Awkward. . .

I went on a date on Tuesday night.  Yes, that's right; I voluntarily went on a date that wasn't a set-up.  Go ahead- Take a moment to let it sink in.  I know it's been. . . well, a long time, so some of you might take a while to recover from the shock.  At least, that seems to have been the case with the relatively small number of people I have told prior to now.  But news travels fast in my family, so I thought I might as well address the rumors that have been circulating.

It was a nice, simple, casual date.  Hot chocolate and good conversation at the Village Inn.  Just what a first date should be.  Especially a first date with a perfect stranger.  Keep that small detail in mind as I continue here. 

The end of the date comes.  Numbers are exchanged, hot chocolate is paid for, and the two parties walk out into the freezing cold night.  Then comes what I would consider to be the most awkward dating moment. . . the first hug.

People frequently talk about how incredibly awkward the first kiss can be.  Can I be honest?  I find the first hug to be a million times more awkward than the first kiss moment, and here I explain why.  The first kiss (at least in the Mormon dating world which is the only dating world I have ever known), usually takes places after at least a period of courtship.  Thus, two people have gotten to know each other, have learned at least a little bit how to read each other, and usually have some semblance of an idea of how the other feels about them.  But, contrast that with the situation above- two hours previously, the two parties were perfect strangers.  They have not learned to read the other person's body language, they are likely both at least slightly uncertain as to how the other person felt the date went, and neither knows exactly what is supposed to take place next.  Additionally, it seems like there are roughly three and a half billion different ways people can hug.  No hug? Side hug? One arm?  Two arm?  Blah blah blah. . . And there is absolutely no way to communicate which method one is about to initiate, so one must simply guess and hope for the best.

Perhaps my awkwardness with first hugs is simply indicative of my deep seeded introversion.  I think the last time prior to this date that I had faced a first hug situation, was this last summer when, in a crowd of people, Sir Teres very unexpectedly hugged me and I squealed like a pig in distress.   Fortunately, it is usually only the unexpected hug that can elicit that kind of a response from me.

So it was, I went in for the one arm, he went for the two arm.  the awkward half-second ended, and we parted ways.  I drove home pondering the awkwardness of first dates, first hugs and dating in general and cursing the cold weather for freezing me clear through in the minute and a half I was outside. 

Isn't It The Life?

I came across this through a friend, and unfortunately I don't know the original source.

Through the course of my college career, I lived with just under 50 different people in a variety of circumstances.  I, without a doubt lie on the I side of the introvert/extrovert spectrum, and found the above to be gloriously hilarious in it's accuracy.  Over the course of the years I cannot tell you how many time I have had the following conversation with my poor mother.

. . .
Me: "I'm Starving"  (Not a terribly uncommon occurrence for me under any circumstances)

Mom: "Go make yourself some dinner."

Me: "I can't."

Mom: "Why not?"

Me: "There are people in my house."

Fortunately I'm adaptable. . . or creative, depending on one's definition.  I learned that I could at least keep myself from starving to death by keeping a supply of food in my bedroom. . . and by supply I mean that I often kept a large tub or two of food under my bed.  Truth. 

There are definitely some advantages of living in a house now with only my sister as a roommate. 

A Long, Long Time Ago. . .

Provo Ladder 2012

My love of fire engines/ladders/trucks ( I will use trucks in this blog post to universally refer to the differing types), is not exactly the worlds best kept secret.  There was even a time where I frequently used my love of fire trucks as the interesting fact about me.

"Introduce yourself, and tell us something interesting about yourself."

"I'm Kaitlin, and I have a strange obsession with red fire trucks."

Then I realized people really didn't get it. Additionally, no one really pays attention to, or cares about the random interesting fact you tell about yourself in introductions.  So, I changed my interesting fact to something far less interesting and personal, and allowed my fire truck obsession to remain slightly more guarded out of the lime light.  This is not to be confused with a diminished love, but rather a protecting of something greatly cared for.  In fact, some of my more recent acquaintances may be surprised to realize exactly the extent of my fetish.  

San Fransisco 2007

For any reading this blog who don't know (which is unlikely, but possible), there are actually some limitations to this obsession. . . some guidelines if you will.

1.  Fire trucks should always be RED.  None of this yellow, blue, green or white nonsense.  RED.  Red and white is acceptable, but not preferred. 

2.  Usually, there is something more enchanting about old fire trucks.  Don't, get me wrong, I still absolutely love brand new ones (so long as they are the correct color), but there is just something about the character of the old ones.

The Beast- Evanston, Wy July 2012- These guys literally had no idea how internally giddy I was- though slightly embarrassed that I'd been such a creeper.  This guy caught me ogling his beauty three times before inviting us over.

