You know. Windows and the such. The back of our apartments look like this:
Oh look! More windows! My kitchen window is about 20ish feet from yours. Your attempt at doing the robot was funny. I chuckled. I knew you could see me eating my chips and salsa. I thought, oh what fun neighbors we are! It was getting dark. My blinds were open. And so were yours. My kitchen light was on. So was yours. I was talking to my roommate. You were talking to yours.
And then, you decided to moon your roommate.
There you were, just wagging your white rump at whoever else was in the room. Kudos for doing a little dance while your bum cheeks enjoyed a little fresh air. They should really rethink the placement of windows between men's and women's apartments. Thankfully, I only caught a side view of your atrocious fanny flaunting performance.
And then, we decided to close our blinds.
You can kiss any neighborly feelings that may have ever existed between my eyes and your bum goodbye. We are through.
Boy: "Ya I know (pause). But its good for grabbing people."
Me: " ... "
...followed by my uncontrollable laughter.
Then. He grabbed my arm. He wasn't kidding. He seriously could have snapped my wrist in half with one hand. Super creepy. But also kind of awesome.
P.s. I know both of these people really well. But it probably would have been cooler if some creep off the street grabbed my arm in a ferocious manner. The end.
We did a dating panel a couple weeks ago for a church activity. For one part of it, we passed out papers to all the boys in Sunday School and asked them to write down things they like about girls and the positive things girls can do in the dating world. My roommate was in charge of compiling all the data. She ran up to my room and had me look at this piece of paper:
"Just Be Yourself
Kristin Booth does a great job at this. She is a great example. (I really appreciate you for this Kristin.)"
Sigh. Totally unsolicited and completely awesome compliment by an anonymous young man?
Why does it matter so much? Why is my self esteem inversely related to the fluctuation of my dress size? Why does it have that kind of power? Why do even the nicest of boys put things like "FP" on their list of things to avoid in future spouses. What is "FP" you ask? It stands for "Fat Potential." As in, the likelihood that a certain girl will let herself go and end up being a fat wife. Because heaven forbid she gain a single pound after bearing children and dealing with life and the stress of motherhood.
I learned about "FP" tonight while talking to a couple of guys who I thought the world of.
Several things in the last week have eroded my faith in humanity and snapped the last skinny little thread I've been hanging onto my self confidence with. Not to mention the nearly complete obliteration of my belief that it just may be possible for someone to fall in love with me exactly the way I am. But no, not in this town. I have Fat Potential written all over my thighs and I always will.
I was organizing the files on my computer today and I came across this gem. It's a recording of Brad singing "I Thought I Loved You Then" at his concert in September. Don't worry. Lisa and I are in the frontest front row. We comment during this video accordingly. Also, the audio picked up some man singing it horribly who was standing next to us. And Brad looked at him like, dude: shut the freak up. Just watch the whole thing. You won't be sorry.
If you are realllllly hot and sweaty, do not sit by me. Especially if I'm next to the wall. When you take off your coat, hot air wafts toward me like you are a human space heater. You make me feel like I'm trapped in a sweaty oven with your hair. PLUS. You keep poking me with your notebook. Please respect the armrest as an invisible cootie barrier. You are ruining my life.
Here is a list of things I observed on campus today that made me chuckle and shake my head.
A seriel commenter (you know the type) in my religion class felt that he needed to go on a 5 minute rant about the history of fornication. Because, you know, he, being extremely well versed in the ways of the world as a 23 year old BYU student, felt that he needed to augment my many-times published professor's lecture on First Thessalonians. Thank you for that, you fornication-crazed maniac.
Several students in my Infant Development class halted the progression of the slide show on human reproduction because they "....just didn't get how it worked." That would be understandable if this were say, the puberty lecture we all got in the 5th grade. But no. The maddeningly frequent questions were being asked by girls only a little bit younger than me who HAVE BEEN MARRIED FOR YEARS AND HAVE ALREADY BORN CHILDREN. I kid you not. Only at BYU.
Sometimes, I like to sit in the JFSB in front of the international studies office and watch the International news they have playing on three large flat-screen TVs. One channel was in Arabic, one was Japanese, and the third was tuned in to CNN. The Arabic channel was boring and didn't have any news anchors. Just a series of static pictures and crazy text. The Japanese channel was running a story on the oldest couple to ever complete a marathon. It was an 83 year old Japanese man and his 78 year old wife. They were the cutest little old runners ever. They were totally fit, and both sported hot-pink track suits. A sort of team uniform, if you will. And he totally wore a hot pink fanny pack. I think it is amazing that people SOOOO OLD can be so fit. And then there was CNN. Airing footage of Punxutawney Phil wriggling around in some presenter's hand. Apparently, PETA wants to replace the groundhog's day groundhog with a ROBOT because it's inhumane to keep a groundhog in captivity. Way to go, America. Your news is lame.
And of course. The BYU couple that looked like 10 year olds who were loitering in front of the vending machine while I was waiting to purchase a quick Fresca before class. He wouldn't stop kissing her, and she couldn't figure out HOW TO PUT THE MONEY IN THE MACHINE. Move it or lose it, babies. Mama needs some bubbley.
This was said by a usually extremely polite boy. I admit I'm a little disappointed I didn't come up with it myself. Great right?
