The night after our 4-wheeling escapade, my cell phone rang. I went to answer it but no call was coming through. Wierd, I thought. A few minutes later, it rang again. And again, no call. I handed the phone to my roommate and asked if she knew what was going on. She pointed to the flashing envelope symbol and told me I had a text message.
"Text message? What's that?"
I typically consider myself pretty technically saavy, but text messenging was still on the horizon when I got my first cell phone. Jeff, on the other hand, worked in the mobile phone industry and was very familiar with the ins and outs of cellular technology. Ten minutes later, my roommate and I had finally figured out how to open the message:
What's UR favorite flower?
Huh? Why is Jeff asking about my favorite flower? Is he going to get me flowers? What is my favorite flower? I don't know what to respond! I don't know HOW to respond! What does this mean? How do you use this dang thing?
Another ten minutes and several instruction manuals later, I was ready to compose a response. My mind was working overtime to come up with the perfect reply.
What should I say? Roses? Too unoriginal.
Lilies? I'm not even sure I know what lillies look like.
Carnations? Yuck.
I really don't have much of a favorite flower. I like all flowers. Anything pretty. I still don't understand why he is asking about flowers anyway. One evening out certainly doesn't merit flowers. My roommate's favorite flower is Gerber daisies. I agree, they are very pretty, but she's already claimed favorites on them. But regular daisies, the plain white kind, like the boquet Tom Hanks brings to Meg Ryan in You've Got Mail...
So I responded:
daisies
I waited impatiently by my phone for a reply, but none came. The rest of the week I came home from class each afternoon almost expecting to see a boquet of daisies sitting by my door, but each afternoon my doorstep was empty aside from the occasional flyer advertising Starving Student cards. To protect my pride, I began to tell myself that any interest I thought Jeff had shown me was my imagination. Once he had gotten me in a one-on-one situation, he realized I wasn't all that interesting and was now scoping the playing field for other options.
In the meantime, I satisfied my girlish daydreams on another of the male species. He was also in our ward--in fact, he lived just one floor up from Jeff--and though we'd never spent any time alone, he seemed to enjoy my company and I enjoyed his. The fling with Jeff, new as it was, had given me new confidence and I felt sure I could procure a date with boy #2 if I put my mind to it. Saturday was the ward Halloween dance. I knew both guys would be there. I decided to do a little eyelash-batting at both that night to see who would take the bait. If Jeff really had put me to the test and I had failed, Halloween would let me know. And if that were the case, at least I had someone else to immediately turn my attentions to.
Now I just had to find the perfect costume...
to be continued.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Friday, November 21, 2008
Dinner and a Mountain
I didn't talk to Jeff again until he came to pick me up on Wednesday. My class had gotten out late so I was running behind, but I was still surprised when Jeff was sitting on the sofa in our living room waiting for me. He acted as though time was irrelevant, but I could tell he was anxious to get going. I ran back to my room, changed quickly into old jeans and a sweatshirt, and we headed out. My attire was not particularly attractive, but Jeff had warned me that 4-wheeling can be a dusty and dirty experience.
As we headed south to Jeff's hometown, he explained that we were going to meet his grandpa (who owned the 4-wheelers) at his parents house. Whoa, his parents house? Isn't it a little early to be meeting the family? This is why you should never date locals. Their families are much too easy to run into.
Despite my nervous thoughts, I nonchalantly hmmed in response to his explanations. He proceeded to tell me that we would not be alone on this excursion. His grandpa was not only supplying the four-wheelers, he was accompanying us on the trip. Great, a chaperone. How old are we? Oh, and Michele was coming, too.
"Michele? Who's Michele?"
"A girl from my mission."
"From your mission?"
"She wanted to come live in the States for a few months, so my parents are letting her stay with them." There seemed to be more of a story there, but I dropped it in order to give myself time to prepare for the unexpected company.
"So, is Michele going to be your grandpa's date?"
Jeff later told me he was surprised when, after we'd been dating for a bit, he found out I wasn't a total airhead. Looking back, I can see how questions like this may have lead him to that conclusion. My response: why did you keep dating me if you thought I was so clueless? Dang, I must have been really cute.
I digress.
The thought of Michele being his Grandpa's date struck Jeff as pretty funny, and we spent the rest of the drive with him periodically remembering my airhead question which would start a fresh batch of chuckles. I decided it would be in my best interest to keep my mouth shut the rest of the afternoon.
We pulled up to Jeff's parents house and I identified his Grandpa as the man leaning against a Suburban, glancing at his watch with annoyed impatience. No need to worry about awkward encounters with Jeff's family. As soon as I got out of the car we hurried over to the Suburban and drove away. Grandpa was a man on a mission.
Once we were on our way up the canyon and introductions were past, tensions eased and Grandpa launched into a parade of stories and tall tales. As we listened, Jeff and I rummaged around the back to find jackets, goggles, helmets, and a matching set of gloves that would fit. Apparently my sweatshirt get-up was not going to cut it. Luckily, Grandpa had filled the entire back seat with at least a closet's worth of old winter gear. By the time we pulled up to the trail head, I looked like an overstuffed camouflage snowbunny. Despite the concern on the part of the male half of the party for the female's warmth and comfort, Jeff declined the extra coat and goggles in lieu of his windbreaker and sunglasses. And since there weren't enough helmets to go around, he kept his baseball hat as his only head covering. Man, I had a thing for guys in baseball hats.
(This picture isn't actually from our first date. What? You already knew that? What gave it away?
