Green Shorts Boy

I am new. It’s my first week at SLU. I’m walking down the main strip of campus and I see him. The image of what I have imagined the future “Mr. Kaylin Ielase” to look like. Of course he wouldn’t be taking my name because I think that’s just weird but you get the idea. My future husband…or he could be. I hear angels singing in my head. It’s love at first sight. Ha, alright probably not love at first sight but right after those angels end their operatic “Hallelujah” my own voice chimes in with a resounding, “How YOOOOU doin big boy?” 

Oh yeah!

I thought, “I’ll probably never see him again” all the while ardently hoping, wishing, and praying he saw me too and we’d bump into each other….only this time he’d sweep me off my beautiful feet and we’d be well on our way to falling helplessly in love. 

Weeeellllll, it was somewhere in between the two. Since I spent 9/10 of my first semester here in my dorm due to delusions we don’t need to discuss here, I missed out on the sweeping action he was prone to do at some point in our limited acquaintance. 

However, upon my emergence from my humble abode in Marguerite one of the first places I made my acquaintance with was….the gym. As you can see from the post before this, I’m a fan. This is partially, but not solely because of the men who dwell there. It is here that I ventured everyday around 11 a.m. or after 3 p.m. - religiously due to the fact that I was determined not to go away to school and gain a bunch of weight but to come home looking fabulous. This is beside the point. It was at the Simon Rec Center that it happened.

I saw him. He saw me too. I know he did. We saw each other every day for two semesters. I told my friends about him. I told my family about him….And nothing happened. I think the extent of our contact was passing each other to get a drink from the water fountain. 

You’re probably wondering how he got to be Green Shorts Boy by now so I’ll tell you. I was working out with my friend one day and he was there so I could finally show her what he looked like (and she could, consequently, approve – which she did). He was in green shorts, hence Green Shorts Boy.

That is, until this year. Ah this year! I move into my new apartment with my new roommates. I wander on my way through the Village on my home from class or the gym and there he is walking out of it!!! YESSSS!!!

A few days later…I’m out on the balcony reading my homework (the weather was beautiful – a perfect 75 – 80 degrees and sunny *sigh* I miss that weather). Anyway, I catch a movement in my peripheral vision. I look up. Green Shorts Boy. Standing on the balcony of the building right next to mine, one floor up. We see each other – I think he may have already been looking at me because I looked up and – our eyes meet for one hot sizzling moment before he turns and walks back inside. WHOOP WHOOP! Fate has intervened once again. I was in such a good mood when my roommates got home they asked how my day was and I spilled that I had seen my crush of over a year in the apartment just across the way and we made eye contact.

Give me a break it was progress.

Long story short, it turns out they know him! I now know his name. Naturally, I start playing the name game where I put our names togther to see how good they sound…and, of course, seeing how his last name fit with my first name. We are getting married one day. It’s gonna happen. 

My roommates have birthdays the first couple weeks in August so we all go out for a big birthday dinner/party at Triumph Bar and Grill. I walk in with them and there are already a bunch of people there. The first person I see… yup you guessed it! GREEN SHORTS BOY, now GSB for short. Our eyes meet once again, hold. This is the first time he’s seen me in normal clothes – not sweaty shorts and a T-shirt. Thank the dear Lord Jesus for making me feel like dressing up and looking good that night!! This is when I discover he’s one half of a couple. That’s right, my future husband has a girlfriend. My heart broke just a little.

Halloween comes. The stakes rise again. We have a party. He shows up. Uninvited (not that I mind). With his girlfriend; in coordinating costumes (this I mind). At first, I didn’t know he was there. I was a little preoccupied spitting game at another guy that I had already had an actual conversation and obvious flirtation previous to this night. The next thing I know one of my roommates is running up to me to excitedly “whisper” in my ear, “GSB IS HERE!!!”

“WHAT?!?!” I ask. I look over and sure enough he’s right there! In my apartment. Looooking goooood!!!!

Months go by, I see him every once in a while. I go to a local bar, Humphrey’s, on my birthday. Again, GSB is spotted. He spots me too. I catch him looking at me all night and I’m not the only one to notice. All my friends kept coming up to me, unprompted; to tell me they have caught him too. 

“You two have some weird chemistry going on,” they told me. Duh, I already know but I’m glad I’m not the only one who sees it.

