The Hills are Alive with the Sound of Pants

I went snowshoeing on Saturday.
It was me, buddy Ian, the guy who I went to the dance with, a tiny blonde girl, and an Austrian girl.
As we all know, every Austrian is like unto Arnold Schwarzenegger. Wow, who knew that word was in spell check?
It was a fun time. We went for maybe a mile--the whole experience made me miss Minnesota a lot--and then from behind us we heard the Austrian girl say "You guys, she's freezing."
We all turned around to see the small blonde girl shivering violently.
Austrian girl assessed the situation authoritatively.
"Here," she said, "Take my pants."
And Austrian girl dropped her pants right there on the mountain in the 16 degree weather.
I told you. Arnold blood.
"No, seriously--" said the blonde girl, but she was really shaking and resistance was futile at this point because it had taken Austrian girl all of three seconds to get her pants off and offer them to blonde girl.
Blonde girl went behind a hill to do the pant exchange, Austrian girl began marching in circles to keep her legs warm, and the guys dutifully looked away. Actually one of them did, Ian didn't know any of this was going on. He was taking pictures of the mountain.
A few minutes passed.
"Do you need help?" I asked the hill nervously.
"Yes," came blonde girl's voice.
I snowshoed my way over. She was pretty miserable and having a lot of trouble what with the not being able to move her fingers and all. So I helped out, and she leaned on me. I was totally at a loss for what to do at this point, because she was kind of doing the fetal position into my shoulder, so I awkwardly put my arm around her and made really stupid jokes, like
Ha ha, I bet this isn't what you were expecting!
and
You can just put the wet clothes on my arm, I'm like...a dresser. The furniture, not like a career...a professional dresser...
So she was probably wishing she had someone else with her.
Once the pants were on, the guys returned (Ian had been brought up to date) and then the real clothing swap began. Her socks were wet, so she put on a pair of the guy's socks, her new Austrian pants were too big for her tiny blonde self so she wore my belt, she wore the Austrian girl's hoodie (over her coat), and another one of the guy's gloves.
It was a team effort.
So when we made our way back down the mountain it was me struggling to keep my beltless pants up, Austrian girl with no pants at all, tiny blonde girl looking like a hunchback with approx. eight hoods trapped under her outer hoodie, guy #1 hopping the whole way to keep his sockless feet out of the snow, and Ian taking pictures.

Fight Dance

The dance was last night, and it was fun. My date and I didn't know how to dance, and since a lot of dudes at BYU DO know how to dance, he was sort of stressed about it. Some of our time was spent like this:

SLOW SONG.
Boy: Ahh! Ahh! What do we do? I know how to sway. We can sway. But what else? What do people do? Everyone is just swaying or standing!
Me: We can spin!
Boy: But then you end up holding my hand the wrong way!
Me: No, check it out, I'll spin back. (Spin and spin back)
Boy: Oh heck yes this is awesome.

SLOW SONG 2:
Boy: We need a new move. We only have two moves right now. HEY BRAD, HOW DO WE DANCE?
Brad: (from a distance) Two-step!
Boy: Two-step? Is that what we've been doing? Is THIS a two step? Maybe they count differently in dancing and this is like a six step or something. Hey! Let's try this, I'm going to step forward and you step backward and then we'll do the opposite!

SLOW SONG 3:
Boy: All these slow songs...(We are holding right hands) I know, let's use our handholding to punch people.


So we did. It went sway-sway PUNCH, sway-sway PUNCH, and it was pretty hilarious although some of our friends and their dates didn't realize we were intentionally punching them, they just thought we were bad dancers.

Also at the end of the night, my friend said "Hey let's walk the guys home since this was a ladies choice event," and her date put his arm in her arm and said "Okay, I live in THE PARKING GARAGE," in a super terrifying voice. Maybe you had to be there but I think I laughed for five minutes then and giggled about it for hours later.

Russian Soup and Dreams

Since this is supposed to be a blog about my awkward vegetarianism, here is a brief update.
I'm in a vegetarian dinner group now! It's super dysfunctional. But anyway it's supposed to be a veg/foreign dinner group, so as the perfect compromise the other day I made borsch, which is this Russian soup that's basically every root vegetable known to man in various forms of shredded/chopped. And it's bright red because of beets. Way awesome. I listened to Leingrad, which is this delightful shouty Russian music as I made it.

And last night I had a dream that I was being chased by the police, but the police force consisted of three really old hispanic ladies on a white bicycle built for three, and they were trying to shoot me with bows n' arrows.

Supersonic

I have a supersonic memory. If we have ever had a conversation, I can probably remember a lot of what we said word for word. If I was feeling uncomfortable or if I had a crush on you, I could probably remember the whole thing word for word. That's why I remember almost all of what I just said today during a summer job interview. It was over skype, and it was early in the morning, but those are the only excuses I have. Here are some gems:

"I would do the slow turn around and give them my get to know you smile. Everyone has a get to know you smile."

