The Gateway Drug

It's a habit that spreads like a wildfire, consuming forests in hellish flames. It's an addiction that can't be fixed with rehab. It's a comfort food, you know, the one you hide from all of your roommates. Something you probably thought was going to be completely unnecessary until disaster strikes, like a space blanket. It's that song you listen to on repeat for six days in a row. That piece of clothing you love and always find a way to wear it twice in a week without someone noticing.

What is this habit, you ask?

I'll tell you: cuddling.

I mean, think about it. It falls into all those afore mentioned clichés. You know it does, stop lying to yourself. Here's why it fits: Once you start, you can't stop. You're hooked from the beginning. It's a habit you don't necessarily share with all your friends, you hide it like your food but they all know you do it. It's something you tell yourself you don't need until suddenly heartbreak hits or stress from work finally catches up with you and this is the only way to calm down. It's common practice. It's about as common a practice for humans as farting is. No need to lie, we all know everyone farts. That's a subject for another day.

It's become so commonplace that whenever one goes on a date, or just to hang out with someone, that it is not just thought about, it's expected. E X P E C T E D. Even if you're not interested in the person! Seriously society?

Why is this suddenly a subject for the blog? Well, let me tell you.

I'm not afraid to admit I have a Tinder profile, and I use it actively. This, I am not ashamed of. I've got plenty of friends (whether they choose to admit it or not) that have met their spouses and significant others from Tinder. If you don't know what this is, allow me to elaborate. Tinder is an online dating app. Individuals set up a profile with up to six pictures of themselves to catch people's attention. You have the option of putting in a clever little blurb about yourself to explain your purpose on Tinder, what you like, what you don't like, etc. So, long story short... people will look at the first picture and swipe right for yes, left for no. It's simple really. It's more proof that people are extremely shallow, but hey, I use it so I fall in this category.  Now, let's all be honest about another Tinder habit. It's used for hookups and everyone knows that. Whether that means you're going over for a steamy one night stand, or the good-kid LDS version of that where we make out pretty passionately and then you invite me to leave because you feel guilty. Those are the two extremes.  Obviously, not every encounter falls within these categories, but you get the picture. And hopefully a free meal or fun activity comes with the underlying invite to stay the night.

So, because of a rather awkward Tinder date I had the other night, the idea from this post was born. I'm the kind of person that thinks a lot on dates. I read the other person's body language; are they interested in me subconsciously? Does their body say this? What do I need to be prepared for when we get back to his place? I think, a lot. It's honestly a bad habit of mine. But I think that everyone is guilty at one point or another on a date of thinking too much. Sometimes we think ourselves into a corner and realize in the end we aren't actually attracted to this person. AT ALL.

This was the case for the date I went on the other day. I had been at my parent's house that night, and he had requested to take me out. So, I allowed him to come pick me up from their house. Now, we had matched on Tinder, so obviously I had found his photos attractive enough to swipe right. This kid, and I say that because that's exactly the picture I'm about to paint for you of this poor chap, was a sight to see. He texts me when he arrived at the house; I had banished my parents to the kitchen so they wouldn't make things awkward. I'm 22, I don't need my parents hovering over a first date. And a Tinder date, no less. Those don't always end up counting in the long run. So, I exited the house to see a rather ragged old beater truck at the end of the drive. No big deal, I don't care if he drives a crappy car. I'm missing half of my bumper, who am I to talk? It was when he stepped out of the truck that I should have just pretended to eat shit on the pavement and say "Hey, I'm injured. Maybe another night." and then never text him again. He's at least three inches shorter than me. Huge turn off. A little chubby. Not a big deal, I'm a little chubby sometimes. He's got a baby face. Turn off to the Nth degree. He was younger than me it turns out... the age on his profile was wrong. I'm not terribly picky about people being younger than me, unless it's significantly so. He's my little sister's age. He's got braces. NOPE. Stupid cliché hipster hair cut. Like, seriously? You couldn't have been a little bit original?

