Am I offending you?

*Warning. This blog post contains some mild vulgarity and the use of alcohol and tobacco.

As a poor, car-less college student, sometimes public transportation becomes a necessity. On this particular afternoon, I was standing at a bus stop, waiting for the already late bus to arrive so I could go to the mall. It was snowing and cold. Next to me was a young man and a young woman, both in their early twenties. They were clearly Asian and were speaking to each other in what could have been Chinese, Japaneses... something like that. An oriental language that I didn't know. After several minutes of waiting, the guy asked me if I was taking their same bus, which I was, and he told me they had been waiting for over an hour. Weird... but the public transit system was nothing if unreliable.

After a few minutes had passed, another guy in his early twenties showed up. I didn't watch him ride up on his bike, but I did watch him lower the bike to the ground, lurch off it and put his brown paper grocery bag on the ground. As he did so, the sound of glass clanked together. Next, he staggered over to the signpost which has the bus times posted. He then kind of straightened up and lurched over to us, asking us if we were going on the bus he was taking in a very slurred voice. We nodded in affirmative. The other guy, who I later learned was Freddy, and I exchanged looks of, "Wow... could he be more wasted?"

A few minutes passed, during which this drunk fellow proceeded to struggled with lighting his cigarette. A few moments later, he stumbled back over to us.

"What does BYU stand for?" he asked. Due to the ruckus of traffic behind him and the slurred nature of his speach, I just stared at him blankly. "Does it stand for B****** You Ugly."

I am not responding to that.

"You don't go there, do you?" he asked, stepping closer.

I glared at him and responded that, yes, in fact, I did.

He smiled. "Oh, that's cool." He started to leave, but then changed his mind, "So, you don't believe in alcohol or drugs or smoking or penetration or any of that stuff, do you?"

I responded, "Uh, no, we don't."

"And you have all that approved housing and stuff, don't you? Men's housing and women's housing, but no co-ed housing."

I nodded.

"So, where do you live, men or women?"

Seriously, buddy? "Women."

"And you can't have overnight guests can you?"

"Well, if they're women."

"Oh." He looks at me, "That's probably good enough for you."

Perv.

He wanders away.

He came back, multiple times with varying comments about BYU. Then, the subject changed.

"So, what's your name?"

I am NOT giving you my real name. "Jane," I responded.

"Oh..." He looked kind of disappointed, "That's my mom's name. That's kind of a turn off."

He wanders away, but of course he comes back.

"You know, I like your style. You just sit here and listen to me. Am I offending you?"

I stare at him.

"I had a little bit of malt whiskey, so I might be offending you."

A little bit?

He turned his back and wandered away. His t-shirt was sporting the image of a pot leaf.

He came back.

"Does the fact that I have a pot leaf on my back offend you?"

"I don't care what you have on your back."

"Pot grows from the ground. Like grass. If grass was illegal, this whole city would be in prison."

Wanders away. Comes back.

"I like your braces. They're a nice color. Are you going to Salt Lake? Sandy?"

I hesitated. Where would make a good story? Also, how was I to know he wouldn't follow me off the bus no matter where I got off?

He looked at me and his face turned kind of sour, "You seem indecisive. I don't like that. It seems like you don't want to tell me where you're going."

Now, what could ever give you an idea like that?

"Are you married?"

Over his shoulder, a cop car pulled up to the curb. Out stepped an officer.

He started babbling some question about who would I rather marry when the police officer tapped the man and pulled him aside. Whilst the officer was questioning our dear drunk friend, the bus pulled up, I boarded, and the bus pulled away.

Rachel's tip... for life:

Getting drunk isn't going to help you pick up chicks at the bus stop. Just sayin'.

Best wishes,

Rachel

Girls' Night Out = Awkwardness

In an effort to avoid a bloggable date, Robin and I went out on a date. Together.

So, we went to go see a play on campus. The theater this play was in was small. The kind where chairs are set up in a U-shape around the center floor. This floor space is where the actors perform. Robin and I were seated in the corner, comfortably placed.

Next to us was a couple who were clearly on a first date. Poor saps. However, this entry is not about them and the visible awkwardness.

It was a few minutes after intermission, and I was innocently scanning the audience across from us. There was a girl, seated next to a boy. She seemed to be fishing around in her mouth with her hand. Then I realized, her hand was twisted in what must have been the most uncomfortable fashion. Actually... no. Impossible. Also, the size was far too large. Wait... no. It couldn't be.

I nudged Robin, nodding towards the couple. She looked at them in confusion. Then realization dawned.

Rachel's Tip for Dating:

Some PDA is not even remotely okay. Like biting/sucking on the hand of your significant other.

