I promise I actually do have a good, sophisticated, witty sense of humor. But sometimes I get carried away, and my humor takes a downward spiral into “potty humor.” The kind where farting, burping and saying naughty words makes me giggle uncontrollably. During my senior year of high school, I went through a phase where I thought snorting super loud like a pig was SO funny. (p.s. I blame my girlfriends, especially Mel, for encouraging this ridiculous behavior every chance they got just because it made me look like an idiot. When I look back, I’m pretty sure that everyone was laughing heartily AT me and not with me.) Anyways, I started doing this thing that I called my Seductive Snort, which is easier to demonstrate than to describe but I’ll do my best.
You know how sometimes when someone is being sexy, they pretend to be a tiger or cougar or something? They raise one shoulder as their chin dips towards it and then pushes back out, and their hand comes up in a human claw and swipes the air as they let out a hearty “RAWWWWR.” And their eyes kind of squint and their lips kind of purse. Go ahead, try it right now so you can picture what I’m talking about…
…
…
Ok, now that you have that image in your mind, just picture me doing that, except for instead of growling like a large feline, I snort super long and loud and the dipping and raising of my chin is super dramatic. That was my Seductive Snort, and I did it on a regular basis.
I was in Jazz Choir that year, which meant that we were constantly traveling around the state to perform in various choir festivals and competitions. Our choir had to wear a uniform of sorts – the boys in suits with purple ties, the girls in black slacks and purple button up blouses. Sadly, my weight, which had remained steady throughout high school, started creeping up my senior year and so by the end of the year, that blouse wasn’t the most comfortable item of clothing I owned. I didn’t want to buy a new one so I just sucked in and made it work.
In the spring, our Jazz choir competed in an important festival and we won third place overall. We had worked really hard that year and doing well, combined with our time together on the bus and in our hotel rooms had put us all in really good moods. As we were waiting to get on the bus to take us home after the competition, I saw all the boys in choir and our drummer and bass player (yeah, we were awesome enough to have a back up band, haha) standing in a circle in the parking lot. I was very hyper and immediately saw the perfect opportunity to show off my Really Hilarious Seductive Snort. It would be especially funny because I was doing it for all those boys, instead of for my usual audience of girls. I grabbed my friend Amy by the arm and we waltzed right up to the circle of 8 or so boys. I was really good friends with the guys, and that combined with my adrenaline rush resulted in a Jessica with no reservations, which is almost always a dangerous thing.
“Hey you guys!” I said loudly to grab their attention. “When I do THIS, does it seduce you?”
Then I did my loudest, longest, most dramatic Seductive Snort to date. Right after, I stood there with my chin and chest pushed out and looked around to catch their expressions. I was totally laughing but no one else said anything as several seconds ticked by. This is never a good sign. Suddenly, my friend Amy jumped towards me saying, “Um, Jessica you…” then she just grabbed my shoulders and turned me around.
I glanced down after I was facing the opposite direction and then saw it. My vigorous snort had caused the buttons on my ill-fitting blouse to pop open. I hadn’t discovered undershirts yet, and although I was wearing a bra, it didn’t cover much due to the thrusting forward of my head and chest. I should have been mortified, but I was still on an adrenaline high so I just grabbed Amy’s hand and ran away laughing hysterically.
Later, the embarrassment hit. But I really loved all those guys and did not want to feel awkward around them for the rest of the year. So in choir the next Monday, I mustered up the courage to turn to Mark who had stood next to me the entire year in both Concert Choir and Jazz Choir. I brought up The Incident from the weekend and as we talked I was appalled to find out that the guys had discussed it afterwards and they all thought that I had flashed them on purpose. I asked Mark why on earth they would think that, and he reminded me that beforehand I did not say anything about a snort, but I had clearly asked, “When I do THIS does it seduce you?” The next thing they knew, they were getting an eyeful of my chest which does tend to seduce most guys. I had to go around individually to each of the boys and make sure they knew that flashing them had NOT been my intention that day.
For obvious reasons, I retired the Seductive Snort after that. I should have also retired the story surrounding it but, as this blog obviously shows, a good story always trumps feelings of embarrassment and so it remains one of my favorites to tell to this day.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Impressing a Hot Guy: Jessica at Age 8
So, speaking of trying to be cool… along with never quite being able to follow the latest fads, I’ve also always sucked the big one when it comes to trying to impress boys. Especially cute ones. One of the most traumatic attempts to catch a boy’s attention took place the summer before third grade. (I just now almost wrote “happened to me” instead of “took place,” but sadly, I was the sole cause of the ridiculous moment and cannot claim victimhood in any way.)