Our one-year-old son? Oh, yeah, I guess that would do it.)
This being my first 4-wheeling adventure, I let Jeff take the wheel (or handlebars) first. Michele sat behind Jeff's Grandpa. We started off up the trail. I immediately could see why my late classes were problematic. Before we had even begun, the sun was low in the sky and the air was chilly. We rode quickly up the main trail and soon were on a narrower path. Our conversations were limited because the wind and roar of the motors blocked out almost all other sound. I've never been very good at small talk so I just enjoyed being able to hold on to Jeff'swaist chiseled abs (editorial correction from Jeff) as we rode through the rustic mountain setting.
After we'd been riding for 20 minutes or so, we stopped in a small clearing.
"You ready?" Jeff asked.
"For what?"
"To drive."
"Um, you know, I actually prefer riding."
Jeff ignored my comment and began explaining how to brake, how to change gears, and how to not drive us into a ditch. Meanwhile, his Grandpa gave the same speech to Michele. I had the advantage of the two of us, though. Michele's English was still rough around the edges, and I had to question how much of the tutorial she understood.
The next thing I knew I was sitting on the front of the 4-wheeler and we were starting back up the trail. After a few small hiccups, we were smoothly on our way. My nerves relaxed, and I gained confidence with every turn. We stayed behind the other 4-wheeler to avoid their dust. I began dropping farther back to give us some extra privacy. We were far enough behind that the slowly settling dust was the only sign of anyone else along the trail. I could feel the warmth from Jeff's body on my back. Mmm, this is nice.
I had to focus on the road as we came around a wide bend, interrupting my girlish daydreams. Instead of the empty trail I was expecting to see, we came upon Jeff's grandpa trying to get their 4-wheeler out of a mess of brush while Michele sheepishly watched from the hillside.
"Oh no." Jeff mumbled. Well, he probably shouted, but over the engine it cames across as a murmer. "Her parents are going to kill me."
Jeff jumped off to assist his grandpa while I exchanged nervous glances and giggles with Michele, which was as much as the language barrier allowed us to do. I did notice her jeans were torn below her knee.
"Are you ok?" I asked slowly.
"I am fine!" Michele replied enthusiastically in her thick accent. She gave me an embarrassed smile so I let the conversation die there.
"Let's get this show on the road," Grandpa called from the now rescued 4-wheeler. "I think I'll drive this time, Michele." Wink.
We picked up where we'd left off and drove another 15 minutes through glorious autumn splendor. I was new enough to Utah that I was still learning to appreciate mountain beauty. Just before we turned around to come back, we reached a crest that set us overlooking a breathtaking view of reds, greens, yellows, oranges, and everything in between. I think I even saw some purple. As I stared in dumbfounded awe, Jeff patted himself on the back for a date well done. He gave me a few minutes to take in the intoxicating mountainside, then offered to drive again. I slid back into the passenger position.
The drive back down felt faster than the ride up. I relaxed and let my helmeted head rest against Jeff's back. Darkness set quickly and by the time we reached the bottom all we could see was the angled path of light from the 4-wheeler's headlights. The men loaded the machines and before I knew it we were back at Jeff's car saying thank-yous and goodbyes.
Although it was dark, it was only 6:00. I wondered if Jeff would take me straight home or if he had other plans. I didn't have to wonder long.
"So, are you hungry?"
Starving. "A little."
"What sounds good to you?"
I shivered and thought about all the warm foods I could choose from. "Soup."
[pause]
"Soup?" The expression on his face was almost repulsive. What's wrong with soup, I thought. Again, I had a lot to learn about guys. "Ok. Soup it is." He suggested a pizza place that might have good soup (he wouldn't know as he NEVER ate soup) and I concurred.
When it came time to order, he asked if I was sure there wasn't anything else I wanted. It hurt his pride to have me order the cheapest thing on the menu. But it had nothing to do with the price. All I wanted was a bowl of hot, steamy, creamy, comforting broccoli soup.
We chatted about trivial things while he ate his pasta dish and I slurped my soup. Then he took me home. For now, I didn't want this to last longer than a short fling. I was only 19 and not ready for anything serious. Besides, the missionary halfway around the world was always at the back of my mind. But I was having fun and, for the moment, I wasn't lonely. I had something to contribute to our apartment girl talk. I had someone to be with on the weekends. I had someone to lie awake at night thinking about. Regardless of the ultimate outcome, I couldn't wait to see Jeff again.
As we headed south to Jeff's hometown, he explained that we were going to meet his grandpa (who owned the 4-wheelers) at his parents house. Whoa, his parents house? Isn't it a little early to be meeting the family? This is why you should never date locals. Their families are much too easy to run into.
Despite my nervous thoughts, I nonchalantly hmmed in response to his explanations. He proceeded to tell me that we would not be alone on this excursion. His grandpa was not only supplying the four-wheelers, he was accompanying us on the trip. Great, a chaperone. How old are we? Oh, and Michele was coming, too.
"Michele? Who's Michele?"
"A girl from my mission."
"From your mission?"
"She wanted to come live in the States for a few months, so my parents are letting her stay with them." There seemed to be more of a story there, but I dropped it in order to give myself time to prepare for the unexpected company.
"So, is Michele going to be your grandpa's date?"
Jeff later told me he was surprised when, after we'd been dating for a bit, he found out I wasn't a total airhead. Looking back, I can see how questions like this may have lead him to that conclusion. My response: why did you keep dating me if you thought I was so clueless? Dang, I must have been really cute.