"It's like the geico guy says...I can't remember what he says...something something, car insurance."

"I would break up their friendship. Not in a bad way. Just like they used to do in elementary school. You know what I'm talkin bout?"

"I went caving one time. We went in the cave and I was just like whaaaat!"

"We did cabin things at the cabin for like a week. Chill."

"If the zombie apocalypse comes I can get at least two miles away."

"I think people think that I'm trying to make a statement with my hair but really I just had some scissors one time.."

"Megan and Tess and I were be eff effs sixth through twelfth grade."

"I can get behind those values."


The interview was 45 minutes long and it was all just me rambling on and on.

Public Relations

I have a public relations job, and I write a lot of stories. Mostly I interview a professor when they do something cool and write a story about it. I then email them a draft of the story for edits. Sometimes they just say "looks good," and sometimes they rewrite the entire thing in their image.
I'm not saying that I'm a pro at public relations or anything, but I am better at it than some of the professors.
For example. In a recent story about immigration, I had quoted a professor as saying "Be your brother's keeper. We all share a responsibility for human rights."

When I got the edited story back, the quote had been changed to the following:

“Be your brother’s keeper. We all share a responsibility as duty-bearers for integration with human rights under a localized culturally sensitive program.”

Wearing the Pants

I asked a dude out on a date for the first time today, 'cause there's a ladies (ladiezzzz) choice dance this weekend. It went like this:

ME: Hi Jason. Has anyone asked you to the dance yet?
JASON: Nope.
ME: Oh. Can I ask you to the dance?
JASON: Yeah.
ME: Jason do you want to go to the dance with me?
JASON: Yeah.

I think there was some potential there. I could have said "oh" and walked away after asking if anyone had asked him yet, or he could have said "no" to the big Q after giving me permission to ask him. Wasted comedic potential. I tell you.

CONTINUED:
JASON: I can't really dance though.
ME: Oh good, me neither. I just wave my arms.
JASON: Ok. I'll practice.

It's looking good. We'll be the octopus arm-waving couple.

Cake Batter

I had the following text conversation with my home teachers today:

HT: Hey we're going to come over today and bring treatsies. Ok?
ME: Yep. Treatsies are always welcome.
HT: Is it cool if we bring a big bowl of cake batter and spoons or would that be nast?

Yes it would be. Their compromise was bringing over separate cups of cake batter. Unfortunately, they were frozen solid. He didn't explain why, and I didn't ask...

Popular

The problem with living in Monticello on the ground floor in January is that errybody wants to look at our apartment for research in their housing hunt. This week we have had four different girls just show up and expect full clearance in our apartment.

I mean we let them see the whole thing. It's just awkward for everybody. Here's how my conversation with this girl went today:

GIRL: So...can I look around?
ME: Um. Yes.
GIRL: Kitchen?
ME: Yep.
GIRL: Ooh, a piano? Whose is that?
ME: (silent while I try to figure out whether she would know any of my roommates by name)
...one of my roommates'.
GIRL: Oh. So can I...?
ME: Yeah...
I walked back into my room. We looked it over for a minute. It is a mess.
ME: Yep. Those are my bras.
GIRL: Ha ha! Well thanks! Maybe I will see you around!
ME: Yep.

So I'm a crappy tour guide, but that responsibility was not mentioned in my contract.
Also during the time it took me to write this two girls came to look at our apartment together. This is not the parade of homes, guys. We really need to clean the bathroom.

Bussing It

I took the bus home from Salt Lake today. Not much happened; I think the most interesting thing was a giant bearded man with a backpack that was approximately the same size as him who frantically stroked his beard for the whole ride, and a gothic looking lady who seriously seemed to have made herself a wig out of red and black yarn. I mean it, they weren't dreds. I'm pretty sure she made herself a red and black yarn wig. It was heaped high upon her head.

The problem with punks and goths and similar rebels in appearance is that they give you super dirty looks if they catch you looking at them. But seriously I just want to sit down and explain look, I'm not giving you a disapproving stare because you've rejected society's dress and appearance norms, I just legitimately want to know how you got that piece of metal through that piece of your body/what that tattoo is/whether or not you are wearing a homemade yarn-wig. I feel like they've created an impossible scenario for themselves.

Anyway I thought I would share two moments from one of my more entertaining slc to provo bus moments. It was the last late night bus..

1. Before the bus pulls out of the first stop, the driver stands in the aisle and grandly looks over our heads. A man who is missing many of his front teeth says "This is my favorite part of the night," looking expectant. The driver, a short, grey-haired man with a nice mustache, grabs the handrails above his head on either side of the aisle and pulls himself up. Wordlessly, he proceeds to do some gymnastics. He flips forward, he flips backward, he holds himself up there with his legs extended in front of him, he goes on for about five minutes. When he drops back to the ground, all of us commuters give him a hearty round of applause. Not letting this get to his head, he wordlessly climbs into his chair and starts the engine.

