What Am I Doing Wrong?

Monday morning comes early for me. 5:30AM early. And all for a Sanitation class that is three hours long. 

Well, this morning when I walked into class, I saw that it had finally happened. I knew it was only a matter of time. It's the circle of life. Or maybe a gravitational pull in which resistance is futile. All I know is that it happens every single semester. It is the day when the one good looking and yet surprisingly non-duchey guy who actually arrives on time to class, makes his move to sit next to the one exceptionally beautiful girl.

First of all, almost every semester I encounter a certain type of girl--they're all strangely similar...and usually resemble Vanessa Hudgens--tan skin, dark hair, sparkly personalities, and they somehow always look fabulous at 8:00AM. Well, the Vanessa Hudgens of my Sanitation class explained (quite cheerfully) on the first day that she had started her own company a few years ago and was taking this class simply to help her be more knowledgeable in her business. Blah blah blah.

But I digress.

So this morning as I walked into my class (and sat down in my usual seat) I noticed that the boy and girl were seated next to one another and engaged in a lively conversation. A conversation which I, naturally, began to listen to from two rows back. They laughed and talked amicably together for a full twenty minutes before class began. They were entirely too happy for 7:40AM. But of course they were happy--the two most beautiful people in the whole class had found each other at last. Good for freaking them.

After class was over, I saw them walking down the hallway a few feet ahead of me. I heard the guy say, "So, am I going to get your number yet?" And I watched as they exchanged numbers. 

Puke.

I mean, sure, I've had my fare share of people at Valencia ask for my number. Okay, so maybe it was just two. And maybe they were total creepers. (Why is it always the weird people that talk to me?)

Creeper number 1.) I was seventeen years old, a senior in highschool, and duel-enrolling at Valencia. There was this guy who would always try to talk to me after class...and retrospect, there was really no reason to freak out. I just didn't understand why he was asking me questions. But apparently that's what people do when they're trying to get to know you. (Crazy, I know.) Well, he eventually asked for my number at the end of class one day--in front of everyone who was still in the room. I felt too bad to say no to him in front of them, so I gave him my number and said, "...but you shouldn't ever call me. Because I hate talking on the phone. So if you call, I won't pick up."

Smooth one, Lauren. Real smooth.

Creeper number 2.) This guy was a real gem. I felt bad for him (at least in the beginning) because pretty much everyone in class completely ignored him when he talked. Yes, he was more than a little strange...and totally weirded me out, but still. So I tried to be nice. You know where this is going. After a few weeks, he began to ask if we could hang out. I tried so hard to let him down gently, (because at this point I was still thinking I might hurt his feelings or something) but it wasn't working. So I ended up being like, "Listen dude, I don't know you and I don't feel comfortable hanging out with you." Except I would never say, "listen dude" and was probably more like, "Aw, that is so nice of you to ask to hang out, but I don't really know you very well or feel completely comfortable hanging out with just you." He didn't get the message and continued to ask my for my number.

I don't remember exactly how it happened, but I guess one week I caved and gave it to him. I didn't even know his name until he sent me a text that said, "Hey this is Zach from class, I just wanted to give you my number because you forgot to ask for it." (Oh...but... I didn't forget.) I then proceeded to write a text message to my mom saying, "Well, I found out the name of the guy in my class--his name is Zach, so we know that's not going anywhere good!" (My older sister had an ex-boyfriend named Zach.) And then I pushed "send". And glanced down at my phone to see the text message was sending. To Zach. I pushed that "cancel" button on my phone so hard and fast that it would have made Mario swim on a Game Boy.

It sent.

I threw my phone in the bushes and walked away.

The proceeding conversation with Zach went something like this:

Zach: Um...did you mean to send that me?
Me: Hahaha, of course! It was was joke! :)
Zach: Yeah...I knew that. I think.

Not my finest moment. I don't think he talked to me much ofter that. I guess he finally got the message?

Meet And Greet? More Like Meet And Weap.

Confession: I dread the meet and greet time at church. Pathetic, I know. But seriously, what's the deal with acknowledging the body of Christ around us at church? What, like we go to church to be encouraged by the community of believers around us or something? (That was a joke.) However, I'm pretty sure that hell is a place where these supposedly uplifting "meet and greet" situations are constantly on repeat, and as soon as you think it's over, you're told to stand up and greet those around you. Again. And again. And again. Also on repeat in hell: "I am a friend of God." Oh the irony. (Because…well…apparently you weren’t. Weren’t a friend of God, that is.)

There are a few different handshakes that occasionally occur during these types of situations. For example, we've all experienced the "Jilted Lover" handshake. This is, of course, when you reach out to shake someone's hand, but they shake the hand of the person next to you first...and your hand is left dangling outstretched in the air. In that moment, you have a choice to make -- simply put you hand down and acknowledge the awkwardness of what transpired, or fake nonchalance and pretend that you always leave outstretched appendages suspended in mid-air. 

There is also the lesser known "Over Eager" handshake attempt. This is when, in your panic to be shaking someone's hand, you enthusiastically extend your hand/arm to a person seated five rows in front of you...only to come to the halting (and for some reason surprising?) realization that your arm is not, in fact, ten feet long and able to traverse such a great distance. Unfortunately in this case, once your arm is outstretched and you've made eye contact with the other individual, there is really no way to redeem the situation. Your best bet is to just laugh it off. Or shake your head while looking bewilderedly at your arm and mutter something like, "Weird...it was so much longer yesterday..."

But the most awkward church handshake experience of my life (by far) happened today. In fact, I'm pretty sure I created a whole new category in the awkward handshake department. Somehow, my friend and I ended up shaking someone's hand at the same time. Like, both of our hands in one of their hands. I honestly don't know how it happened. All I know is that something felt strange, and I looked down in horror to see that I had just inserted my hand into an already happening handshake. Time began to slow as I gazed down at our three hands entwined together and all I could think was, "Noooo...what--how...?! I don't even understand what is happening right now..." The poor man's reaction was simply, "Well this is new." Yeah...for you and me both, my friend...for you and me both.

Hyperbole

Last week I went to the movie theater to see a live broadcasting of the radio program This American Life, which was being performed in New York. Per usual (I've always wanted to say that) the show was great. It was filled with comical moments, weird moments, and moments that were quite moving. But I won't talk about the things that actually impacted me in a meaningful way. Because then I would get serious. And I've tried my best to keep this blog free from anything containing real emotions on my part and requiring serious contemplation/reflection on yours. You're welcome.

For about the past...oh I don't know...8 months or so, I've been listening to This American Life podcasts somewhat obsessively. And when I say obsessively, I mean that I have listened to 70 percent of the weekly episodes from the past 17 years. However, I usually listen to them as I go to sleep at night--so more often than not, I only actually hear 70 percent of the episode before I fall asleep. Consequently, I've really only listened to 70 percent of 70 percent of the episodes.

But back to the movie theater. I somehow ended up nestled awkwardly between two strangers for the entire course of the show. (How are some people not aware of the always leave at least one empty chair in between your body and mine rule?) But despite this initial breech of social norms, we chuckled amicably at the inside jokes made by the show's host, Ira Glass. And I felt...I felt part of something. Part of something snooty and exclusive. And it felt good. It felt good to shake my head (internally...for the most part) as I walked past all the other people who were standing in line to see The Avengers or whatever other silly action movie was playing. Like, Oh...such children. Such a young and bumptious generation they are...but one day they will learn. One day they too will be cultured and join the ranks of us informed and reflective intellectuals who listen to "Fresh Air" and "All Things Considered" in our spare time and of our own volition.

(I don't really know what the point of this post was.)