. When did I become a woman? Shouldn't I still be a girl - immature, inexperienced, young? Maybe not to a teenager. I'm about ten years too old to be a teenager, and teenagers are very good at noticing things like that. And even if I didn't look like I'm in my twenties, she had to know that I was at least eighteen based on our conversation. But I couldn't help getting a bit self-conscious. Was it the white streak in my hair? Should I follow my sister's advice and dye it instead of enjoying the geek chic of comparisons with Rogue-from X-Men? Did it make me look old?
I know that, physically speaking, I've been a woman for a good long time - over half my life, short as it's been. But the shortness of my life is what made the description so startling. I'm twenty-seven. Yes, I've been to college (and even graduated), had a number of jobs, paid rent, been financially independent, etc. No, I wouldn't want to be a teenager again, not physically, emotionally or mentally, and certainly not socially. I am an adult.
But a woman?
I've decided it comes down to what I'm used to. If I went to a job interview and the hiring manager referred to me as a girl, I wouldn't bat an eye because I'm probably younger than most hiring managers. If you look at it that way, I shouldn't be bothered that a teenager called me a woman - she's a girl and I'm significantly older than her, so of course she wouldn't call me what she is. It's just a matter of perception. I think of myself as a girl because within my own head, I am one.
I don't see that changing with time. Maybe - when I've had a real career, something that lasts more than a couple years. Maybe - when I'm married and have children. For now? I'm not irresponsible. Far from it! But I'm not a woman. It feels like being a woman should mean I've made it - I'm done, not perfect but as close to it as I'm going to get. It feels like a destination, and I'm not there yet.
There's only one real problem, and that is that it is a stupid way to think. Womanhood is just one of two things: physical age or mental/emotional maturity. And if I am physically, emotionally, mentally, and legally an adult, I am a woman. End of story.
I can't think of a segue that doesn't sound pompous, so here, have a couple relevant quotes I found through googling.
The use of that word shouldn't have surprised me, but it did. When did I become a woman? Shouldn't I still be a girl - immature, inexperienced, young? Maybe not to a teenager. I'm about ten years too old to be a teenager, and teenagers are very good at noticing things like that. And even if I didn't look like I'm in my twenties, she had to know that I was at least eighteen based on our conversation. But I couldn't help getting a bit self-conscious. Was it the white streak in my hair? Should I follow my sister's advice and dye it instead of enjoying the geek chic of comparisons with Rogue-from X-Men? Did it make me look old?
I know that, physically speaking, I've been a woman for a good long time - over half my life, short as it's been. But the shortness of my life is what made the description so startling. I'm twenty-seven. Yes, I've been to college (and even graduated), had a number of jobs, paid rent, been financially independent, etc. No, I wouldn't want to be a teenager again, not physically, emotionally or mentally, and certainly not socially. I am an adult.
But a woman?
I've decided it comes down to what I'm used to. If I went to a job interview and the hiring manager referred to me as a girl, I wouldn't bat an eye because I'm probably younger than most hiring managers. If you look at it that way, I shouldn't be bothered that a teenager called me a woman - she's a girl and I'm significantly older than her, so of course she wouldn't call me what she is. It's just a matter of perception. I think of myself as a girl because within my own head, I am one.
I don't see that changing with time. Maybe - when I've had a real career, something that lasts more than a couple years. Maybe - when I'm married and have children. For now? I'm not irresponsible. Far from it! But I'm not a woman. It feels like being a woman should mean I've made it - I'm done, not perfect but as close to it as I'm going to get. It feels like a destination, and I'm not there yet.
There's only one real problem, and that is that it is a stupid way to think. Womanhood is just one of two things: physical age or mental/emotional maturity. And if I am physically, emotionally, mentally, and legally an adult, I am a woman. End of story.
I can't think of a segue that doesn't sound pompous, so here, have a couple relevant quotes I found through googling.
“A mature person is one who is does not think only in absolutes, who is able to be objective even when deeply stirred emotionally, who has learned that there is both good and bad in all people and all things, and who walks humbly and deals charitably.” - Eleanor Roosevelt
“Maturity is: The ability to stick with a job until it's finished; The ability to do a job without being supervised; The ability to carry money without spending it; and The ability to bear an injustice without wanting to get even.” - Abigail Van Buren
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