How is is that she and I can't even go on a date with each other without getting creeped out?

I'm going to go gnaw on the hand of a boy. Yum.

Shall we dance?

I decided to take a dance class. Of the social variety. This class had tests, as classes tend to do, and there was a competition near the end of the semester.

My partner for that competition decided that we needed to practice. I agreed, seeing as we had a competition in a little over a week. Practice makes perfect, right? Or at least, practice makes "we know the steps and won't look like complete fools."

One of the practice rooms was open Friday late in the afternoon. Seeing as this was a time that didn't conflict with any other classes or work, I agreed to this time and location.

Suspicion should have been aroused when I learned my partner hadn't realized the dance competition was exactly seven days after our agreed practice time. He had only intended on practicing for the test that Monday. Practicing for tests was not exactly a habit I embraced. We practiced for the test, then practiced for our competition.

After an hour or so, we agreed that we had practiced a sufficient amount for that time and proceeded to change our shoes, put on our coats, and generally prepare for departure.

"So, have you had dinner yet?"

I paused, all of the sudden aware of the situation. Thankfully, I'd made plans to go out to eat with a coworker, so I supplied that as my answer.

"Oh," he was disappointed. Why was he disappointed? Don't be disappointed, dear awkward fellow! "I guess I'll have to just find something at my apartment."

Yes, sir, you would. But I just smiled and nodded in agreement. I opened my mouth to bid farewell and disappear, but he cut me off.

"So, you headed home?"

Confirmation.

"Where's that?"

I supplied the general location. Generally, so as not to allow him much knowledge than direction.

"That's about where I'm headed, too. I'll walk you home."

Okay, that's fair. We walked and small talk continued.

When we reached my apartment building, he told me where he lived. Now, remember, he'd told me he lived in the same general vicinity. However, the name he supplied was nearly a mile in the opposite direction.

I felt like I had been lured to dance practice with the intention of it becoming a date, not for preparatory purposes.

Rachel's tip:

If you have intentions on asking a girl out, make your intentions obvious. Don't try to sneak it under the table. You'll get caught. That would be worse than being honest from the beginning.

Best wishes, Rachel

First choice? Definitely not.

One Friday evening, you're sitting in the living room with your roommate Tabitha. Your roommate Kate had just gone to bed. There's a tap on the door, only to have the neighborhood creeper, Matt, walk in. Not that he's intentionally creepy...he's socially impaired. Dreading the worst, you finally pull the reason why he's mumbling on your couch. Date. He wants one. With Kate, thank goodness. However, Kate has been fighting a cough for the last month and a half, she had a very rough week, and she has work at 5 am the next morning. You shoo him off, letting him know she's asleep and to try back later. For the date he wants to go on tomorrow.

Fast forward.

Saturday, 5 pm. You and Kate are sitting in a friend's apartment, watching your favorite sports team win with style. Kate's phone goes off. Who do you think it is? Matt, of course. She politely declines the invitation. She's sick. You know.

Horror of horrors.... your phone goes off. You open it..... Matt. Shoot. Shoot, shoot, shoot.

Hello? He stumbles through a question about Kate and if she really is sick. Yes, yes she is. Then, he blunders his way through telling you he still needs someone for seven. Do you have plans? Yes. You do. Feeble ones created on the spot. He almost pleads... so FINE. You'll go. Even though you're obviously second choice, even to the most socially awkward fellow you can think of on the spot, even though he was seeking your ROOMMATE moments earlier, fine. You'll go.

Cue feeling lame.

He picks you up two hours and ten minutes later. Over the course of the date, he talks on the phone, he doesn't open the door for you, he almost doesn't pay for you, and when he does, it's in the most awkward fashion possible... conversation doesn't happen, and he keeps talking about how much he wants the date to be over, but due to the group nature of the date, he can't get you home. When you tell him an hour and a half into the date that you need to be home soon, he drops you off two hours later. This isn't for lack of trying. Sure, you didn't want to go on the date. Yes, you were asked in a fairly terrible manner, but you try to make it a positive experience. Finally, you just stop trying. You're too tired, too stressed, too hormonal to even give it an attempt anymore.

Rachel's tip for dating:

Treat the girl well. If you don't make an effort to make a girl feel special, the chances of her liking you drop significantly. At the very least, make an effort. Ask her out a few days in advance. This way, she'll have time to get excited and plan. Also, she'll feel more like you want to spend time with her and less like a last minute replacement.

Then, you go home and have pizza therapy and watch bad men die in terrible ways. And swear off dating.

Best wishes, Rachel