My family had a membership at the local neighborhood pool and I spent all day everyday there in the summer. One time, I spent the night at a friend’s house and then we went to the pool together. When we left to go back to her house to eat lunch, we ran into a cute boy named Jason on the sidewalk. He was the most popular boy in our class the year before, with big dark brown eyes, an olive complexion and beautiful silky brown hair. He was mostly talking to my friend and ignoring me. This was typical (and still is to this day). I’ve never been able to capture a boy’s attention with my stunning looks, especially when there are other females around, however I have always been able to use my quick wit to make sure I’m not completely overlooked. My window of opportunity to make an impression on Jason was quickly closing and I racked my brain for an attention-grabber.
“Oh man, this will be SO funny!” I thought to myself.
I interrupted their conversation and said, a little louder than was necessary, “Hey you guys, watch this!” Then I grabbed the bottom of my shirt and lifted it up to my chin to “flash” them, but the FUNNY part was that I had my bathing suit on underneath. Get it? So I wasn’t actually flashing anything but latex or whatever bathing suits are made out of. I was such a clever and witty little girl.
At least that’s what I thought until I saw that instead of Jason’s eyes squinting because of his laughter, they were bulging in astonishment. Then I felt the breeze and looked down to see that somehow when I was changing, I had missed one of the bathing suit arm straps and it was dangling down by my belly. Which meant that my right booblet was exposed for everyone to see.
He never talked to me again throughout elementary school. Actually, after what happened that was a relief for me.
So in my case, at least in the summer before third grade, flashing nipples was NOT an effective way to catch the guy.
I am so awesome.
My family had a membership at the local neighborhood pool and I spent all day everyday there in the summer. One time, I spent the night at a friend’s house and then we went to the pool together. When we left to go back to her house to eat lunch, we ran into a cute boy named Jason on the sidewalk. He was the most popular boy in our class the year before, with big dark brown eyes, an olive complexion and beautiful silky brown hair. He was mostly talking to my friend and ignoring me. This was typical (and still is to this day). I’ve never been able to capture a boy’s attention with my stunning looks, especially when there are other females around, however I have always been able to use my quick wit to make sure I’m not completely overlooked. My window of opportunity to make an impression on Jason was quickly closing and I racked my brain for an attention-grabber.
“Oh man, this will be SO funny!” I thought to myself.
I interrupted their conversation and said, a little louder than was necessary, “Hey you guys, watch this!” Then I grabbed the bottom of my shirt and lifted it up to my chin to “flash” them, but the FUNNY part was that I had my bathing suit on underneath. Get it? So I wasn’t actually flashing anything but latex or whatever bathing suits are made out of. I was such a clever and witty little girl.
At least that’s what I thought until I saw that instead of Jason’s eyes squinting because of his laughter, they were bulging in astonishment. Then I felt the breeze and looked down to see that somehow when I was changing, I had missed one of the bathing suit arm straps and it was dangling down by my belly. Which meant that my right booblet was exposed for everyone to see.
He never talked to me again throughout elementary school. Actually, after what happened that was a relief for me.
So in my case, at least in the summer before third grade, flashing nipples was NOT an effective way to catch the guy.
I am so awesome.
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Being Cool is Harder than You Think
When I was in the second or third grade, the “cool” kids were all getting digital watches. Our playground activities suddenly consisted of anything that could be timed with the little stopwatch feature on the watches. Races, holding our breath, hopping up and down on one leg…you get the idea. I really wanted a digital watch of my own so that I too could start timing an endless amount of awesome things just like all the popular kids were doing.
I went to the store one afternoon with my dad and convinced him to buy me a plastic watch that was awesome because:
- it was pink
- it was water resistant
- IT HAD A TIMER!
I remember thinking I must have been pretty slick to get my dad to buy that amazing watch for me, but looking back I bet the watch cost maybe $6, and the price tag actually did all the talking for me.
So I went home with my new treasure and proceeded down to our basement. I was all alone and sat brainstorming how I could christen the timer feature on my watch. Sadly, one little girl all alone indoors doesn’t actually have a lot of options and coming up with something was harder than I thought it would be. But, I was as awesomely random then as I am now so I finally came up with what I thought was a great idea:
Spinning.