The next spotting was a men’s basketball game at the arena where I work. I’m working the Will Call table. We have a pass list for the band and cheerleaders. I see him walk in. There’s only hope that he needs to come to my table and that the other person’s line that I’m working with will be slower than mine. It happens. He’s right there in front of me. We’re talking. 

I don’t know what I’m saying. Yes, I do. He has my friend’s ID and he doesn’t know I know person whose ID it is. He thought wrong. Jackpot! 

Me: “I know ****.”

Him: “Nuh uh.”

Me: “Yes, I do.” I have the pass list. I can just let him in…but what if **** comes?

Him: “Oh, well. He gave me his ID because he couldn’t make it,” he says with a sheepish grin on his face.

Me: He has the ID. I’m just going to have to take his word for it and let him in. “Alright, I’m going to let you in because I know **** and if you have his ID he probably gave it to you.” I hope. I have to text him right after this.

Him: “Thanks,” he says with a wink and he walks away.

I get done at work and go into the game because two of my best friends are here visiting. I get to show them who he is. They approve. We leave to go get some food and he’s walking back into the arena from getting a drink.

Him: “Hey, thanks again for letting me in. I really didn’t know you knew ****. See ya.” WINK!! Two winks and two conversations in one night ahhh we’re moving up in the world!!

Me:  I smile and laugh. “No problem. See ya.” Inward sigh.

Things have been cold since then….until tonight. I learned of a website where one can anonymously flirt and say when they’ve spotted someone they like and hope that the other person knows you’re talking about them. He did. 

Now, now we wait and see… ;-)

The Divine Rituals of the Gym

Guy or girl it goes a little something like this...

Walk in.
Scan for attractive members of the opposite sex (or the same sex if that's what gets you going - either way it still works).
Put your phone, keys, excess clothing, etc. in the cubby you have designated as "yours".
Scan.
Choose a machine.
Scan.
Type in your selected program, weight, resistance, length of physical exertion you're going to subject your body to.
Scan.
Press start.
Scan.
Press play on your iPod after selecting the music that gets your blood flowing and pushes you to last a few more minutes.
Scan.

Then it's all.
Woosh, woosh, woosh with the simultaneous thud, thud, thud, thud.
CLANK, Clank, clank, clank.
Mmmta, mmmta, mmmta. Pshh, Pshh, Pshh.
Huff, puff. Huff, puff.
Water break.
Check yourself in the mirror.
Scan.
Socialize.
Scan.

It's the sounds of the machines as your feet pound into the treadmill. It's the loud crashing sounds of someone dropping their entire body weight in iron weights to the ground that brings you back from your own thoughts. It's the sounds of the bass and inappropriate words that are perfect to work out to but would mortify you if someone actually heard you listening to in any other circumstance along with the fact that you know every word and the most inappropriate parts are, in fact, your favorite parts of the song - say a little prayer of thanks to God for having someone invent something called headphones. It's the sounds of your own breath as you exert yourself to the point of copious amounts of sweat, of flushed faces, and of the labored breath that shows you how much you're accomplishing.

Most of us partake or have partaken (either by choice or by force) at one point in our lives in what I like to call The Divine Rituals of the Gym. Some of us do it every day to tone and build muscle, to stay healthy, to improve ourselves, to attract the opposite sex; the list goes on. Others only partake on those occasions which call for us to shape up so that we can look somewhat presentable in minimal clothing and not feel totally insecure. For instance, occasions such as vacation, Spring Break, swimsuit season, weddings, Friday nights (haha just kidding....sorta), New Years Resolutions. Whatever our motivation, we all force ourselves to put down the pint of Haagen Dazs, turn off the TV, get up and go to the gym.

We all want to look good. We all want to be able to pass a mirror and think, "Damn, I look good!" We all want to feel confident and sexy. We all want to attract some attractive someone with cut biceps, washboard abs, and finely muscled legs (those of us who enjoy going to the gym, that is. Others enjoy the gooey, smooshiness of fat rolls and cellulite. To each their own, my friends, to each their own. Me? I'll be the own on the elliptical scanning for the next Achilles ;-) ).