Don't worry Dad, he wasn't coming on to me. And sorry Mom, he wasn't coming on to me. He is just a buddy. I was going to just make this a short little quote of the day, but now all these less endearing references to derrieres keep popping into my head. Especially this one which was widely propagated by a Ms. Salt and Ms. Peppa circa the early 90's:
"I wanna thank yo' motha for a butt like that."
Unfortunately, no one can thank my mother for a butt like that. And well, you can't stop the blog wheels in my head once they start turning. I feel that at this time I need to squash the widespread and automatic assumption that certain assets have maternal origins. The Booth Butt is just that, a genetically Booth trait. A family heirloom, if you will. It is passed down from generation to generation, manifesting itself more prominently in some than in others. I'm sure I could scrape up some candid family photos depicting my point, but I feel that would embarrass far too many people and at least one of them would attempt to assassinate me. Maybe someday I'll dedicate an entire scrapbook to the subject and keep it privately and safely confined away from the viral spread of humiliating information known as the internet. And if I were a more crass individual I would point out the well rounded appearance of several words in this paragraph that contain the letters s, a, and s.... used right next to each other and in a better order. Have fun going back and looking for them. I know you will.
I used to think that I had somehow managed to escape the inheritance of the mark of the Booth. When I was in junior high I was extremely fit and tiny. Sometimes I even mourned the absence of curves in a certain bodily geometric plane. But when this commercial came out, I inwardly rejoiced.
Once I got to high school not a whole lot changed, although I did possess hips and thighs that inspired certain HILARIOUS (no wait, obnoxious) boys to set in motion stories such as this. Still. Not really a Booth Butt.
Then. I went to college. And discovered Nutella. My weight has fluctuated in the last 5 years between 150 and 195 pounds. Right now the needle on the scale rests somewhere in the middle and I don't care to discuss it. The point is this:
Of all the weight I've gained (or lost) over the years, hardly any of it has ever taken up residence in my midsection. I'm about 25 pounds overweight right now. Welcome, Booth Butt. You have found your place with me at last.
First of all... why are there so many dirty nasty men in the world?
Second of all..... why do the worst of the worst get their own dating game shows? I saw a clip of one today.
Third of all, what kind of man hooks his potential girlfriends (as if the plural nature of the phrase "potential girlfriends" weren't bad enough) up to a polygraph?
Fourth of all, what exactly is the initial screening process for female contestants? I really don't think there is one. If there were, the girl questioned in the manner below would not have made it on. Hopefully.
One contestant answered "no" to all of the following questions:
"Do you have a current boyfriend?"
"Do you still do drugs?" (Still?!?)
"Have you ever had a pimp?" (asked in all seriousness)
She failed the polygraph test. Does it really matter which of those questions she was lying about?
I met a new boy today. He seemed pretty cool... EXCEPT... every time we made eye contact he started blinking uncontrollably. I seriously almost laughed in his face like 3 times.
What's a girl to do?
Obviously, he's just unaccustomed to viewing devastating beauties such as myself up close in real life.
"...when a man and a woman fall in love they decide that they want to have a baby, then they send a letter to the baby headmaster requesting him to release a baby into their care, the headmaster deliberates and chooses a candidate baby that matches the needs of the man and woman and calls a stork and has it deliver the baby to the man and woman. Then there are other times that orders get mixed up and a baby gets delivered to the man and woman without them requesting it..."
You have a gross mustache, and you are short. I was just trying to be polite by saying "hi" in passing. Didn't your mother ever teach you that it is impolite to stare? Especially if you link the awkwardly prolonged eye contact with an inquiry as to an individuals price. I am not a hooker. Do not ask me "how much" I am. Do not circle me like a buzzard as I walk by. And get your hand off your dirty goatee encrusted chin. Pull that shh again and I will destroy your manhood.
Lets talk about singles wards in Provo, shall we? My ward is awesome. There are a ton of nice girls and a bunch of non-lame guys. I like my ward a ton. And we get to meet in this cute little building!
That being said. Lets talk about the intricacies of seating in the chapel of a singles ward. In the BYU dating world, where you sit during church often flags your avaiability to prospective daters. As lame as it sounds, it is kind of true. Let me enlighten you:
If you are sitting by only your roommates, you are not dating anyone in the ward.
If one boy is sitting with you and your roommates, you are either engaged to that boy, or you are just friends with that boy. Easily determined by the presence of an engagement ring.
If you are sitting by your roommates and several boys, you MAY be casually dating one of those boys.
If you are sitting by boys and NOT by your roommate, you are either A) not friends with your roommate or B) you are dating one of those boys.
And finally, if you are a girl, sitting by a boy and all of his roommates, without an of your roommates, and the boy has his arm around you, you are exclusively dating that boy, and any other guy who tries to date you will have to deal with the said boy AND his roommates.
Therefore:
If I am not dating you, do not surround me with your roommates and/or put your arm around me for any period of time during Sacrament Meeting. You just took me off the market without my consent. Not cool. But you did smell good, and you are really good looking, so whatever.
I am severely underimpressed with guys who try really hard to impress girls with their guitar skills. It is one thing to share your talents. It is another thing to try to woo every passing female with your talents. Especially, say, in an office setting. That is all.