And then he speaks.

I wasn't sure at first if the voice was a joke, and he was trying to be cute, or if it was for real.

He sounded like he was still waiting to go through puberty, for heaven's sake!

So, not only does he look like he's ten, he sounds like he's ten.

I've come too far. He's opened the truck door and I've already slid into the seat. I've reached the point of no return. So, I suck it up. There's free ice cream in this for me. After grabbing ice cream he then takes me back to his place. We're alone, there's no one else home. Well, crap. So, I suggested the least romantic movie I could think of. Galaxy Quest. I sat on the far end of the couch, hoping I had said enough with my body that I wasn't interested, but apparently he didn't catch on to these signals. He literally grabbed my arm ten minutes into the movie and dragged me into his lap. Rape? Is that where this was headed? No. Obviously not, but that's what I had thought. I was not interested. There were no chemical reactions rushing through my brain screaming about the desire I had to kiss this kid. Clearly these signals were working at a rapidly mutating rate in this boy's mind. He adjusted himself so he could lift my chin and steal a kiss. Panic mode had set in at this point. My mind was racing, and not in a good way. I kept thinking... my thought process has been detailed with the following points:

• This can't be happening. Why did you agreed to come back to his place?
• Did this make me a pedophile? He looks like he's ten...
• I should have gotten another flavor of ice cream. The cheesecake was creating a really odd after taste.
• Oh hey! I love this part.
• Hmm, if Tim Allen bends over without his pants on.... oh. There's Tim's junk.
• I should really buy the latest Little Big Town album.
• Oh no. He's shifting. He's going in for the kiss.
• NO. No. No. No. No.
• He's trying to hold my hand. Move it. No not that way! That's too close to his junk. Up. Well, shit, now he's got my hand.
• He graduated with my sister. This is not happening.
• Aaaaaand there's the hand under the chin. He thinks he's getting a kiss.
• I need to tell you that he did try to kiss me. I promptly told him no. I also lied and said I'm the kind of girl that doesn't kiss on the first date. LIES.
• Well, now I think things are settled. Maybe I could sit up...
• Hey, my phone just went off. I wonder who that is. Too bad it's across the room and I can't check.
• Ew, he's breathing on me. And his breath smells like a dead animal.
• There's my phone again.... I need to answer it.
• Please, please stop breathing on me.
• Don't kiss my forehead. Stop.
• Phone.
• I should text Shane and see what he's doing.
• Escape plan, come up with an escape plan.

My escape plan was to tell him I had to pick my brother up from work... Now it was time to execute it. My phone, thankfully, went off a third time and I stood up. My dad had texted me to make fun of me for the little boy I was out with. So, I sighed and said: "Hey, I was at my parents house because they needed me to pick my brother up from work because his car is out in the shop right now and they didn't want to stay up late. He got off earlier than I planned. Can you take me home?" So he did. Tried to hold my hand on the way to his car. I didn't let him. And we drove in silence. Mostly. I was singing along to the radio to avoid a conversation.

So there's my story. I asked my friends and co-workers to add their input to this post, and I have to say, there are a lot of really funny things that people think while cuddling. I hope that you can find this post both relatable and entertaining to one degree or another. The following are thoughts that I have collected from friends and family. Congrats if you made the list! Also, thanks for sharing, this was really fun to put together.