I digress.
The thought of Michele being his Grandpa's date struck Jeff as pretty funny, and we spent the rest of the drive with him periodically remembering my airhead question which would start a fresh batch of chuckles. I decided it would be in my best interest to keep my mouth shut the rest of the afternoon.
We pulled up to Jeff's parents house and I identified his Grandpa as the man leaning against a Suburban, glancing at his watch with annoyed impatience. No need to worry about awkward encounters with Jeff's family. As soon as I got out of the car we hurried over to the Suburban and drove away. Grandpa was a man on a mission.
Once we were on our way up the canyon and introductions were past, tensions eased and Grandpa launched into a parade of stories and tall tales. As we listened, Jeff and I rummaged around the back to find jackets, goggles, helmets, and a matching set of gloves that would fit. Apparently my sweatshirt get-up was not going to cut it. Luckily, Grandpa had filled the entire back seat with at least a closet's worth of old winter gear. By the time we pulled up to the trail head, I looked like an overstuffed camouflage snowbunny. Despite the concern on the part of the male half of the party for the female's warmth and comfort, Jeff declined the extra coat and goggles in lieu of his windbreaker and sunglasses. And since there weren't enough helmets to go around, he kept his baseball hat as his only head covering. Man, I had a thing for guys in baseball hats.
(This picture isn't actually from our first date. What? You already knew that? What gave it away?Our one-year-old son? Oh, yeah, I guess that would do it.)
This being my first 4-wheeling adventure, I let Jeff take the wheel (or handlebars) first. Michele sat behind Jeff's Grandpa. We started off up the trail. I immediately could see why my late classes were problematic. Before we had even begun, the sun was low in the sky and the air was chilly. We rode quickly up the main trail and soon were on a narrower path. Our conversations were limited because the wind and roar of the motors blocked out almost all other sound. I've never been very good at small talk so I just enjoyed being able to hold on to Jeff's
After we'd been riding for 20 minutes or so, we stopped in a small clearing.
"You ready?" Jeff asked.
"For what?"
"To drive."
"Um, you know, I actually prefer riding."
Jeff ignored my comment and began explaining how to brake, how to change gears, and how to not drive us into a ditch. Meanwhile, his Grandpa gave the same speech to Michele. I had the advantage of the two of us, though. Michele's English was still rough around the edges, and I had to question how much of the tutorial she understood.
The next thing I knew I was sitting on the front of the 4-wheeler and we were starting back up the trail. After a few small hiccups, we were smoothly on our way. My nerves relaxed, and I gained confidence with every turn. We stayed behind the other 4-wheeler to avoid their dust. I began dropping farther back to give us some extra privacy. We were far enough behind that the slowly settling dust was the only sign of anyone else along the trail. I could feel the warmth from Jeff's body on my back. Mmm, this is nice.
I had to focus on the road as we came around a wide bend, interrupting my girlish daydreams. Instead of the empty trail I was expecting to see, we came upon Jeff's grandpa trying to get their 4-wheeler out of a mess of brush while Michele sheepishly watched from the hillside.
"Oh no." Jeff mumbled. Well, he probably shouted, but over the engine it cames across as a murmer. "Her parents are going to kill me."
Jeff jumped off to assist his grandpa while I exchanged nervous glances and giggles with Michele, which was as much as the language barrier allowed us to do. I did notice her jeans were torn below her knee.
"Are you ok?" I asked slowly.
"I am fine!" Michele replied enthusiastically in her thick accent. She gave me an embarrassed smile so I let the conversation die there.
"Let's get this show on the road," Grandpa called from the now rescued 4-wheeler. "I think I'll drive this time, Michele." Wink.
We picked up where we'd left off and drove another 15 minutes through glorious autumn splendor. I was new enough to Utah that I was still learning to appreciate mountain beauty. Just before we turned around to come back, we reached a crest that set us overlooking a breathtaking view of reds, greens, yellows, oranges, and everything in between. I think I even saw some purple. As I stared in dumbfounded awe, Jeff patted himself on the back for a date well done. He gave me a few minutes to take in the intoxicating mountainside, then offered to drive again. I slid back into the passenger position.
The drive back down felt faster than the ride up. I relaxed and let my helmeted head rest against Jeff's back. Darkness set quickly and by the time we reached the bottom all we could see was the angled path of light from the 4-wheeler's headlights. The men loaded the machines and before I knew it we were back at Jeff's car saying thank-yous and goodbyes.
Although it was dark, it was only 6:00. I wondered if Jeff would take me straight home or if he had other plans. I didn't have to wonder long.
"So, are you hungry?"
Starving. "A little."
"What sounds good to you?"
I shivered and thought about all the warm foods I could choose from. "Soup."
[pause]
"Soup?" The expression on his face was almost repulsive. What's wrong with soup, I thought. Again, I had a lot to learn about guys. "Ok. Soup it is." He suggested a pizza place that might have good soup (he wouldn't know as he NEVER ate soup) and I concurred.
When it came time to order, he asked if I was sure there wasn't anything else I wanted. It hurt his pride to have me order the cheapest thing on the menu. But it had nothing to do with the price. All I wanted was a bowl of hot, steamy, creamy, comforting broccoli soup.
