I'm Flossy

I believe that people are brought together by the acknowledgement of their weaknesses. I don't think that a group of people are going to "come together" by each shouting praises of the last greatest thing they did. Well maybe some people, but not the kind of people I love to associate with. I believe that people really bond when someone reveals something they do, or don't do, that everyone else secretly does, or doesn't do and is waiting to not feel guilty about it. That one thing that everyone hates, but thinks they have to love, the one thing that probably should be done every day, but gets done perhaps once a week, or maybe even month. So...

A word on flossing: I think flossing is great. I think it perpetuates not only good dental hygiene, but also good organization, self-discipline, and self-respect. I don't floss that often. I'll leave it at that. When I floss, it's always under the intention that I will continue flossing everyday until the last day of my life. Flossing, for me however, always turns out to be an isolated incident.

I think many people are like this. In fact, I think the only person who actually flosses regularly is my Dad because he is a saint and he can't stand to lie to the dentist when he asks him if he has been flossing on a regular basis like the rest of us. "Yes I brush three times a day, yes I floss, no I don't know why my gums are bleeding right now." That's the drill. Anyway, I usually like to bring up the no-flossing thing because I think people appreciate it. However, I was with a group of "people" once and as we were sitting around the Fazoli's table, we got on the subject of flossing. I offered my one and only gem of human unification: who flosses, come clean now so we can all like each other a little better for our inadequacies.

I don't think one group of people have looked that way at another person since leprosy. Apparently I had picked the one group of four average people who floss on a daily basis and wouldn't hear of anyone behaving differently. I tried to call them out on their lies, but one of them had floss in his wallet. I immediately retreated into dentist office lie mode and didn't make anymore revelations the rest of the night.

Since, I have tried to make my self-disclosures a little more conservative and crowd-based. Sometimes it's best to do your homework beforehand, like checking the wallet of the guy with immaculate gums before becoming conversationally intimate about our habits of hygiene.

Rock, a Hard Place, and Somewhere I Don't Want to Be

Romance is (or so I am told) an abstract, beautiful enigma that drives so much of everyday decisions that it's probably damaging to everything from the construction of our homes to the destruction of our economy. Something so powerful shouldn't be abstract, though. If it decides so much of our choices, it should have some concrete explanation. Recently, I have found that a piece of it (dating and courtship), has just that: a science, and a history (chemistry and a past relationship if you will). The concrete facts of dating are not much easier a pill to swallow, however, because it is as follows:

Dating in America (or England, not picking favorites) began with the girl in charge. A man would come to the girl, on her territory (her home) and would do all the activities she chose. You know, all the greats: Her playing the piano (yawn) reading poetry aloud to him (yawn again), or perhaps, them singing a duet together (combination yawn and shudder). After she seduced him (or bored him) with her musical talent, he would propose; but only if she allowed him to do so. This is option #1.

Then a shift happened. It was the industrial age and men were at war, and women could Do It! (Rosie the Riveter shout out) and were working in the factories. When men came home from the war, the women did not want to give up her newly found position in the world, and dating became a low form of prostitution. Let me illustrate: Men made more than women in the workplace and could afford the nicer things like movies, games, and dinners. Women wanted these things because they felt entitled to them. They, however, could not afford it because their wages were exponentially lower than that of their male counterparts. Thus prostitution was born: Man buys woman an expensive dinner with his inflated masculine salary; woman repays with whatever form of sex is expected at the time. This is option #2

Today, there has been a mass rejection of both these earlier options and the single race has now produced what has been warned against, has been degraded, has been feared by General Authority and Relief Society alike: Hanging out. It is the woman no longer wanting to sing, but no longer wanting to prostitute (how dare she), and instead playing Rockband and watching movie after movie with large groups. This is option #3: Reject message of the First Presidency and never get married.

Weighing the facts and options, it seems as though the evolution of romance has caught me in a Catch 22.

Water Bottles Gross Me Out

This morning my roommate Mary gave me a water bottle from her car. Arrowhead. It was the catalyst to new found epiphany: water bottles gross me out.

1. My equilibrium was thrown off the entire way to my next class because of the weight difference from left hand to water-bottle right hand.
2. I felt like I had to drink it all because otherwise I would be wasting... water...
3. I had to go to the bathroom in the middle of class... something I haven't had to deal with since the single digits.

