I want your number because I want to marry you... said no one ever.

Provo's obsession with marriage and dating makes it difficult to make friends.

If I ask a boy for his number... I must want to date and marry him.

If I invite a boy over to watch a movie... I must want to date and marry him.

If I get asked on a date my friends test how my name sounds with his last name attached.

We live in fear of leading people on, so instead of making friends we ignore each other.  We are vain enough to assume that just because someone asks for our number it is a confession of love.  We can't continue friendships the moment we sense attraction coming from the other person.  

I've fallen guilty to all this.  I've worried about boys liking me when I don't return the interest.  I've worried about pursuing friendships in fear of leading someone on.  However, watching people avoid my friendship or the friendship of others because there might be physical attraction is hurtful.  It's made me realize I need to change.  Really, we all need to change.  My friends and I are in our twenty's.  We're not in elementary school anymore.  We are adults, and it's time to realize that it's OK to have friends we might be attracted to, or who might be attracted to us (it's flattering even).  In the end, the pursuit of friendship is different from the pursuit of dating or matrimony.  Let's work on recognizing that difference.

He thought of himself as a Bohemian at heart...

This is my second spring term in Provo, and spring in Utah makes me fall in love with the place I have hated for four years.  Tonight was one of those nights where I fell in love with Provo and the people that live here.  My friend, James, hosted a short story writing party.  I love stories, but writing them is stressful to me.  The concept for the party, however, is brilliant and it was one of those scenarios where I had to face my fear and write (for better or for worse).

Each person in the group had to write down one sentence and put it in a hat to be drawn out at random.  The sentence can be anything you want.  For example, my sentence was, "The woman approached me slowly then said, 'I think you could be a foot model.'" (If you want to read the story that came from my sentence click here).  You then pass around the hat and draw out someone else's sentence, which becomes the first sentence in your story.  After that you have 20-25 minutes to write, and then you read your stories out loud.  I love stories, and I love laughing so the night was perfect.  I had hoped I would draw a sentence that would spark a personal story, but I had no such luck.  My sentence (thank you James) was:

"He thought of himself as a Bohemian at heart, but he was really just a corporate sell-out." 

Here's my story.  Please keep in mind that I had no idea what "corporate sell-out" really meant:

He thought of himself as a Bohemian at heart, but he was really just a corporate sell-out.  Mark’s business had started about 5 years earlier, and as he walked into his shack of a house he pondered what he could have done differently.  He looked at the fire as he plopped down in his beanbag chair.  As he fell a few beans popped up from around him and one of them flew into the fire.

“Score,” he muttered under his breath.  He loved his Bohemian life.  He began to wonder if he had even done anything wrong with his business.  “Maybe I was supposed to sell out so I could go back to my roots, and find better business prospects.  Take today for example!  I loved today.”

It had been a good day.  He started with his barefoot run through the woods, and he had only stubbed a toe once, a remarkable feat that anyone who’s run barefoot will understand.  After his run he skipped taking a shower.  “Shower’s are for rich people” he thought.  Besides, he didn’t have a shower in his shack.  Usually he just snuck into a neighbor’s yard and used their hose.  He’d only been caught once and the thrill of it made him want to do it more, but today was no day for showers.  Instead it was a day to visit the coffee shop.  He had seen a pretty girl there the week before and had been everyday since.  He felt justified in not showering because she was also un-showered the first time he met her.  He remembered because that’s what they talked about.

“I hate getting wet”, she remarked.

“Me too.”

It was probably the most magical conversation he’d ever had.  He thought about that conversation as he walked up to the coffee shop door.  His heart skipped a beat as he saw her.  It was his lucky day.  What was she doing behind the counter?  He smoothly walked in and began to run his hair through his fingers, but his middle finger got caught on the baby dread that was forming near his ear.  He looked at her and pulled his finger out of the dread just in time to wave hello.

“Smooth” he thought. She didn’t see and we’re off to a good start.  He got in line, bought his coffee, and started a conversation with her about business.

“Why are you behind the counter.”

“I just got a job here.”  She replied.

The conversation went smoothly.  He even got her number at the end.  And as he left he realized that while his original business was a sell-out, he could try again.  She had inspired him to start his own coffee shop, a business that would match with his bohemian heart, yet mathematical brain.

 

White Trash

When you live with college roommates you grow accustomed to certain roommates completing specific chores over and over. There's no written rule.  You just know one person will take care of the chore so you don't do it yourself.  It's not a good habit to get into, but it happens nonetheless.  Well, my chore is putting out the trash each week, and when I forget to drag the big trashcans out to the curb our trash starts piling up. Well it's been a stressful few weeks.  Last Tuesday I pulled an all-nighter on campus so I wasn't home.  The Tuesday before I just forgot, and I don't even know what happened the week before that.  Point is, we had three or four weeks worth of trash piling up in our shed.  The single trashcan was filled to the brim so we had to pile the new trash around it, which made a barrier large enough to protect the student's of the revolution in Les Miserables.

Last night I reminded myself that I had to take out the trash, no exceptions.  My roommates and I sat around watching Salt when I started to get fidgety and decided to do my chore.  I needed some shoes and my high heels were the only ones upstairs that were easy to slip on.  I looked rather classy as I headed out to the trashcans to get my hands dirty.  But what faced me was a pile of trash too large to manage on my own.  I went back inside and gathered my troops for battle.

"Comrades!  We need to divide and conquer!  Here's the strategy.  We don't have enough room in our own trashcan for all the trash, and that trash needs to be taken away this week.  So each person is going to take a bag and put it in a different neighbor's trashcan.  Ready?  Go!"

I headed out, dragging my roommates slowly behind me.  Before I knew it we were in various places along 8th East utilizing the empty trashcans in the road.  The neighbors are much more consistent with their weekly trash duty, so it didn't take long for us to return home safe after battle.  I felt like a victorious soldier with brilliant tactics and solid execution.  Jordan, on the other hand, turned to me and said, "I feel like white trash."  I pictured us sneaking across the dark street to drop our trash into stranger's trash bins.

Yeah... white trash is probably the more appropriate description.