We chatted about trivial things while he ate his pasta dish and I slurped my soup. Then he took me home. For now, I didn't want this to last longer than a short fling. I was only 19 and not ready for anything serious. Besides, the missionary halfway around the world was always at the back of my mind. But I was having fun and, for the moment, I wasn't lonely. I had something to contribute to our apartment girl talk. I had someone to be with on the weekends. I had someone to lie awake at night thinking about. Regardless of the ultimate outcome, I couldn't wait to see Jeff again.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Marriage Prep and Movies
One of the perks of being romantically interested in a fellow ward member is you have an excuse to see them at least once a week. As I walked into the large conference room on campus that served as our chapel, I quickly scanned the congregation for Jeff's short, gelled hair. Sitting next to him would be relationship suicide at this point, but I casually steered my girlfriends to some seats a few rows ahead of his. I wanted to be sure he had a good view of my laboriously straightened hair.
I tried to pay attention to the speakers, but my thoughts kept drifting to review the events of last night and to contemplate what I would say when I saw him after Sacrament meeting. Should I pretend like nothing had happened? Play hard to get? Or should I be friendly and flirtatious? Maybe invite him over for dinner? Oh no, much too suggestive. Perhaps I'll just ask him which Sunday School class he's going to...
"Hi there. Which Sunday School class are you going to?" Jeff's voice echoed my thoughts.
"Huh? Oh, hi. I... don't know. Which class are you going to?" Boy, I could sound like such an idiot sometimes.
"We usually go to Marriage Prep. Want to come?" He gestured towards the back door.
"Um, sure." Marriage Prep? Only engaged couples and desperate girls went to Marriage Prep. I had always avoided it just as I avoided all things making me appear anxious to get married. But when a cute boy invites you to attend Marriage Prep with him, caution gets thrown to the wind. Just to make sure things didn't move too fast, I turned to one of the girls sitting next to me.
"Should we try out Marriage Prep today?" I tried to subtly wink at her, but she looked confused and suspicious.
"Ok. Why not?" Perfect. This way I wasn't going with him, but rather we were going with them. A very important distinction.
The rest of our church meetings were uneventful. Nothing out of the ordinary was said in Marriage Prep. No revelation that this was my soul mate. In fact, I was surprised how applicable the lesson was to my relations with everyone, not just my future spouse. Who knows? Maybe I'd come back to this class. At the end of the second hour, we parted ways for our respective meetings. I didn't see him after church, so my apartment-mates and I headed home and started our typical Sunday night routine. Dinner, dishes, lounge around, dread the upcoming school day, write letters to missionaries, call home, etc., etc. Wishing I had something more exciting to do, I opened my laptop and began sorting through my junk email. No more than two emails through the list, the phone rang.
"Hello?"
"Carly?"
"Yes?"
"Hey. It's Jeff." Wow. He called me. Act cool. Pretend guys call you all the time.
"Oh, hey. How's it going?"
"Not bad. We were just about to start a movie and wondered if you wanted to come."
"Sure. What movie?"
"Dunno. You can help us decide."
"K. Be over in a sec."
I threw on a jacket and headed down the street. Five minutes later I was at his door. He let me in and I looked around. His two roommates sat sprawled across the sofa and chair, but no other females were in sight. Excellent. No competition. Jeff and I took spots on the floor leaning against the sofa. The movie was put on hold as the four of us easily settled into comfortable conversation. I preferred it this way. I enjoyed movies, but you don't get to know someone very well while sitting in silence. Besides, Jeff's roommates were also his best friends, and I would eventually have to win them over as well.
Soon another knock sounded on the door. One of the roommates went to answer it. From around the corner I recognized the distinctly high pitched voice of a girl who lived around the corner from me.
"What are you guys doing?" she squealed.
"Um, just about to start a movie."
"Ooohie! Can we watch?"
".... sure..."
The roommate came back, shrugging apologetically, followed by three girls from our ward. So much for no competition. With the new arrivals, the conversation died and we defaulted to the original plan of movie watching. The other girls selected The Wedding Planner. Ugh. I like chick flicks, but there are some that I can only watch so many times. This was one of them. Jeff and I repositioned to give the girls the couch. We took the back corner, which allowed us to sit close and have whispered conversations without disturbing the others. The movie started and I inched closer to Jeff. At this proximity, I could hear his cell phone buzz in his pocket. He pulled it out, looked at the caller ID, and excused himself. Sighing silently, I watched him walk towards the back bedrooms.
Well, this definitely wasn't what I'd thought would happen. Stuck in this room now with people I hardly knew, I felt uncomfortable and self-conscious. The minutes ticked away like hours. I had hoped Jeff would only be gone long enough to tell the caller he was busy and then return to me. But 30 minutes into the movie, I was still alone. I couldn't be too mad; after all, I had only met the guy last week. But he had invited ME over. Usually that means you are willing to be a courteous host and not disappear as soon as your guest arrives. I contemplated leaving, but was having trouble getting my feet to move. I had decided to give it five more minutes when Jeff returned.
"Who was that?" I demanded rudely.
"A friend. She's leaving on a mission this week," he whispered back. A girl. I should have known. Suddenly I felt very naive and foolish. I was imagining this guy had completely fallen for me after two days . More than likely he was just being nice. When the movie ended, he stood up to walk me home, but I quickly told him not to bother. I would walk back with the other girls.
I didn't say much as we walked back, other than to wave goodbye at the stairwell that led up to the other girls' apartment. It was cold, so I skipped up the steps to my apartment. My hand was on the door knob when my phone rang.
"Hello?"
"Carly, it's Jeff." Oh, I see how it is. You can't spend time with me while I'm there, but miss me the second I leave. Good thing I forgive easily.
"Hi!"
"Are you at your apartment yet?"