As soon as I got to class I realized that water bottle girls are EVERYWHERE. They pile their books on top of their desk as a small pyramid glorifying the water bottle that perches atop the stack. Most of the bottles have a disturbing moist condensation on the inside and I apologize for the word moist, but it's the most appropriate.

Sometimes the noise that water-bottle girls make as they adjust themselves in class haunts my nightmares. It's a little something like this: soft swish, soft swish, gurgle, backwash, slurp, plastic popping, popping plastic, lid screw, more gross room-temp water slurshing.

Catch-22

I think the concept of "Catch-22" is confusing to enough people that it can be used whenever you want. I like assessing a non-catch-22 situation as Catch-22 and seeing how many nods of approval I get.

Real Conversation:

Girl: This guy keeps coming in to work and hitting on me. He is gross and he keeps asking me when I work next and it's really grossing me out! (Insert racial slur here)
Me: Oh. Catch-22.
Girl: Exactly!

It's that simple.

*Note: This process is much more successful when the person isn't really interested in your input, but rather is using you as a sounding board who makes listening noises. Fair enough when you are using her as a device for personal amusement who makes unintelligent, and usually rude, statements.

Dictionary: 1.a frustrating situation in which one is trapped by contradictory regulations or conditions.

"The Gentle Giant"

Israel Kamakawiwo'ole:  For those who are not aware of this artist, you are probably just unaware that you are aware of him.  Anyone who watched commercials or movies in the 90's knows he sings the "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" ukulele rendition.  You know what I'm talking about.  He is Hawaiian, 789 pounds, gemini (classic gemini, sometimes fat, but always loveable) and unfortunately, dead.  He died in '97.  RIP.

That being said, consider the following conversation I overheard at the gym today.

(Kamakawiwo'ole's "rainbow" playing over the loud speakers)

small girl (talking to remotely attractive, but unfortunately short boy):  Oh my gosh, I love this song.  It's one of my favorites

small boy:  What?  Oh, yeah, this is a good one.

small girl:  I love this guy who sings this.  He was on American Idol last night, did you see it?  He sang this song.

small boy:  No, I guess I missed it.

small girl:  Yeah, it was really good, what is his name?  (I'm being serious...) It's something simple... Michael Johnson, Mike Jones... (It was George Michael, I saw the episode, I knew enough about this conversation to know that everything this girl was saying was wrong.)

This conversation taught me two things:  1.  Small people may be more attractive, but not necessarily more intelligent, and 2.  Don't ever claim anything is your favorite unless you know at least enough about it to know if it is dead or not.  

No, YOU CALM DOWN!

For those of us who have ever lived with girls (say... four in one room) we know that when that time comes to change while everyone else is dressed, things get pretty uncomfortable. We also know that as soon as we say, "Don't look" the first thing everyone does is look up at the announcer (aw, come on!). It's a little thing I like to call a paradoxical reactor.
And it doesn't only occur in a vulnerable, naked state either. In fact, most times I am fully clothed when I experience a paradoxical reactor. Some girls even use this device for flirting. "I'm really ticklish there! Don't do it!" I haven't figured out this perfect science yet: using PRs to my advantage; most of the time they are the bane of my orderly composure.

To illustrate: Look at the phrase, "calm down." I don't know what mother, meathead, pretentious snob, or "friend" thinks when they offer this gem of advice to anyone, but the lesson needs to be learned that the opposite happens. Whether I am overly- angry, excited, loud, happy, or worried; telling me to calm down will only inflame my anger, subdue my excitement, presumably make me get louder (shudder) and eliminate all happiness, probably from both our lives. Bottom line, I won't calm down. I have developed a flow chart to demonstrate what I mean. 

*Note:  The rate at which you tell me to calm down has a positive correlation with the rate at which I do not calm down

Damn Marathon

10 Things I might rather do than run 13.1 consecutive miles:

10.  Be Warren Jeffs' least favorite wife

9.  Floss on a regular basis

8.  Live as a "cat lady" for an entire year

7.  Pick up a bad habit, quit, then join a support group... all in under 21 days

6.  Re-do puberty

5.  Wear Listerine strips as contacts for a day

4.  Part with my inhaler

3.  Go freegan 

2.  Watch American Pie III again... with my grandma

1.  Lose at Mario Kart 

I just signed up for the Teton Dam half-marathon... wish me luck