Over the years, I've had a variety of responses to my strange obsession with fire trucks.  I've gotten every thing from odd and unusual, to endearing.  I have friends who now think of me when they see or hear fire trucks.  Commonly though, I get the questions "Why?"  or "How did you get started on that?"   I don't really have answers to those questions.  Why?  Really?  Because they are awesome!  People like weird things. People collect weird things.  My thing just happens to be fire trucks, get over it.   The how is a lot harder to answer.  See, I've loved fire trucks as long as I can remember.  I guess you'd have to ask my parents about that one, but I'm not sure they'd have an answer for you either.  I did come across something interesting the other day though.  I have a set of drawers of old stuff.  Some of it I just can't get rid of because I get all sentimental every time I go through it, most of it is stuff that needs to meet the shredder, and some of it really just needs to be junked, but I'm usually tired of going through it by the time I get to it.

  Anyway, hidden in this memory treasure trove was this set of pictures taken back in the day. . . you know, when cameras actually had film, you got 24 pictures at a time, you had to wait to develop the film, and it cost a small fortune to do so.  These pictures were taken on a beautiful summer afternoon outside of my elementary school.  I have absolutely no idea what they were doing there. . . besides acting as models for my very poor camera skills.  I'd estimate that I was 8 or 9 when these pictures were taken.  There are three pictures missing from the original 24 (I think in 16 years that isn't too bad), and there were two pictures that did not contain fire trucks, the final unrepresented picture did contain a fire truck, but at too far a distance to make it worth adding here.

Horrible Photography skills, yes.

For those who have always claimed my fire truck obsession is due to fire men, and not the trucks themselves, I'd like you to note that firemen only appear in two of the pictures in this post. I can only imagine what my poor mother thought when she picked up this package from the photo developers.  An entire roll of film wasted on fire trucks!  Little could she have known, that this roll of film would still be cherished nearly sixteen years in the future.  I think this is evidence enough that the obsession dates back pretty far.

What can I say?  I really love fire trucks.   

Life: 23489285798679420 Kaitlin: 0

They say that the typical new years resolution lasts somewhere between two to three weeks.  This is probably one of the reasons I have never been highly motivated to even make new years resolutions.  I also don't really see the point in waiting for a certain date to set goals to improve oneself- it seems like a recipe set up to fail if you ask me.   "Yeah, I think I'll make that a new years resolution- Come the new year I'll be ready to start on that goal."  Really?  The year changing on the calendar must have some magical properties that are lost to me. 

This being said, I occasionally find myself in a position where, despite my doubting nature, I feel inspired to join in the old tradition and make some "resolutions."  Last year was one of those years.  I'd gone through some pretty drastic changes in my life, and I set some goals intended to improve some aspects of my life.  One of those goals, was to be more active in our wards extracurricular social functions. . You know, things like FHE, activities, break the fasts, and I even eventually found myself attending ward prayer. . . a slightly heathen activity I'd sworn off years ago.  Indeed, my efforts to be involved were far more successful than I had ever anticipated, and my "resolution" outlived the life expectancy of a resolution by nearly twelve-fold! 

The life happened. . . I moved, work schedules conflicted with activities, and old habits set back in again. 

Reflecting on last years success, and recently realizing I know absolutely no one in my current ward, I decided I might as well try out some sort of similar goal for this new year.  I mean, last year's resolution was blessed with such a long happy life, so why not attempt it again.

. . .

This morning I was hit with an enthusiastic desire to tackle some tasks of productivity which I had been avoiding.  Particularly, our kitchen has been suffering from post holiday overcrowding, and an odor problem which apparently I (who usually have an almost none existent sense of smell) could smell.  Eager to rectify the situation, I set about a thorough purge, which along with some other cleaning tasks, resulted in a couple of trash bags to be taken down stairs to the dumpsters which also seem to be suffering from post holiday over-crowding. 

After a day full of studying, purging, and more studying, I was nonetheless determined to stick to my goal of social re-acclimatization, so at a quarter after seven, I bundled up, locked the house, and set off to Family Home Evening, grabbing the bags of trash to take down on my way out.  Upon hefting the second bag of trash into the giant trash bin, my ears were alerted to an ominous clank, clank, clank, thud emanating from the trash, and all at once I had two epiphanies simultaneously.

1.  Never wear gloves when taking out the trash.  It may prevent your fingers from freezing off, but it also prevents tactile reminders of anything else that may be in your hands.

2.  After locking the door, properly secure keys in pocket, belt strap, teeth- pretty much anything other than your hands before grabbing trash bags.

Two simple steps can prevent this:  half an hour of dumpster diving in the dark at below freezing temperature. 

Fortunately a wonderful couple I work in the temple with, who live just the next building over came to my rescue, my keys were recovered, and I am home, warm, and freshly showered. 

Keys- with 15 year old key chain I would have been sad to loose

Productivity: FAIL  New Years Resolution: FAIL

Life: 23489285798679420  Me: 0

Tomorrow I think I shall plan to be just ordinary.