"Yes, Dad. I got home safely. I'm just about to go in."
(Jeff explained later that he had very carefully timed this phone call to make sure I had already left the other girls but hadn't gone into my apartment yet. He had about a 20 second window and he nailed it.)
"Good. So, what time do you get out of class on Wednesday?"
"Wednesday? Let's see... 5:30."
I could almost hear his eye bug out over the phone waves.
"5:30? Wow. Hmm, that throws a kink in things. Any way you could be done a little earlier?"
"I could probably skip my last class, so maybe by 3."
"Well, I wanted to ask you if you would like to go 4-wheeling, but we have to leave early to be done before it gets dark. If we can leave right at 3, then I think we can make it."
Now, I always have been pretty studious, but dates like this don't come along every day. I don't think ditching one class was going to hurt me too badly, and the reward would surely be worth it. Unfortunately, I was a teaching assistant in the class I'd be missing, so it would mean I wouldn't get paid, but...
"I'll be ready."
I tried to pay attention to the speakers, but my thoughts kept drifting to review the events of last night and to contemplate what I would say when I saw him after Sacrament meeting. Should I pretend like nothing had happened? Play hard to get? Or should I be friendly and flirtatious? Maybe invite him over for dinner? Oh no, much too suggestive. Perhaps I'll just ask him which Sunday School class he's going to...
"Hi there. Which Sunday School class are you going to?" Jeff's voice echoed my thoughts.
"Huh? Oh, hi. I... don't know. Which class are you going to?" Boy, I could sound like such an idiot sometimes.
"We usually go to Marriage Prep. Want to come?" He gestured towards the back door.
"Um, sure." Marriage Prep? Only engaged couples and desperate girls went to Marriage Prep. I had always avoided it just as I avoided all things making me appear anxious to get married. But when a cute boy invites you to attend Marriage Prep with him, caution gets thrown to the wind. Just to make sure things didn't move too fast, I turned to one of the girls sitting next to me.
"Should we try out Marriage Prep today?" I tried to subtly wink at her, but she looked confused and suspicious.
"Ok. Why not?" Perfect. This way I wasn't going with him, but rather we were going with them. A very important distinction.
The rest of our church meetings were uneventful. Nothing out of the ordinary was said in Marriage Prep. No revelation that this was my soul mate. In fact, I was surprised how applicable the lesson was to my relations with everyone, not just my future spouse. Who knows? Maybe I'd come back to this class. At the end of the second hour, we parted ways for our respective meetings. I didn't see him after church, so my apartment-mates and I headed home and started our typical Sunday night routine. Dinner, dishes, lounge around, dread the upcoming school day, write letters to missionaries, call home, etc., etc. Wishing I had something more exciting to do, I opened my laptop and began sorting through my junk email. No more than two emails through the list, the phone rang.
"Hello?"
"Carly?"
"Yes?"
"Hey. It's Jeff." Wow. He called me. Act cool. Pretend guys call you all the time.
"Oh, hey. How's it going?"
"Not bad. We were just about to start a movie and wondered if you wanted to come."
"Sure. What movie?"
"Dunno. You can help us decide."
"K. Be over in a sec."
I threw on a jacket and headed down the street. Five minutes later I was at his door. He let me in and I looked around. His two roommates sat sprawled across the sofa and chair, but no other females were in sight. Excellent. No competition. Jeff and I took spots on the floor leaning against the sofa. The movie was put on hold as the four of us easily settled into comfortable conversation. I preferred it this way. I enjoyed movies, but you don't get to know someone very well while sitting in silence. Besides, Jeff's roommates were also his best friends, and I would eventually have to win them over as well.
Soon another knock sounded on the door. One of the roommates went to answer it. From around the corner I recognized the distinctly high pitched voice of a girl who lived around the corner from me.
"What are you guys doing?" she squealed.
"Um, just about to start a movie."
"Ooohie! Can we watch?"
".... sure..."
The roommate came back, shrugging apologetically, followed by three girls from our ward. So much for no competition. With the new arrivals, the conversation died and we defaulted to the original plan of movie watching. The other girls selected The Wedding Planner. Ugh. I like chick flicks, but there are some that I can only watch so many times. This was one of them. Jeff and I repositioned to give the girls the couch. We took the back corner, which allowed us to sit close and have whispered conversations without disturbing the others. The movie started and I inched closer to Jeff. At this proximity, I could hear his cell phone buzz in his pocket. He pulled it out, looked at the caller ID, and excused himself. Sighing silently, I watched him walk towards the back bedrooms.
Well, this definitely wasn't what I'd thought would happen. Stuck in this room now with people I hardly knew, I felt uncomfortable and self-conscious. The minutes ticked away like hours. I had hoped Jeff would only be gone long enough to tell the caller he was busy and then return to me. But 30 minutes into the movie, I was still alone. I couldn't be too mad; after all, I had only met the guy last week. But he had invited ME over. Usually that means you are willing to be a courteous host and not disappear as soon as your guest arrives. I contemplated leaving, but was having trouble getting my feet to move. I had decided to give it five more minutes when Jeff returned.
"Who was that?" I demanded rudely.
"A friend. She's leaving on a mission this week," he whispered back. A girl. I should have known. Suddenly I felt very naive and foolish. I was imagining this guy had completely fallen for me after two days . More than likely he was just being nice. When the movie ended, he stood up to walk me home, but I quickly told him not to bother. I would walk back with the other girls.