Thoughts While Cuddling:

• I don't even know what's happening in this movie. I'll have to watch it again later.
• Should I touch the butt?
• Can we switch? I really want to be little spoon.
• I wonder if this would go anywhere... what if we started dating?
• I can't feel my arm... I wonder if I told them it was numb and readjusted if that would kill the mood?
• This is good. This is nice. I like this.
• I think I forgot to change over the laundry. If I come home and they just put my wet clothes in my basket again I'll kill them.
• I should have eaten more/less.
• This is not comfortable, but I don't want to move.
• Her hair keeps getting in my face. Seriously, stop moving.
• Are they asleep?
• Cuddling is DANGEROUS. This is a gateway drug. This is certainly going to lead to other things.
• I need to pee, but I don't know where the bathroom is.
• I wonder if my/their roommates are going to walk in on us.
• I wonder how quick we could get to the bedroom.
• I wonder what so-and-so is doing?
• Oh man, I just twitched. I hope they think's it's cute.
• Is this gonna lead up to us making out?
• Maybe if I leave my head close to theirs, they'll kiss me.
• This is awkward.... but do I really wanna make out after this? Ehh.... yeah, probably.
• Not feeling it. If I fall asleep time will go by faster.
• This is almost as good as sex. It's probably better sometimes. Yeah...only sometimes.
• Don't get a boner. Don't.
• Would it be awkward if I told them they need to go home now?
• Well, if we fall asleep on the couch the roommates can't be mad, right? We're in the living room.
• If I don't come home tonight would my roommates think I got murdered? What if they are a murderer? I could die tonight.
• I'm hungry. My stomach is gonna growl.... oh... there it is. Did they feel that? Was it loud?
• I wonder if she would care if I played with her hair? 

Dance Like No One is Watching

Car dancing.

It's something that everyone does whether they choose to admit it or not.

I am a shameless car dancer. But not only do I dance, I sing. I don't care what people think in the cars around me. My work day is over, I'm playing my favorite songs, and you're never gonna stop me! Why is this a topic of conversation today? Well, thank you for asking. Today, as I was driving home from work (I always take the long way on state street when I wanna jam out) with my windows down enjoying the sun and mildly warm weather, I turned on my new favorite album. Montevallo by Sam Hunt. It's one of those things that everyone must dance to. If you're a fan of country music, you need to check it out. Even if you're not, you need to check it out. It's just enough country with a refreshing twist. I don't care if you don't like country. It's dance music!

So, what else to do? I danced! And sang, like no one was watching.

Well, people were.

A car full of attractive men, might I add.

But did this stop me? No. I turned my music up louder and rocked out harder. I should probably let you know that despite my awesome head banging, seat bouncing, and hair whipping, I do drive safely. I keep my eyes open at all times, unless stopped at a light. Then that's go time. The light is red, and you better be dancing like it's your last thee minutes and ten seconds on Earth. If you can't do that, I'm pretty sure we can't be friends. Life is about enjoying the little things. This means you must dance. So, that's what I did. At this light where these guys met up with me, and watched this whole time, I didn't even care that people could see me, or hear me singing just as loud as I could so I could hear myself over the music (sorry if you were anywhere near me. Normally my voice is near angelic [another terrible lie] but today it was sub par). These guys kept time with me for at least two songs until I pulled into a gas station and they pulled in behind me.

Now, I did have a small panic attack based on my experience with a rather frightening road-rager following me home last week and threatening to hurt me. I was a little afraid, but these guys got out of the car and walked up to my windows and leaned in so they could see me. Their eyes were a little glistened over like they had been crying or something.

"That," this guy says to me, laughing pretty hard, "Was probably the best thing I've ever seen."

"We're leaving for summer sales today, and that was the best way to start this road trip." Another said.

As payment for my entertainment they filled my tank and bought me a Monster.

Perhaps I should become a professional Car Dancer. Seems to be a fruitful career.

Cheers to Inconsistency!

*glass clink*

I had to. I couldn't stop myself. The joke was set up in the title.

But the title speaks the truth. I look at this blog and I look over the things I've written in the past and think to myself: I'm so damn funny, look at all the humorous situations I walk in on. I must be blessed. Now, it's true that sometimes these encounters are random (meaning sometimes they're not and I've actually just changed the names of my friends so they have no clue I'm talking about them [surprise!]), and often I see many things I could write about in a day. Sometimes though, my fingers get lazy and my brain doesn't want to expound eloquently on the encounters I have witnessed.

