I Love Lucy

Tonight we had "Small group," aka Bible study aka Fellowship thing aka Jesus friend time, whatever you want to call it. After our discussion, our hosts' daughter Lucy brought me my car keys (I was lying on the couch--philosophical discussion really takes it out of me) and placed them (naturally) down the front of my shirt. Then she let me know, "It's time for you to leave our house."

Love ya too, Luce.

Take ten

I have put my foot in my mouth about 30 times in the last 24 hours. The first was at Mike's house watching TV last night (I don't want to talk about the specifics, I'm still getting over it). The next four were at work today, doing my daily routine of being overly friendly with customers and therefore drawing strange looks (this is business as usual, ho hum as far as I'm concerned).

The final 25 instances occured in less than 2 hours, at my church's Communication Team meeting this evening. I kept coming up with these ideas (including a flower girl procession on Easter morning) and then blurting them out! And everyone would respond with silence, followed by changing the subject.

I don't know, I think I'm just exhausted, and bored, and so the way to keep my eyes from closing is to just speak out loud whatever comes to mind. And then instantly regret it. Luckily some of my awkwardness seemed to transfuse into my girl Stef at work today, and she too was making customers uncomfortable without meaning or trying to do so. It's nice not to be alone in all this being awkward business.

I went on my break this morning and Matt took my place at the espresso bar making drinks and I advised him, "Okay, in order to take my place, you're going to need to simply make the customers uncomfortable. Start conversations that they don't want to have, tell them you love their name, etc." And then I went to the back room to read the paper, while someone else took on the awkward shift for ten minutes of my life.

"You're the worst kind" --Harry, to Sally

A line was formed at the Daily family microwave this evening. I was heating up my chipped beef leftovers, and Mom came up behind me to wait her turn in order to

heat up her Klondike bar.

I repeat.

Heat up her Klondike bar.

Really, Mom? Yes, really. I had no words, my facial response was enough, and she giggled and said, "My, I do have a lot of rules, don't I?" and I said "Mmm Hmm" (as I hoped she would not catch me using the plastic lid in the microwave rather than her standard paper-plate-as-lid. Even though! the plastic lid is microwave safe and intended for microwave use, and a paper plate kills Mother Earth. But whatever...).

Then Mom said that she thinks she's getting "worse" with all of her "rules," and I explained that it's actually pretty normal for people to get more high maintenance as they get older, from what I've observed.

As I was leaving the house later to watch TV at Mike's, I said "Mom, if it makes you feel better, I think I'm getting more high maintenance too." And then she said, "Yeah, we'll talk about that later..."

"What is that supposed to mean?!" I retorted.
Mom laughed.
"Little Miss heats up her Klondike bar in the microwave..." I added, due to her undue sass.

And then, without so much as a pause, dear old Dad chimes in with, "Little Miss must have a pen in the door handle of her car at all times..."

Mom: "Well now you're both picking on me!"
Me: "I love you..."
Mom: "I love you..."

And then I left for Mike's.

Make new friends

The phone just rang. Here is a recap of the conversation:

Me: "Hello?"
Man on other end: "Hello?"
Me: "Hello?"
Man: "Hello?"
Me: "Hi!"
Man: (Kind of sultry): "Hey..."
Me: "Who's this?"
Man: "This is Demetric."
Me: "I don't think I know you, I think you might have the wrong number."
Demetric: "I know, right?"

He actually said that. I am not making this up.

Demetric: "You see, I can't figure it out, I have this number on my arm, and I just took a shower."
Me: "Oh...well I didn't write my number on anyone's arm..."
Demetric: "Yeah, I think I might have a wrong digit."
Me: "Well, I definitely didn't go out anywhere last night, so I don't think it could have been me."
Demetric: "Yeah, [laughs], it wasn't last night...Well you sound very nice, though."
Me: "Oh, thank you."
Demetric: "Yeah..."
Me: "Well, I hope you figure it out!"
Demetric: "Thanks, have a good night."
Me: "You too."

Click.

My friend Caleb told me recently that I am not afraid of anyone.

Nick and I were shopping this January and this man came out of the dressing room and immediately started talking to me; I heard him before I could even turn around to see him. He asked me if I could give him some advice on some shirts he was trying on. I asked what he was shopping for, he explained it was for an interview. I asked what type of business, what would his dress code be were he to get the job (like a good, well trained HR manager's daughter should do). I then assessed shirt number 1, waited as he changed, then assessed shirt number 2.

Meanwhile, I was hoping for fashion-conscious Nick to chime in to help out not-so-fashion-conscious Me, but Nick does not enjoy talking to strangers so he pretended to be looking at a jacket nearby. The man was very grateful, thanked me. As we walked away Nick informed me that I had made the wrong choice, that the other shirt looked better on him. I asked Nick where he had been 30 seconds prior in offering such opinion. But right before he told me what he thought of the shirt, he shook his head and said, "What is it about you?..."

Earlier that day we had been at lunch with two friends, a woman who is very outgoing like myself, and her husband, not so outgoing. The men were discussing how they really hate to be forced to talk to people, and I said "I can talk to anyone," and Marcia nodded in agreement, that she too could do the same.

Just now when Demetric called, I honestly wondered if he was my friend Zabu, who I met in the library last year. I was filling out a job application, Zabu was studying for the GED. He asked for a pencil. And somehow, 30 minutes later, I was writing down my email address so Zabu could come to church with me that Sunday. And he came. And the people at my church said, "Oh, Zabu, it's nice to meet you, how do you know Bailey?" And we explained about ten times that we had met three days before in the library. And now we're friends.

This is my life, people. I don't know why I am this way. It's just the way it is. Meanwhile, I get to meet people like Zabu, dressing room guy, and, most recently, my new pal Demetric. So Demetric, if you're reading this, Nice to meet you.

Pause

I was talking to my friend Tom on the phone tonight, and at one point in the conversation I paused. I didn't even realize that I had fallen silent until Tommy said "You're so quiet when you don't talk!"

I immediately quoted this back to him, followed by his name and today's date, in order for him to realize his comment's level of ridiculousness. He then explained that when I pause in a conversation, I simmer within it longer than others. I asked him, sarcastically/seriously, if it makes him uncomfortable, to which he more or less answered, "No," and just noted that it is unusual.

The point of this post was to make you laugh at the first part, not to end on the more ponderous note where it landed. However I suppose you could both laugh at the first part and then munch on the second part, food for thought.

But you can really do whatever you want with this blog post. You could print it out, put it on your bulletin board, shred it and make a urine-bed for your hamster's cage... It's up to you, I'm not here to tell you what to do (though Nick would argue that if I'm on vacation with you, then, as the Vacation Princess, I am here to tell you what to do).