That’s right…going around and around in small circles as fast as I could without falling down. So I excitedly pushed all the necessary buttons, braced myself in the middle of the room and pressed “start.” I spun and spun and spun. I wondered as I spun if there was a world record for this. If so, I was sure to beat it right then in my basement. Thoughts of all the fame that would come my way after I was published in the next edition of “Guinness Book of World Records” kept me motivated to keep on keepin’ on.
After what seemed like at least an hour had passed (I never cheated and looked at the watch…it would ruin the surprise!) I figured I had the record in the bag so I pressed the stop button and collapsed on our couch. I let the anticipation build for a minute, then I slowly brought my wrist up to eye level. 19:37 was displayed on the screen.
I was disappointed for about thirty seconds, and then the nausea hit. I lay curled up in a fetal position for the rest of the night, clutching my aching stomach. When my dad came down to check on me, he just shook his head when I told him why I was so sick. I’m pretty sure he flat out told me I was somewhat retarded. It was a miserable night. Looking back, what I should have timed was how many hours my stomach cramped and rolled AFTER the spinning. I surely would have won that particular world record.
This is one of many tales from my life illustrating my awesome ability as a little girl to observe the latest fad, jump on the bandwagon, and then turn the fad into the lamest and nerdiest thing ever. So nowadays if you see me turning my nose up at the newest, coolest thing, just know that my snootiness is actually self-defense because I know better than anyone how nerdy and incapable of cool I actually am.
I went to the store one afternoon with my dad and convinced him to buy me a plastic watch that was awesome because:
- it was pink
- it was water resistant
- IT HAD A TIMER!
I remember thinking I must have been pretty slick to get my dad to buy that amazing watch for me, but looking back I bet the watch cost maybe $6, and the price tag actually did all the talking for me.
So I went home with my new treasure and proceeded down to our basement. I was all alone and sat brainstorming how I could christen the timer feature on my watch. Sadly, one little girl all alone indoors doesn’t actually have a lot of options and coming up with something was harder than I thought it would be. But, I was as awesomely random then as I am now so I finally came up with what I thought was a great idea:
Spinning.
That’s right…going around and around in small circles as fast as I could without falling down. So I excitedly pushed all the necessary buttons, braced myself in the middle of the room and pressed “start.” I spun and spun and spun. I wondered as I spun if there was a world record for this. If so, I was sure to beat it right then in my basement. Thoughts of all the fame that would come my way after I was published in the next edition of “Guinness Book of World Records” kept me motivated to keep on keepin’ on.
After what seemed like at least an hour had passed (I never cheated and looked at the watch…it would ruin the surprise!) I figured I had the record in the bag so I pressed the stop button and collapsed on our couch. I let the anticipation build for a minute, then I slowly brought my wrist up to eye level. 19:37 was displayed on the screen.
I was disappointed for about thirty seconds, and then the nausea hit. I lay curled up in a fetal position for the rest of the night, clutching my aching stomach. When my dad came down to check on me, he just shook his head when I told him why I was so sick. I’m pretty sure he flat out told me I was somewhat retarded. It was a miserable night. Looking back, what I should have timed was how many hours my stomach cramped and rolled AFTER the spinning. I surely would have won that particular world record.
This is one of many tales from my life illustrating my awesome ability as a little girl to observe the latest fad, jump on the bandwagon, and then turn the fad into the lamest and nerdiest thing ever. So nowadays if you see me turning my nose up at the newest, coolest thing, just know that my snootiness is actually self-defense because I know better than anyone how nerdy and incapable of cool I actually am.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Flashing Dimples
I was on Cloud Nine. My best friend, Mel, had been taking the discussions for months, and now she had decided to take the plunge and officially become a Mormon. She was completing her pre-baptism interview while I waited in the church foyer with the two missionaries who had taught her. I was chatting non-stop, unable to contain my nervous and excited energy.
Mel and I were 18 years old and had both developed a friendship with these two young elders over the past few months. They were familiar with the ten or so other kids in our tight-knit group of friends because we were all in the same stake. One of the missionaries was especially good looking and I had teased him several times about being careful around girls and not being a lustful missionary.
As the three of us sat in the foyer, we began discussing who would be attending Mel’s baptism. I ran down our list of friends and then mentioned that I wasn’t sure if one good friend named Pam would make it back from her sister’s wedding in time for the baptism.