I didn't say much as we walked back, other than to wave goodbye at the stairwell that led up to the other girls' apartment. It was cold, so I skipped up the steps to my apartment. My hand was on the door knob when my phone rang.
"Hello?"
"Carly, it's Jeff." Oh, I see how it is. You can't spend time with me while I'm there, but miss me the second I leave. Good thing I forgive easily.
"Hi!"
"Are you at your apartment yet?"
"Yes, Dad. I got home safely. I'm just about to go in."
(Jeff explained later that he had very carefully timed this phone call to make sure I had already left the other girls but hadn't gone into my apartment yet. He had about a 20 second window and he nailed it.)
"Good. So, what time do you get out of class on Wednesday?"
"Wednesday? Let's see... 5:30."
I could almost hear his eye bug out over the phone waves.
"5:30? Wow. Hmm, that throws a kink in things. Any way you could be done a little earlier?"
"I could probably skip my last class, so maybe by 3."
"Well, I wanted to ask you if you would like to go 4-wheeling, but we have to leave early to be done before it gets dark. If we can leave right at 3, then I think we can make it."
Now, I always have been pretty studious, but dates like this don't come along every day. I don't think ditching one class was going to hurt me too badly, and the reward would surely be worth it. Unfortunately, I was a teaching assistant in the class I'd be missing, so it would mean I wouldn't get paid, but...
"I'll be ready."
Thursday, November 13, 2008
The First Date (Or Was It?)
Saturday arrived. My roommate and I were ready and waiting when the boys arrived. I had spent more than ample time getting ready (wouldn't you on your first official date of the semester?) and was prepped for a fun and flirtatious evening. The guys lingered at our apartment for a bit, muttering something about planning on going to a high school football game but it turns out the game was last night. So despite their best efforts to think of something equally as fun as a high school football game (what can compare?), we ended up at the bowling alley on campus.
I didn't mind the change of plans, except for the fact that I SUCK at bowling. I always embarrass myself because I try to find the lightest ball, but then the finger holes are too small and the ball gets stuck on my hand instead of rolling gracefully down the lane. On a good night, I can get a score of 30. And that's with the bumpers. By the time I had my bowling shoes on, I had pretty much kissed any potential of this date goodbye. To make it even better, Jeff and his roommate, who I would come to learn are quite competitive, decided we should wager dinner over the game. Girls against guys.
Note: You are probably wondering how the guys could justify potentially making us pay for our dinner on a date. The answer is not that they are selfish pigs who think chivalry is dead. In fact, both were raised to be borderline old-fashioned in their respect for the more delicate sex. The truth is that somewhere along the way there was a miscommunication and they didn't think this was a date. At least not in the paired up, double couple sort of event. To them, it was more of a balanced group activity. We were simply "hanging out." To this day, Jeff and I always miss the "Where was your first date?" question in games and end up arguing over this unresolved discrepancy.
Back to bowling...
Jeff programmed our names into the computer, and my roommate stood up for the first frame. She lifted the ball up and then swung it forward in somewhat of a fluid arc. The ball slowly rolled down the center of the lane and hit the first pin. Three, four... eight, nine pins! Not bad, I thought. Furthermore, she knocked down the extra pin with her second ball. I wanted to celebrate the "team's" victory, but I was worried she was going to make me look even worse.
My turn. I grabbed my 8 lb. ball (with large finger holes--I made sure of that) and stepped up to the lane. Holding my breath, I swung the ball back and forward and let go. I turned around carelessly as though it didn't matter one way or another what happened at the other end of the lane. Only when my roommate started cheering did I glance back at the damage.
At first I thought I was looking at the wrong lane. Where did all the pins go? Is there some mistake? Unless... it couldn't be... did I just...? No way! Wow, well, THAT was lucky. I'd better act humble because I'll look really silly when I don't get a single other point the entire game.
But I DID. I was amazing! And my roommate was on fire! We each independently bowled the best games of our lives. That alone would have made the competition pretty stiff. But someone from above was on our side that night because as much as we girls were above our usual skill set the guys were below. It was as though we had sucked all the luck and ability out of the room and all that was left was weak incompetency. Needless to say, we did NOT have to buy dinner come the end of the game.
Leaving the bowling alley, I could tell we had crushed some serious pride. We tried not to rub it in too much, but I was positively beaming with victory. I beamed as we walked to the car. I beamed as we drove to Little Caesars. And I beamed as we returned to the guys' apartment to eat our hard earned pizza.
After dinner we started watching Meet Joe Black, which I would learn held a revered place over other movies in their apartment. (Something about how it is the perfect movie to make girls all mushy and seducible. I didn't realize guys had a carefully selected menu of movies to choose from depending on the desired outcome, but this was just the first of many things I would learn about guys from Jeff.) To this point, we'd been very casual in our associations. By teaming up by gender instead of dates and then getting pizza for dinner instead of a restaurant where boy A would buy girl A's dinner, we'd avoided having to distinguish who was whose date. But as the movie started, I consciously chose the spot next to Jeff on the sofa.
In my opinion, sitting so close to Jeff was a forward move on my part, so I sat back and let him do the rest of the moving. And move he did. By the time Joe had formed his devilish agreement with Bill Parrish, our arms were cozy and warm as they shared body heat from each other. His body language was telling me he had forgiven me for creaming him in bowling. We spent the remainder of the movie sitting just close enough to send innocent signals, but never crossing the invisible line that created the seam between our two bodies.