2. The bus stops, and a girl in a medieval dress, cloak and hood, robin hood boots, and a giant leather backpack steps on. She's holding a staff that's maybe six feet long and strapped to her giant leather backpack is a full-length sword in a sheath. She is, as they say, the real deal. Our gymnast bus driver does not seem surprised or curious but he does sternly tell her that she can't come on the bus with that, and weapons must be kept in the bike rack on the front of the bus. The girl disappeared for a moment and reappeared minus the staff. She was then allowed to ride the bus, despite still having her trusty sword.

Survival Dance

On Saturday night, my friend and I went clubbing in Salt Lake.
So I've been clubbing a few times. I'm not one of those kids who "GOES TO CLUBS." But I'd been a couple of times and I thought I had a pretty good idea of what I was in for.
lol nope
I will try to give you a mental image. So there's a sub-par DJ who keeps yelling things and playing bad remixes and every once in a while he cuts the sound because he expects everyone to sing the parts, usually words like DA DA DAAAA or BOOM BOOM POW or something equally singalongable, so there would just be sort of this confused noise and then he would turn the music back on.
It was pretty dark, so there were a lot of glowsticks being flung, and everyone was breaking them and splattering each other. Also, whatever is in those things is not meant for the human eye. It stung. So hard.
Also, there was a ton of paint. They handed out supersoakers full of some kind of glowy paint (which also stung in your eyes) and so everyone was getting shot all to pieces.
Most importantly, there were SO MANY PEOPLE. I probably spent like a third of the time in there completely unable to move my body. At all. Not even a little bit. And it's not like these people were standing still and orderly. Everyone was trying to get somewhere else, or grind on you, or they were jumping or throwing elbows, etc. The jumping was especially scary because if you found yourself in a group of people who were all jumping, you had better start jumping too unless you wanted a broken foot or an elbow to the nose. SURVIVAL JUMP. That was also potentially the sweatiest place I've ever been and most of the sweat on me wasn't mine.

So in short, super loud, crappy music, constant paint dripping down your face and clothes and running into your eyes, constant danger of being mauled by some freakdancer, horndogs who keep trying to grab your hips, slimy with paint and everyone else's sweat, floor sticky with paint and crunchy with broken bits of supersoakers. I had a total of three trains of thought during my club experience:

1. THIS IS GROSS
2. THIS IS HILARIOUS
3. I COULD PROBABLY DIE IN HERE AND IT WOULD TAKE LIKE FOUR HOURS FOR ANYONE TO NOTICE

We eventually made it out (although some guy grabbed me and started carrying me back in. I just sort of went into elbow-throwing mode to get away from him. It wasn't really a place where you could have a reasonable conversation) and then we all laughed like loons for a while.
"Susannah is never, ever doing that again" announced my friend Susannah.
I dunno, I might go back if the mood is right.

Speaking of Awkward

On my French test, there was a fill in the blank question that said "Donne les bises avec les ___"
Or some correct spelling of that sentence.
It was our unit on body parts, and I blanked. I didn't know what "bise" was. I read it again. "Give the plural somethings with the blank" said my American brain.
Bises=Smiles? I thought. Give smiles with your teeth?
It seemed plausible. French is a weird language, after all.

Later on, as I went over the test with my French teacher, I asked him why that question was marked wrong. He told me the right answer was "lips," not teeth.
"Isn't that a matter of personal preference?" I asked quizzically, indignant that I had to smile with my lips and not my teeth.

He stared at me with a funny look in his eye for a good twenty seconds before he revealed what I had just said.
"You know that 'bise' means kiss, right?"

Well now I do.

Awkward Day

I can't put all of my awkward conversations here because they're too awkward.
But. I did sort of invite the guy I liked and his girlfriend to come watch our pet snake eat a baby mouse before they made dinner together. And I accidentally told my boss she belonged in a nursing home. And I asked my neighbor if he was going into his apartment as he stepped over the threshold into his apartment. And there was a girl in my class named Brooke and I called her "body of water." The end.

Tunneling

Yesterday Emily and Ian and I went in a super sketchy hidden tunnel under the church.
It was pretty much made of dirt and dust and rusty nails. Also everything smelled like mold and you couldn't stand up. It was way awesome.
Also it was a treasure trove of things! I found a pipe, and a sock, and a hanger, and a bottle cap from some soda company that went out of business in 1955. That is all.

Citrus

My good buddy Ian went to visit his family in AZ and returned to Utah with the entire back of his car full of citrus fruit from his parent's fruit farm or wherever you can acquire thousands of fruits for free these days. We're talking like eight large boxes of oranges, tangelos, tangerines, limes, lemons, and grapefruits. He is storing it in our apartment.
WHAT A FOOL
I have eaten an average of seven tangelos a day for three days, is all I'm sayin.