A quick note about Pam – she has always been That Girl that boys of all types are drawn to. She has long, thick blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and a beautiful smile with two huge dimples in her cheeks. On top of all that, she plays sports, bakes amazing cookies, she can smoke anyone in a game of pool plus she just has that good-natured “Molly Mormon” aura about her. No one can resist her.
Anyways, the cute elder got a look of slight distress on his face when I said Pam might not come to Mel’s baptism. I was quick to tease him about being in love with her. He got defensive, and so to smooth things over I tried to reassure him by saying, “Oh, don’t worry. You’re not alone…ALL boys love Pam. They can’t help it, all she has to do is flash her big dimples and they all come running!”
His face turned red and he had no response so I figured I had embarrassed him enough for one day. I changed the subject and started prattling on about some other silly thing. Mel eventually came out (having successfully qualified for baptism, despite her telling the missionary who was interviewing her that she was a transsexual, but that’s a story for another day.) I quickly forgot about the conversation in the foyer.
Fast forward two months. Pam and I were both attending BYU and we often ate dinner together in the Morris Center cafeteria. One night, I got there before her and was waiting in a booth. I spotted her walking toward me and waved her over with a big smile, but my smile faded when I saw her red face, bulging eyes and gritted teeth. “JESSICA, I NEED TO TALK TO YOU ABOUT SOMETHING RIGHT NOW.”
I quickly racked my brain trying to figure out what on earth she could be mad at me about and couldn’t come up with a single reason. She proceeded to (huffily) tell me that she’d just got done talking to Mel on IM and something very interesting had come up in the conversation. She asked if I had been with the missionaries during Mel’s baptism interview. I had no idea what significance that had, but confirmed that yes I had been. The she asked if I had talked about her with the missionaries. At first I said no, but then I remembered the conversation with the cute elder. But that was all so innocent…ok, maybe I shouldn’t have been talking to a missionary about lusting after my friend, but all in all I had been quite complimentary towards Pam. So why was she now breathing so heavily and giving me the Stink Eye? I asked her to tell me exactly what Mel had told her.
After Mel’s baptism, the elders were visiting her one day to check in and say hello. They asked her about her friends and at one point wanted to know how I was doing in Provo. She informed them that I was slowly making new friends and that luckily, I got to see Pam a lot. At the mention of Pam’s name, the missionaries both turned red and gave each other A Look. Mel noticed their strange reaction and asked what was going on. At first, they refused to tell her why the subject of Pam would prompt such weird behavior.
Mel never takes no for an answer in those types of situations, so after some badgering they finally gave in. They told her all about our conversation in the foyer, but with one major discrepancy. At the end of the story, blushing and stuttering, they reported how I had enthusiastically exclaimed that “all boys love Pam. They can’t help it, all she has to do is flash her big NIPPLES and they all come running.” !!! Why Mel decided to tell Pam before checking the facts with me first, I’ll never know, but she told her this incorrect nipple version of the story and Pam was p-i-s-s-e-d!
She only got madder when I fell sideways on the cafeteria bench, laughing so hard I couldn’t breathe. I finally managed to gasp out that I had actually said dimples. It took a lot of convincing before she would believe me, and even then it was a sore subject for years to come, even though I hadn’t actually done anything wrong.
So that’s the end of this particular tale, but I must admit that over the years, some questions arising from this story have lingered in my mind:
1. Am I really so crude that missionaries would not stop to question that I had just talked about flashing nipples to them, in a church, during a friend’s baptism interview?
2. Why on earth didn’t those missionaries stop me in that moment for A. clarification or B. at least a scolding?
3. And last, but not least…which IS the more effective method of enticing boys…flashing of dimples or nipples? (Single girls need to know!)
Mel and I were 18 years old and had both developed a friendship with these two young elders over the past few months. They were familiar with the ten or so other kids in our tight-knit group of friends because we were all in the same stake. One of the missionaries was especially good looking and I had teased him several times about being careful around girls and not being a lustful missionary.
As the three of us sat in the foyer, we began discussing who would be attending Mel’s baptism. I ran down our list of friends and then mentioned that I wasn’t sure if one good friend named Pam would make it back from her sister’s wedding in time for the baptism.
A quick note about Pam – she has always been That Girl that boys of all types are drawn to. She has long, thick blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and a beautiful smile with two huge dimples in her cheeks. On top of all that, she plays sports, bakes amazing cookies, she can smoke anyone in a game of pool plus she just has that good-natured “Molly Mormon” aura about her. No one can resist her.