As the credits started rolling, my roommate, who hadn't found quite the same connection that I had, jumped up and announced it was time to leave. I reluctantly left my spot on the sofa and followed her out the door. Before I left, I gave one last flirtatious smile to seal the deal. Then I shut the door behind me and braced myself against the cold... and the onslaught of inquiries from my observant roommate as we walked home. It had been a good night.
I didn't mind the change of plans, except for the fact that I SUCK at bowling. I always embarrass myself because I try to find the lightest ball, but then the finger holes are too small and the ball gets stuck on my hand instead of rolling gracefully down the lane. On a good night, I can get a score of 30. And that's with the bumpers. By the time I had my bowling shoes on, I had pretty much kissed any potential of this date goodbye. To make it even better, Jeff and his roommate, who I would come to learn are quite competitive, decided we should wager dinner over the game. Girls against guys.
Note: You are probably wondering how the guys could justify potentially making us pay for our dinner on a date. The answer is not that they are selfish pigs who think chivalry is dead. In fact, both were raised to be borderline old-fashioned in their respect for the more delicate sex. The truth is that somewhere along the way there was a miscommunication and they didn't think this was a date. At least not in the paired up, double couple sort of event. To them, it was more of a balanced group activity. We were simply "hanging out." To this day, Jeff and I always miss the "Where was your first date?" question in games and end up arguing over this unresolved discrepancy.
Back to bowling...
Jeff programmed our names into the computer, and my roommate stood up for the first frame. She lifted the ball up and then swung it forward in somewhat of a fluid arc. The ball slowly rolled down the center of the lane and hit the first pin. Three, four... eight, nine pins! Not bad, I thought. Furthermore, she knocked down the extra pin with her second ball. I wanted to celebrate the "team's" victory, but I was worried she was going to make me look even worse.
My turn. I grabbed my 8 lb. ball (with large finger holes--I made sure of that) and stepped up to the lane. Holding my breath, I swung the ball back and forward and let go. I turned around carelessly as though it didn't matter one way or another what happened at the other end of the lane. Only when my roommate started cheering did I glance back at the damage.
At first I thought I was looking at the wrong lane. Where did all the pins go? Is there some mistake? Unless... it couldn't be... did I just...? No way! Wow, well, THAT was lucky. I'd better act humble because I'll look really silly when I don't get a single other point the entire game.
But I DID. I was amazing! And my roommate was on fire! We each independently bowled the best games of our lives. That alone would have made the competition pretty stiff. But someone from above was on our side that night because as much as we girls were above our usual skill set the guys were below. It was as though we had sucked all the luck and ability out of the room and all that was left was weak incompetency. Needless to say, we did NOT have to buy dinner come the end of the game.
Leaving the bowling alley, I could tell we had crushed some serious pride. We tried not to rub it in too much, but I was positively beaming with victory. I beamed as we walked to the car. I beamed as we drove to Little Caesars. And I beamed as we returned to the guys' apartment to eat our hard earned pizza.
After dinner we started watching Meet Joe Black, which I would learn held a revered place over other movies in their apartment. (Something about how it is the perfect movie to make girls all mushy and seducible. I didn't realize guys had a carefully selected menu of movies to choose from depending on the desired outcome, but this was just the first of many things I would learn about guys from Jeff.) To this point, we'd been very casual in our associations. By teaming up by gender instead of dates and then getting pizza for dinner instead of a restaurant where boy A would buy girl A's dinner, we'd avoided having to distinguish who was whose date. But as the movie started, I consciously chose the spot next to Jeff on the sofa.
In my opinion, sitting so close to Jeff was a forward move on my part, so I sat back and let him do the rest of the moving. And move he did. By the time Joe had formed his devilish agreement with Bill Parrish, our arms were cozy and warm as they shared body heat from each other. His body language was telling me he had forgiven me for creaming him in bowling. We spent the remainder of the movie sitting just close enough to send innocent signals, but never crossing the invisible line that created the seam between our two bodies.
As the credits started rolling, my roommate, who hadn't found quite the same connection that I had, jumped up and announced it was time to leave. I reluctantly left my spot on the sofa and followed her out the door. Before I left, I gave one last flirtatious smile to seal the deal. Then I shut the door behind me and braced myself against the cold... and the onslaught of inquiries from my observant roommate as we walked home. It had been a good night.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Guilt is my friend
Fall 2003.
I lay on my bed staring at the ceiling. Boy this sucked. What part of me thought that moving in with three size zero girls was going to be fun? On any given night, someone was on a date. Or at a study group. (I didn't buy it. Everyone knows that "study group" is just another name for "I-want-to-ask-you-out-but-am-too-much-of-a-pansy-to-do-it-so-I'm-going-to-ask-you-to-study-with-me-instead.") Occasionally, there would be nights like tonight, where all three of them would be out at the same time. Leaving just me. Alone. To wallow in my sorrow.
I counted the dates I'd been on this semester. Zero. Wow, that didn't take long. Ok, there was the one, but he meant to ask my roommate out instead. Talk about humiliating. So I don't think that counts. In fact, that should be a negative date.
I told myself often that it didn't matter. After all, I was waiting for a missionary. I had been waiting for 6 months and it was beginning to feel like it was never going to end. Yes, in serious situations, I would tell people I wasn't really waiting. I would just take every day as it came and see how things fell into place. If someone else came along, well... I wasn't about to turn down anything with potential. But in moments like this, you bet I was waiting. Picture Saturday's Warrior. I was Julie. 100%. I was waiting like "mother waits for her bread to rise." It was easy to wait when you didn't have any other options.