Anyway, we all want these things and we go about getting them through what some may consider a perverse form of masochism as well as a shallow sense of social conformity to "look good" by partaking in The Divine Rituals of the Gym. I don't care what those nay-sayers say. I like being able to walk up a flight of stairs and not be winded or walk on the beach and get whistled at or be the girl that a guy scans for in the gym. Call me a masochist of sorts. Call me shallow and conforming. I don't care. I'll call myself healthy because I can have my cake and eat it too (literally) because I just burned off the calories I'm now going to enjoy putting back in my stomach.

So, to all the nay-sayers - enjoy your Haagen Dazs and potato chips and TV watching. I'll be at the gym enjoying every one of the Divine Rituals....Scan.

Never to Taste Again

So I wrote this for a writing class. Our prompt was "food" and we could take it any way we wanted. I did this... 

           You’ve been gone all day. You’ve had school, various practices and all you want is a shower and…dinner. You’ve been looking forward to coming home all day to a hot, home-cooked meal. You finally get home. You’re anticipating this meal and have ideas about just what’s on the menu….and you find out it’s the only meal you absolutely do not want to have.

            In my family, we each have our own idea of what this meal is, that hated meal that just brings a long day down really quickly. Mine….is tuna casserole. This is the meal that at the end of a long day – or any day for that matter – that I absolutely do not under any circumstances want to see on the dinner table. I felt when I was growing up that we ate this almost every night. I don’t like it. I’ll eat it but you can bet that I will complain about it. I’m not a picky eater. I am very grateful for having been brought up in a home where there was always dinner on the table along with breakfast and a sack lunch for school. But under no circumstances would I ever voluntarily choose to eat tuna casserole.

Wavy noodles. Tuna. With a side of peas and bread and butter. The dinner I hate.

            Every time my family gets together, all seven of us (significant others included), love to get talk about these dinners…and the sack lunches, oh, the sack lunches we were plagued with growing up. Mom, bless her heart, tried to give us a variety, to make sure that someone got what they wanted at least once a week. The problem was that everyone had different tastes and favorites and accommodating five people on a budget presents a challenge.

            To this day, my brother refuses to eat cheese toasties (a.k.a. grilled cheeses) and tomato soup. My sister hates oatmeal with a passion. Each of these meals is a favorite of another sibling which is probably why growing up we felt like one’s favorites are being taken into consideration more than another.

            However, there is something we all agreed on were the sack lunches we took to school every day. Lunchtime always brought a mix of emotions for us kids. Recess obviously there were not problems there. Fun, friends, games, outside of the stuffy classroom where we could run around and play. This thirty minute reprieve from our education was a blessed break from the monotony. On the other hand, lunch itself brought a sense of dread and severe hunger pangs as if we hadn’t had a good breakfast four and a half hours earlier.

            We’d sit down talking to our best friends, strategically sitting at a point in the somewhat center of the table so that maybe, just maybe our crush of the moment would sit down next to us. We set down our lunchbox and sat…waiting for the moment to come, for the time to open the lid to that box that holds our lunch. And what does it hold? Something along the lines of…

            Bagel sandwiches.

            Or cheese and mayonnaise sandwiches.

            And inevitably, some mushy form of what used to be a banana, a plum, or a kiwi.

            I love my Mom, I really do. I appreciate all the effort she went to in order to teach us healthy eating habits and expanding our palates beyond what we already knew we liked. But it really says something when kids – who by nature eat strange combinations of food – will not trade for any of the contents of our lunchbox. Instead, kids would rather give a portion of their lunch to us so that they wouldn’t have to watch us starve…or watch us eat these concoctions. After a while, they picked up the pattern and just started handing over the rest of their chips, half a sandwich, a Hostess treat, if they were feeling extra generous.

            This is the story of my childhood through sack lunches and homemade dinners. Made with love and good intentions though they were these meals I hope to never taste again in my life.

The Reflection We Can't See

Recently, it has become more and more apparent to me as to just what the purpose of our friends and family is in our lives. Some may say these special and privileged people whom we grant a golden ticket into our lives are there to love, support, and, possibly, entertain us.

In all actuality, this is probably one of the truest statements out there - for those of us who are lucky enough to have people we call family and friends, that is.

In the past few days, I have been told a couple of things that I never knew about myself, that gave me a reason to take a moment, put my life on pause and think about, and that inspired this blog.