Anyways, the cute elder got a look of slight distress on his face when I said Pam might not come to Mel’s baptism. I was quick to tease him about being in love with her. He got defensive, and so to smooth things over I tried to reassure him by saying, “Oh, don’t worry. You’re not alone…ALL boys love Pam. They can’t help it, all she has to do is flash her big dimples and they all come running!”
His face turned red and he had no response so I figured I had embarrassed him enough for one day. I changed the subject and started prattling on about some other silly thing. Mel eventually came out (having successfully qualified for baptism, despite her telling the missionary who was interviewing her that she was a transsexual, but that’s a story for another day.) I quickly forgot about the conversation in the foyer.
Fast forward two months. Pam and I were both attending BYU and we often ate dinner together in the Morris Center cafeteria. One night, I got there before her and was waiting in a booth. I spotted her walking toward me and waved her over with a big smile, but my smile faded when I saw her red face, bulging eyes and gritted teeth. “JESSICA, I NEED TO TALK TO YOU ABOUT SOMETHING RIGHT NOW.”
I quickly racked my brain trying to figure out what on earth she could be mad at me about and couldn’t come up with a single reason. She proceeded to (huffily) tell me that she’d just got done talking to Mel on IM and something very interesting had come up in the conversation. She asked if I had been with the missionaries during Mel’s baptism interview. I had no idea what significance that had, but confirmed that yes I had been. The she asked if I had talked about her with the missionaries. At first I said no, but then I remembered the conversation with the cute elder. But that was all so innocent…ok, maybe I shouldn’t have been talking to a missionary about lusting after my friend, but all in all I had been quite complimentary towards Pam. So why was she now breathing so heavily and giving me the Stink Eye? I asked her to tell me exactly what Mel had told her.
After Mel’s baptism, the elders were visiting her one day to check in and say hello. They asked her about her friends and at one point wanted to know how I was doing in Provo. She informed them that I was slowly making new friends and that luckily, I got to see Pam a lot. At the mention of Pam’s name, the missionaries both turned red and gave each other A Look. Mel noticed their strange reaction and asked what was going on. At first, they refused to tell her why the subject of Pam would prompt such weird behavior.
Mel never takes no for an answer in those types of situations, so after some badgering they finally gave in. They told her all about our conversation in the foyer, but with one major discrepancy. At the end of the story, blushing and stuttering, they reported how I had enthusiastically exclaimed that “all boys love Pam. They can’t help it, all she has to do is flash her big NIPPLES and they all come running.” !!! Why Mel decided to tell Pam before checking the facts with me first, I’ll never know, but she told her this incorrect nipple version of the story and Pam was p-i-s-s-e-d!
She only got madder when I fell sideways on the cafeteria bench, laughing so hard I couldn’t breathe. I finally managed to gasp out that I had actually said dimples. It took a lot of convincing before she would believe me, and even then it was a sore subject for years to come, even though I hadn’t actually done anything wrong.
So that’s the end of this particular tale, but I must admit that over the years, some questions arising from this story have lingered in my mind:
1. Am I really so crude that missionaries would not stop to question that I had just talked about flashing nipples to them, in a church, during a friend’s baptism interview?
2. Why on earth didn’t those missionaries stop me in that moment for A. clarification or B. at least a scolding?
3. And last, but not least…which IS the more effective method of enticing boys…flashing of dimples or nipples? (Single girls need to know!)
Pen Hair
During my first semester at BYU, I made two critical mistakes. First, I signed up for three-hour-long night classes two nights a week. Second, I chose the Open Door meal plan which only allowed me to eat in the dorm cafeterias instead of the Diner’s Plus plan which let students eat at any food place on campus at any time. These two mistakes combined meant that when I had my night classes, the cafeteria had closed by the time they were over so I always missed dinner and ended up very grouchy due to almost-starvation.
One Wednesday night after class, I plopped myself down on my bed in my dorm room and started in on what was now a regular tirade. My roommate listened patiently and I finally decided to stop whining and just go down to the little Cougar Corner store in the Morris Center to get something to eat. I never had any cash on me, so I grabbed my checkbook and headed down.
