Well That's Awkward

Here's a little story for you.

Valentines Day 2013.

It was rainy and overcast the whole day--which reflected beautifully the state of my cold, dead, heart.
Per usual, I spent the day dressed in black and writing hateful notes to the general male population.

Just kidding (Hopefully obviously)

Around 8pm, I was home alone. I was sitting on the kitchen counter, looking out the window, and talking to Jesus. I leaned against the side of the refrigerator and thought,  "Aw, this is almost like leaning against a person and/or Jesus. Except that this is a refrigerator. And it is cold, hard, and shiny. Whoa...is this how Bella felt when she hugged Edward?!" (Okay, so I didn't actually think that last part.)

As I was contemplating the differences between leaning on Jesus and leaning against a refrigerator, I heard a knock on the door. I hopped down from the counter, told Jesus I'd brb, and walked to the door. But before I could I get there, I heard a car door close and someone drive away. When I opened the door, there were flowers sitting on my doorstep. I knew they were for me. How did I know, you ask? Well, let's be real...I'm pretty awesome--of course they were going to be for me.

They were pretty amazing flowers. Along with the flowers was a note.

Lauren, 

"You are beautiful my darling, you are beautiful. Your eyes are like doves" (Song of Solomon 1:15)

There was some scribble of a name at the bottom. But I was pretty sure I already knew who they were from.

I mean, there is a pretty short list of people who A.) recognize/appreciate my awesomeness B.) know where I live, and C.) would give me flowers. But, I couldn't quite read the signature. I wasn't sure whether I was supposed to be able to read the name or not...but again, I was pretty sure I knew who they were from, anyways. I wanted to say thank you, but what if they weren't from this person? Then I would look so stupid for thinking they were. But what if they were from this person? Then I would look like such a jerk for not saying thank you.

Risk looking stupid...or risk looking like a jerk?

A few hours of intense contemplation passed.

Would I rather look stupid or look like a jerk? Which is worse--to be perceived as a jerk for not saying thank you, or exceedingly vain for presuming to think they are from this person? What if it's not that person? What if it is someone just being super creepy? That IS a borderline creeper verse. How are eyes like doves, anyways? What if someone is about to kill me? Have I come across any strange people the past few weeks? I mean, I have had some weird encounters with people...

I decided I'd rather risk looking stupid than looking like a jerk. So, I sent the person I thought the flowers might be from a text message saying, "Thank you?"

During this time, I sent a text message to my younger sister and a few friends that she was hanging out with and to my best friend, telling them that someone had left flowers on my doorstep. I also explained who I thought they might be from. Now, I had a note from this (unnamed) person who had given me flowers two other years on Valentines Day. I was determined to figure out who the flowers were from, so I found the note from the previous set of flowers from this person, so that I could compare the handwriting.

Now, before you think I'm super weird from saving a note from two or three years ago, you should know that I sometimes just save random stuff. I have a corsage that I saved from my sister's prom that her boyfriend gave her. I mean, she was going to throw it away, but I thought it was pretty, and I guess that's what you do when you don't have a (love) life of your own? That's not that weird, right? (Total transparency--I still have the corsage in some random box at my parent's house.) Okay, I don't know if that particular story really helped my case against me being weird, but the point is, I save things. So, I as I compared the notes, I noticed that the handwriting was pretty different on each one. But, there was a few years between each note--and I figured that handwriting can change. Right?

But, I knew it had to be from the person I thought it might be from. I mean, the note that I was reading from a few years ago from this person said, "I may note be able to get you flowers ever year, but every year that I can, I will."

A little bit later I receive a text from a random number asking if I liked the flowers.

I was a little creeped out, but I decided to roll with it.

Me: Ew, who likes flowers?
Creeper: Well usually pretty girls do.
Me: Aw, creepiness--just the way to a girl's heart.
Creeper: Well, compliments didn't seem to work

I then proceeded to ask who it was. But they didn't answer. I went to sleep. I had a good laugh the next morning when it finally dawned on me that my sister and her friends were hanging out together the night before...and know where I live. So, I asked them. Sure enough, it was them.

Well, I guess I don't really have eyes like doves. Dang it.

Oh, and dear person who didn't give me flowers...you've missed two years now. I'm keeping count.

Not For Kids

The other day at work, I was reading a book about dinosaurs to Nicky, who is five years old. Each chapter of the book focused on a different dinosaur and the specific trial that the dinosaur was facing and how they survived (or not) the ordeal.

Yesterday we were reading through chapter three. A severe drought had recently devastated the land where a herd of Brontosauruses had once enjoyed bountiful vegetation and the dinosaurs were now searching for a more fertile land. The story really began to pick up as the narrator described how an aging Brontosaurus, unable to keep up with the younger and more agile dinosaurs in the herd, had begun to lag behind.

This is the story and my thoughts as I read to Nick...

"Slowly the older animals in the heard began to lag behind. With so little food, they were too tired to walk."

This guy had better watch his back--in the last chapter when an aging Allosaurus began to lag behind, a younger Allosaurus ate the older one for dinner. Harsh.

"A young male Brontosaurus also lagged behind..."

Uh oh. Hm. I wonder...

"...but not because he was weak."

I'm sure it's just the child of the old Brontosaurus, going to spend a few last moments with mommy/daddy Brontosaurus. Wisdom will be shared, memories made, tears shed.

 "One of the females in the heard was ready to..."

Whoa whoa whoa. Wait, what is happening?! This is a children's book, sure they aren't going to...

"...mate."

What? What kind of dinosaurs are these?! How can they even think about mating at a time like this? Don't they know what just happened? Someones mother/father just died! Where is the grieving time?! You make me sick, Brontosaurus. Sick.

The book went on to describe how the young Brontosaurus couple spent the whole evening together in their little love bubble--including dinner later that night (I kid you not)-- then joined back up with the herd in the morning. Well, the herd minus the old Brontosaurus who died of starvation the night before while the thoughtless dinosaur couple was mating and eating the vegetation they had apparently been able to find (and kept to themselves.) I mean, couldn't they have at least offered a small tree branch to the dying Brontosaurus?

Seriously, not the most considerate dinosaurs on the planet. I felt no compassion for the young Brontosauruses later in the story as they faced a raging fire in the forest. I thought, "Yeah, remember that Brontosaurus you left to die alone? Well, he faced the hot flames of loneliness that burned at his soul. Not feeling so strong now, are you?" They deserved to die off. 

I actually really debated about the last sentence I wrote...because it's not actually how I felt. Damn it, I still felt bad for the dinosaurs. No dinosaur, not even a thoughtless, self-centered, careless Brontosaurus deserves to die in a fire.

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?