"You have cute ankles." I can honestly say that I have never been told this before in my life. It was definitely a first! I have never given my ankles much more thought than "I really hope I never have cankles" or "OW HOLY MOTHER OF SWEET BABY JESUS THAT HURTS" (okay, so this is definitely not what I said when I broke my ankle but replace just about every word after 'Holy' with an expletive and you'll catch my drift...it hurt!). I now have a much higher opinion of this particular feature of my anatomy than I ever would have having not received this impromptu compliment from a friend as we sweated it out in the sauna.

"You'll figure out what's right for you. You're good at that." Am I? I'm sure glad someone thinks so because lately I've felt like it's been a never ending struggle to figure out just what that right thing is to do.

Of course there have been other things throughout my life said by other friends and family members which have never ceased to take me by surprise.

These people in our lives watch us when we aren't aware of being watched (and no, not in the creepy, Peeping-Tom way of the Super Stalker). They see us in a way we can't see ourselves. They see all the little imperfections like the giant red mountain on our forehead. They see all the annoying habits we have like always being late or just barely right on time. They see all the things we don't like about ourselves and wish no one else knew about like that third nipple (just kidding. Please, tell me someone caught that Friends reference).

Yet, and this is the kicker....THEY LIKE US ANYWAY!! For whatever reason, these people stick around and, not only do they stick around, but they act as the reflection we can't see when we look in the mirror. Maybe friends and family are the people on the other side of the mirror, there to let us know what's up.

They are the ones who are going to look at us and say, "(Your name here), that shirt is (fill in the blank) ugly. Take it off....NOW!!"

They are the ones who are going to take that one seemingly insignificant feature of our anatomy (ankles, shoulders, earlobes, back-dimples, what have you) and make us want to flaunt it...within reason. Let's keep it clean.

They are the ones who are going to tell us things we didn't even know about ourselves because either 1) we don't notice it because it comes naturally and, therefore, is taken for granted, 2) we didn't know we were good at it/had it, or 3) we actually thought we sucked at it/never had it/never could have it, but, apparently, from the other side of that metaphorical mirror someone actually thinks that we don't suck, that we do have it and that we have always had it.....whatever "it" may be.

I love these moments when friends and family give me the briefest glimpse into the person they see when they look at me. It is a wonderful feeling to know that someone is paying attention, that someone is seeing me, that someone is willing to share these little tidbits without any ulterior motive other than simply saying what's on their mind, that someone even cares enough to notice let alone tell me what they've gathered and concluded.

I like being someone with cute ankles; who is good at figuring out what is best for me; who reminds people of Jennifer Aniston. Even if I think these people are just completely full of **** and blowing smoke up my...it's still nice to hear.

But mostly, I think it's nice (understatement) to know that I have people in my life who are there to tell me about the reflection I can't see when I look in the mirror....

P.S. Don't worry, I'm sure you do too ;-)

Super Stalkers

Have you ever noticed how long we spend on websites such as, let's say....Facebook, Twitter....Google? And what do we do on these websites? STALK PEOPLE! You want to know if someone is dating or just broke up? Facebook! You want to know someone's every move...or next move? Twitter! You want to know the latest celeb to get arrested or go to rehab or who that one guy in Burlesque is - who ultimately you want to stalk, meet, and marry? Google (IMDB)!

Really. Think about it. These are legal forms of stalking at the press of a button and, ahem, let's face it...you're doing it right now because you find what I am thinking about more intriguing than say getting off the computer, putting down the Haagen Dazs and going to the gym! (Perhaps we should add Blogger to the list?) The hours we spend actively seeking out information about the lives of people we will never meet, never talk to or haven't talked to in years from afar when without these wonderful websites we would never know the day to day happenings unless we....oh, I don't know, actually talk to them; it's really more than a bit ridiculous. But we all do it. Trying to deny it is pointless. It's okay, we're all with you. Phrases like "Facebook me!", "Guess who wrote on my wall?!", "Listen to what I just Tweeted.", and - my personal favorite - "Let's creep!" have entered our daily vernacular to pervade every facet of our lives, relationships....or lack thereof.

Basically, what I'm trying to say is with the advancement of technology, the age of computers and social networking we have all gained superhero powers. We're a group that I would like to call....Super Stalkers.