I was young and stupid with money, so I needed to get something very cheap to eat because my bank account was down to its last few dollars. The little convenience store had a grill and so I chose to order a chicken burger that cost something like $2.08 after tax. The employee took the order and rang it up on the cash register and then looked at me expectantly for payment. I pulled my checkbook out of my pocket and sheepishly asked for a pen, embarrassed to be writing a check for such a small amount of money. The guy gave me A Look, which I perceived to be annoyance and slowly reached over to his register and grabbed a pen to hand to me. He looked at me strangely the whole time. My sheepishness quickly turned to indignation. What right did this schmuck have to make me feel stupid for writing a check for $2.08?
“Well soooo---rrry that I don’t carry cash with me all the time and that I don’t have one of those fancy-schmancy debit cards and that I was stupid enough to sign up for a dining plan that only works in the cafeteria which is now closed because it is nine o’clock and I am just now getting done with the longest, boringest class ever offered at BYU and now you have the GALL to give me A Look when I am already tired and hungry and embarrassed enough to be writing this measly check AS IT IS, but it’s still money and you’ll take it whether you think I’m stupid or not!”
This is what ran through my head as I angrily wrote my check, ripped it off all sassily and then threw the stupid kid’s pen down on the counter. When I got my chicken sandwich, I stomped out of the store, through the Morris center, and through the S-Hall lobby filled with my peers, swinging my arms and head all dramatically the whole time to express just how annoyed I was.
After I ate my sandwich, my blood sugar must have corrected itself or something because I quickly became reasonable and happy again. My roommate and I were sitting at our respective desks with our backs to one another while we chatted on IM (probably to each other, we were nerdy and did that a lot even though we were in the same room). Something made me laugh out loud and when I threw my head back for a good guffaw, I felt something strange on the side of my head. I reached up to run my fingers though my hair, and pulled out a pen that was stuck there.
When I had laid down on my bed before leaving for the Cougar Corner, my hair must have landed on my desk. A pen with the cap still on had gotten clipped in when I sat up to leave and I didn’t notice it. It was just hanging there, on the side of my head, not even covered by my hair. I just about died when I realized that the Look I had seen downstairs wasn’t because I was writing a check for such a small amount…but because I had asked for a pen to write that check with when I had a big fat one hanging down the side of my face. The kid was just too embarrassed to say anything. What a sight I must have been, swinging my head around during my silent tantrum, while a pen that was obviously not supposed to be there dangled from my hair. My roommate swore she hadn’t known it was there when I got up to leave for the store. We laughed about it the rest of the night. Once again, my temper taught no one a lesson except myself. More often than not, when I get angry and throw fits, I end up looking like the fool. I’ll never write a small check without remembering that lesson again.
One Wednesday night after class, I plopped myself down on my bed in my dorm room and started in on what was now a regular tirade. My roommate listened patiently and I finally decided to stop whining and just go down to the little Cougar Corner store in the Morris Center to get something to eat. I never had any cash on me, so I grabbed my checkbook and headed down.
I was young and stupid with money, so I needed to get something very cheap to eat because my bank account was down to its last few dollars. The little convenience store had a grill and so I chose to order a chicken burger that cost something like $2.08 after tax. The employee took the order and rang it up on the cash register and then looked at me expectantly for payment. I pulled my checkbook out of my pocket and sheepishly asked for a pen, embarrassed to be writing a check for such a small amount of money. The guy gave me A Look, which I perceived to be annoyance and slowly reached over to his register and grabbed a pen to hand to me. He looked at me strangely the whole time. My sheepishness quickly turned to indignation. What right did this schmuck have to make me feel stupid for writing a check for $2.08?
“Well soooo---rrry that I don’t carry cash with me all the time and that I don’t have one of those fancy-schmancy debit cards and that I was stupid enough to sign up for a dining plan that only works in the cafeteria which is now closed because it is nine o’clock and I am just now getting done with the longest, boringest class ever offered at BYU and now you have the GALL to give me A Look when I am already tired and hungry and embarrassed enough to be writing this measly check AS IT IS, but it’s still money and you’ll take it whether you think I’m stupid or not!”
This is what ran through my head as I angrily wrote my check, ripped it off all sassily and then threw the stupid kid’s pen down on the counter. When I got my chicken sandwich, I stomped out of the store, through the Morris center, and through the S-Hall lobby filled with my peers, swinging my arms and head all dramatically the whole time to express just how annoyed I was.
After I ate my sandwich, my blood sugar must have corrected itself or something because I quickly became reasonable and happy again. My roommate and I were sitting at our respective desks with our backs to one another while we chatted on IM (probably to each other, we were nerdy and did that a lot even though we were in the same room). Something made me laugh out loud and when I threw my head back for a good guffaw, I felt something strange on the side of my head. I reached up to run my fingers though my hair, and pulled out a pen that was stuck there.