So here's what's next.

No more promises I can't keep.

No more saying I'm going to post consistently.

No more beating myself up because I'm not entertaining the masses.

No more... I don't know I just needed to type another sentence to complete the stack.


So cheers. Cheers to inconsistency and weirdness. Cheers to abnormality. Cheers to being you.

That's what makes this blog work. Just the human interactions that make life so entertaining. And not so entertaining. I can't say that everything will go smoothly from here. I'll certainly try to be entertaining as often and regularly as possible. But I'm not making any promises.

So now let's get to what you all came here for. The stories!!!

I've recently started a new job that dives deep into the customer service aspect of a business. If you know me, you already know where I work. I don't need to explain it to the internet. But this has to do with a different side of my job. The side of my job that I don't get paid for. The observation part.... I've always been really entertained with people that go to the gym on a regular basis. Those guys who yell "gains!" over and over while they work out. The guys that are looking for their "swolemate" as they call it. This search leads to some really entertaining interactions.

Guys (and girls) go to the gym for two reasons. 1. To work out and actually improve their physical health and mental health and all those really great reasons. Namaste. And 2. to pick up chicks (or get hit on by meat heads to boost egos in the case of girls). Now remember, all you who are reading this, please don't be offended by my opinions. That's all they are, opinions and everyone is entitled to their own. That being said, I'm going to continue. Today, we're discussing the people who use the gym for reason two. This seems to be an ever increasing "thing." I've noticed more and more girls coming to the gym in full make up and their hair done up beautifully for no reason at all. But the reason is this: they know if they come into the gym and put minimal effort into walking on a treadmill, or lifting some free weights so that she'll get some guy's attention. And believe me when I say they've zeroed in on her like a hawk from the moment that she enters the facility.

It looks a little something like this.


From that point forward there's a sort of silent competition between any of the males at the gym that have noticed her. It's a ride or die situation. And no, I didn't misuse that term. That's the end goal. Let's be honest. But you can't just go running across the gym to get next to her and strike up a conversation. The progression from wherever the person was at to wherever they need to be turns into the most awkward land race I've ever witnessed. He has to keep working out and acting natural while keeping his eye on her, and her other potential "suitors." Reps get faster, louder, more attention grabbing. Whatever it takes for her to notice. And don't think she hasn't got her eye on the few people she deems suitable for herself. She's marked them in her crosshairs once she got through the door and twitched her way all the way over to the step climber.

Let the games begin!

I watched this happen the other day during my lunch break. She game bounding through the door, Victoria's Secret sports bra, freshly tanned skin and a gaudy navel piercing, and went straight to the treadmills. She had given the head nod (you know the one) to a few people as she passed them. I'm not going to say that they were complete strangers, but they very well may have been. There was an awkward clamor over the floor, past a few machines as one rather muscular dude made his way toward her. The guy couldn't even put his arms down by his sides. What kind of life is that? That's another topic for another day. So, moving right along. Captain Swole beat out his competition by passing along rather threatening glances at anyone that was moving toward her. They all backed down pretty easily. I was a little upset about it, to be honest.

So he swaggers (because that's what Bros do) up to the treadmill and she doesn't even skip a beat. She dismounts the machine and starts chatting him up. The talk gets really flirty, as he body language changes severely from "I'm here until you come and get me and I'll pretend to look busy and know what I'm doing." to "Yes, yes, just ask me for my number and invite me over later. Sooooooo yeah."

And then they either leave the gym together, neither of them really having worked out at all, or they exchange information and who knows what happens after that. I can only assume they've found their douche "swolemate" and Captain and Mrs. Swole will live happily ever after.

Why is this a thing? I'll never know. I go to the gym to work out. And at that, I don't do it often. But when I'm there, I'm in a grungy tee and shorts, I've got my headphones in and you better leave me alone. You want to meet me? Wait till I'm done with my workout.

So, here's to humans being weird.