I spent a lot of time feeling sorry for myself. I think most single girls do between the ages of 14 and 30. Which also means I was very self-centered. It was always MY problems. MY lack of dates. MY inability to make friends. MY burnt brownies. MY bad grade. Me. Me. Me. I must not have been very much fun to be around. Probably the reason for the lack of dates.
As long as I was going to NOT be dating or having a social life, I may as well explore the world. I wanted to study abroad. I decided to start small. So I registered for a semester in Nauvoo. I had paid my $50 deposit and was counting down the days until I could go and leave my self-pity behind me. Only 332 days to go.
The next night was Saturday. Luckily I was not alone tonight. One of my roommates miraculously had found herself with nothing planned. We were bored and bold (scary combination) and decided to go make friends. We walked the block and a half to the other apartments in our ward and started knocking on doors. The apartment we intended on visiting (a boys' apartment, of course) wasn't home. We started walking back, but my roommate remembered another apartment she sort of knew so we knocked on their door. An athletic-looking blonde opened the door. Slight recognition passed between him and my roommate.
"What are you guys doing?" my roommate asks.
"Just watching some football."
"Oh, that's cool. We were just bored and thought we'd see what was going on over here."
Another head appeared in the doorway. This guy was taller, with shorter hair and wearing a visor. He introduced himself as Jeff.
"Why aren't you girls on dates tonight?"
"We don't go out very much," I said. I probably should speak for myself.
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah. Guys don't ever ask us out." Like I said, I was feeling bold that night. I wasn't below guilt tripping them into asking us out.
"Well, what are you doing next Friday night?"
Crap. "Um, actually, we're busy next Friday?"
"Oooooh. I see how it is. You never go on dates, right?"
What are the chances? We had spontaneously planned a girls-choice date for the next week. My first real date of the semester. Except that I had asked the guy. So it didn't count. Why didn't any of my dates count?
Maybe I can distract them...
"Well, what about Saturday?"
Jeff and blondie exchanged looks.
"Yeah, we can do something Saturday. Should we say sixish?"
"Six sounds great."
"Ok, see you then."
"K, bye."
And that is how I used guilt to get my husband to take me on our first date.
I lay on my bed staring at the ceiling. Boy this sucked. What part of me thought that moving in with three size zero girls was going to be fun? On any given night, someone was on a date. Or at a study group. (I didn't buy it. Everyone knows that "study group" is just another name for "I-want-to-ask-you-out-but-am-too-much-of-a-pansy-to-do-it-so-I'm-going-to-ask-you-to-study-with-me-instead.") Occasionally, there would be nights like tonight, where all three of them would be out at the same time. Leaving just me. Alone. To wallow in my sorrow.
I counted the dates I'd been on this semester. Zero. Wow, that didn't take long. Ok, there was the one, but he meant to ask my roommate out instead. Talk about humiliating. So I don't think that counts. In fact, that should be a negative date.
I told myself often that it didn't matter. After all, I was waiting for a missionary. I had been waiting for 6 months and it was beginning to feel like it was never going to end. Yes, in serious situations, I would tell people I wasn't really waiting. I would just take every day as it came and see how things fell into place. If someone else came along, well... I wasn't about to turn down anything with potential. But in moments like this, you bet I was waiting. Picture Saturday's Warrior. I was Julie. 100%. I was waiting like "mother waits for her bread to rise." It was easy to wait when you didn't have any other options.
I spent a lot of time feeling sorry for myself. I think most single girls do between the ages of 14 and 30. Which also means I was very self-centered. It was always MY problems. MY lack of dates. MY inability to make friends. MY burnt brownies. MY bad grade. Me. Me. Me. I must not have been very much fun to be around. Probably the reason for the lack of dates.
As long as I was going to NOT be dating or having a social life, I may as well explore the world. I wanted to study abroad. I decided to start small. So I registered for a semester in Nauvoo. I had paid my $50 deposit and was counting down the days until I could go and leave my self-pity behind me. Only 332 days to go.
The next night was Saturday. Luckily I was not alone tonight. One of my roommates miraculously had found herself with nothing planned. We were bored and bold (scary combination) and decided to go make friends. We walked the block and a half to the other apartments in our ward and started knocking on doors. The apartment we intended on visiting (a boys' apartment, of course) wasn't home. We started walking back, but my roommate remembered another apartment she sort of knew so we knocked on their door. An athletic-looking blonde opened the door. Slight recognition passed between him and my roommate.
"What are you guys doing?" my roommate asks.
"Just watching some football."
"Oh, that's cool. We were just bored and thought we'd see what was going on over here."
Another head appeared in the doorway. This guy was taller, with shorter hair and wearing a visor. He introduced himself as Jeff.
"Why aren't you girls on dates tonight?"
"We don't go out very much," I said. I probably should speak for myself.
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah. Guys don't ever ask us out." Like I said, I was feeling bold that night. I wasn't below guilt tripping them into asking us out.
"Well, what are you doing next Friday night?"
Crap. "Um, actually, we're busy next Friday?"
"Oooooh. I see how it is. You never go on dates, right?"
What are the chances? We had spontaneously planned a girls-choice date for the next week. My first real date of the semester. Except that I had asked the guy. So it didn't count. Why didn't any of my dates count?
Maybe I can distract them...
"Well, what about Saturday?"
Jeff and blondie exchanged looks.
"Yeah, we can do something Saturday. Should we say sixish?"
"Six sounds great."
"Ok, see you then."
"K, bye."
And that is how I used guilt to get my husband to take me on our first date.
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