When I had laid down on my bed before leaving for the Cougar Corner, my hair must have landed on my desk. A pen with the cap still on had gotten clipped in when I sat up to leave and I didn’t notice it. It was just hanging there, on the side of my head, not even covered by my hair. I just about died when I realized that the Look I had seen downstairs wasn’t because I was writing a check for such a small amount…but because I had asked for a pen to write that check with when I had a big fat one hanging down the side of my face. The kid was just too embarrassed to say anything. What a sight I must have been, swinging my head around during my silent tantrum, while a pen that was obviously not supposed to be there dangled from my hair. My roommate swore she hadn’t known it was there when I got up to leave for the store. We laughed about it the rest of the night. Once again, my temper taught no one a lesson except myself. More often than not, when I get angry and throw fits, I end up looking like the fool. I’ll never write a small check without remembering that lesson again.
Master Ryan
It may be hard to believe now, but I used to be a very naïve girl. I didn’t know the true definition of “boner” until eighth grade (Hello!? That was Mike Seaver’s bff’s name on Growing Pains!). Someone made me look up the word “prick” in the dictionary after telling me it was an impolite word, but refusing to tell me exactly why. In addition to being a little naïve, I was also stubborn and quick to argue a point when I felt someone was doing or saying something really stupid (I guess I haven’t changed much in that regard).
At the end of my eighth grade year, I was sitting in my English class while our teacher left the room to make a phone call or something, and I had Had Enough! The kids in our class were once again calling Ryan “Master” and laughing like it was the best insult ever. I had built up a healthy dislike for this boy, Ryan, throughout the year-- mostly because my best friend at the time hated him and so I just jumped on the bandwagon. We had decided that he was totally lame and ridiculously cocky, and she and I spent many a sleepover coming up with creative ways we would like to see him suffer. (If I remember correctly, one fantasy involved glass shards and lemon juice. We were a little deranged.)
Ryan and I had several mutual friends and I had noticed their habit of calling him Master with increasing annoyance. That wasn’t even an insult! All they were doing was feeding his already huge ego, right? I had ranted against them several times in my head, but never said anything out loud. But this was the last straw…if they were going to tease Ryan, which I had no problem with, they should at least have the decency to come up with REAL insults.
And so I finally let them all have it. “You guys!” I yelled, “STOP calling him Master. You are all so dumb, you act like it’s so hilarious and it’s totally stupid. Why would anyone think that is funny or insulting? You're just feeding his ego!” They all just stared at me after my little tirade, and after a few moments pause, Ryan himself started speaking to me. Very slowly, enunciating each word.
“Jessica, what is my last name?”
Uh, what did that have to do with anything?
“It’s Bates, Ryan. So what?”
He blinked a couple of times, waiting for a realization that was obviously not coming anytime soon.
“Ok Jessica, say Master.”
“Master.”
“Now say Bates.”
“Bates.”
“Now say them both.”
“Master. Bates….so?”
Everyone just gawked at me, still in total silence.
“Jessica, say it again, but faster.”
“Master. Bates. Master. Bates. I still think it’s stupid to call you Master. How is that even an insult?”
Ryan’s eyes bulged a little and, as if speaking to a dense 5 year old, he tried one last time.
“JESSICA, say Master, then say Bates, but say them faster and put them together.”
“Master. Bates. Master Bates. MasterBates. Masterba…OH!”
Yeah, it really did take me that long and that many tries. Not only had I come across as the biggest ditz ever, I had also managed to be the bitchiest ditz in history as well. The whole class got a good laugh at my expense, which was only appropriate since I had been so hell-bent on making all of them feel stupid in the first place.
Ryan and I became friends the following year, and he actually was one of my best friends until he left on his mission. Our friendship never completely lost the element of needing to put each other in our places and we had many debates over the years. But none that ever left me feeling quite so dumb as that first one, surrounded by our peers in eighth grade English.
At the end of my eighth grade year, I was sitting in my English class while our teacher left the room to make a phone call or something, and I had Had Enough! The kids in our class were once again calling Ryan “Master” and laughing like it was the best insult ever. I had built up a healthy dislike for this boy, Ryan, throughout the year-- mostly because my best friend at the time hated him and so I just jumped on the bandwagon. We had decided that he was totally lame and ridiculously cocky, and she and I spent many a sleepover coming up with creative ways we would like to see him suffer. (If I remember correctly, one fantasy involved glass shards and lemon juice. We were a little deranged.)
Ryan and I had several mutual friends and I had noticed their habit of calling him Master with increasing annoyance. That wasn’t even an insult! All they were doing was feeding his already huge ego, right? I had ranted against them several times in my head, but never said anything out loud. But this was the last straw…if they were going to tease Ryan, which I had no problem with, they should at least have the decency to come up with REAL insults.
And so I finally let them all have it. “You guys!” I yelled, “STOP calling him Master. You are all so dumb, you act like it’s so hilarious and it’s totally stupid. Why would anyone think that is funny or insulting? You're just feeding his ego!” They all just stared at me after my little tirade, and after a few moments pause, Ryan himself started speaking to me. Very slowly, enunciating each word.
“Jessica, what is my last name?”
Uh, what did that have to do with anything?
“It’s Bates, Ryan. So what?”
He blinked a couple of times, waiting for a realization that was obviously not coming anytime soon.
“Ok Jessica, say Master.”
“Master.”
“Now say Bates.”
“Bates.”
“Now say them both.”
“Master. Bates….so?”
Everyone just gawked at me, still in total silence.
“Jessica, say it again, but faster.”
“Master. Bates. Master. Bates. I still think it’s stupid to call you Master. How is that even an insult?”
Ryan’s eyes bulged a little and, as if speaking to a dense 5 year old, he tried one last time.
“JESSICA, say Master, then say Bates, but say them faster and put them together.”
“Master. Bates. Master Bates. MasterBates. Masterba…OH!”
Yeah, it really did take me that long and that many tries. Not only had I come across as the biggest ditz ever, I had also managed to be the bitchiest ditz in history as well. The whole class got a good laugh at my expense, which was only appropriate since I had been so hell-bent on making all of them feel stupid in the first place.
Ryan and I became friends the following year, and he actually was one of my best friends until he left on his mission. Our friendship never completely lost the element of needing to put each other in our places and we had many debates over the years. But none that ever left me feeling quite so dumb as that first one, surrounded by our peers in eighth grade English.
Introduction
I have a lot of favorite things in this world, but my most favoritest thing is a good story. Only if it is true though. People who have funny stories about their crazy lives and the crazy people they've met can keep my attention for hours. There's a couple of people in particular that I beg for stories from almost everytime I talk to them. It's the best feeling when they have a new experience to share, and even when they don't, I have a list of their best stories in my head that I make them repeat for me over and over again.
I've begun to think of myself as a collector of other people's stories. It wasn't until my friend Robbie (who currently holds the #1 spot for funniest, craziest, best stories on my list) started showing enthusiasm for my stories that I realized how many crazy experiences I have had in my own life. He suggested I start a blog telling those stories.
And so here it is. Most of the stories are funny. Many of them are embarrassing. Some are better than others, but I'm writing them all down for my own benefit. I need a collection of my own for when I'm 80 and can't remember my life very clearly anymore. Hopefully you enjoy them too, but if there are some you don't really like or understand completely, I'm apologizing in advance. Also, if any of my friends happen to stumble across this blog and find themselves mentioned in the stories, sorry for not changing your names. I'm just too lazy for that, plus what if when I'm 80 I can't even remember your correct names?
I'll never claim to be a good writer, but dang-it I know I'm a good storyteller. So, come gather 'round my proverbial recliner while I reminisce about my crazy life. Enjoy!
I've begun to think of myself as a collector of other people's stories. It wasn't until my friend Robbie (who currently holds the #1 spot for funniest, craziest, best stories on my list) started showing enthusiasm for my stories that I realized how many crazy experiences I have had in my own life. He suggested I start a blog telling those stories.
And so here it is. Most of the stories are funny. Many of them are embarrassing. Some are better than others, but I'm writing them all down for my own benefit. I need a collection of my own for when I'm 80 and can't remember my life very clearly anymore. Hopefully you enjoy them too, but if there are some you don't really like or understand completely, I'm apologizing in advance. Also, if any of my friends happen to stumble across this blog and find themselves mentioned in the stories, sorry for not changing your names. I'm just too lazy for that, plus what if when I'm 80 I can't even remember your correct names?
I'll never claim to be a good writer, but dang-it I know I'm a good storyteller. So, come gather 'round my proverbial recliner while I reminisce about my crazy life. Enjoy!
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