The Glory and Pitfalls of Writing

I must make a comment on my last blog entitled "Who's your Daddy Now???" That you may find has been deleted, so if you have not already read it, you won't.

One of the things that I love so much about writing, is that I can write, then think about it, then change things, then write some more. Then, when everything is said and done, I have come across the way I intended.

However, as I have noticed with my own blog, I write and edit and then post it. Then when I come back later, I find what I had written, that I thought was so brilliant, sends a completely different message than I intended (or maybe just needs a lot more editing).

This is the case with "Who's Your Daddy Now???" wrong message, needs editing. It is a story that I would like to write, but I think it will take more time and effort than a blog requires.

But, if you did happen to read it, I will summarize the ending:

Assistant Manager gave me his number to call him if I found someone to cover his shift. When he gave me his number he said, "You know you can call that any time." And then he laughed as though he were joking, but I knew he wasn't, and that made me feel all tingly inside.

I couldn't find anyone, so I called him to tell him as much. I wasn't sure what I was expecting when I called him, confessions of love, fireworks, uncontrollable giggling. . . anyway, it was an ordinary conversation, straight to the point, and then it was over. But I left his number in my phone, just in case.

Can I tell you how that number tempted me day in and day out? Every morning before work and every evening after work I thought about texting him, and what I would say. I always had something to ask him or tell him, but I was trying to resist.

Then one night, when I was watching a movie with Roommate K, I was agonizing over a stressful date earlier that day. I hated dating!!!! I hated everything!!!! I was stressed out to the point of tears, and I tried talking out my stress with Roommate K, but no matter what I did I still wanted to text Assistant Manager and ask him how he was doing. He had been sick for a couple of days.

So during the movie I picked up my cell phone, and easy as technology, I texted him. He answered right back. I continued writing him throughout the movie, and he would always answer back, and thus my stress melted away, and by the end of the movie I was smiling.

Over the course of several days, this war I had been fighting myself, to resist him forever, had given way to peace as we continued talking and texting each other all night and all day, then seeing each other at work and pretending like everything was the same as it had always been. That became the difficult part.

Roommate K told me one day, "When I think about how unhappy you were when you were trying not to like him, and then how happy you are since you've let yourself like him, I am glad you two are together."

Well, the "together" part didn't happen for a while. For the moment our relationship consisted of texting and talking, and only seeing each other on a professional level.

We didn't get together until one special day that neither of us had planned.

A Prank Turned Funny

When I was 12 years old, and would sit for hours in Young Women with my friends, we would get bored and play pranks on the people sitting in front of us by pulling their hairs out one by one.

This is a terrific prank because the person doesn't realize someone is pulling a prank on them, their hair just pulls and their scalp itches and they feel generally uncomfortable, and we get a great laugh out of it. Then they catch on and turn around to either glare or smile, depending on their disposition.

One day I couldn't get enough of this prank, so when I went into Sacrament meeting and my little brothers made their heads available, I began plucking their hair.

I plucked and plucked waiting for them to move away or tell me to stop, but instead Brother S, Brother T and Brother F all sat perfectly still while I plucked one hair at a time out of their heads. When I grew tired of my "prank" and wanted to stop, they told me to keep going.

That was 17 years ago! To this day, when I sit with my brothers in Sacrament meeting they offer me their scalps and say, "Pick my hair." If they are with a friend, they tell their friend about the amazing novelty of hair picking and offer my services.

After 17 years I am a little tired of hair picking, but the requests never end. I think that is a taste of poetic justice, or maybe just irony.

Conan and the Polygamist

Every year in my undergraduate studies, everyone in my major had the opportunity to go to New York City for a week if they desired. In New York they would visit high end retail establishments to find out how they work, and what it takes to make it big in the big apple. One year I decided to take advantage of this opportunity, and I paid to go to The City with a gang of giggling girls, also known as my peers.

Once I got there, I wondered why I had come. I didn't want to work in retail. I didn't have any friends who were going. I don't like to party hardy. And I don't have much interest in New York in general. But by the time I figured all this out, it was far too late to back out. So I went with it.

I just so happened to become really good friends with my roommate on the first day, and we went everywhere together. That made one aspect of it not so bad.

This friend also happened to have four tickets to the Conan O'Brian show, and asked if I would like to go. I shrugged, sure, why not?

So my friend and I, and two others went off at three in the afternoon to the studio. We went from a bright and promising day, into a dark building where time and freedom seemed to disappear as they locked a great heavy door behind us. Then sat us in hard, unyeilding chairs.

We sat there, a crowd of strangers, in a dark room, with a few can lights shining on us, and unpowered microphones in our faces. We attempted conversation, but it was soon quelled as a small man flanked by two large men appeared in front of us. He gave us the low down, was witty, clever, and then tried being our friend.

"Who here is from out of state?" he asked.

I raised my hand.

"Where are you from?" he asked me.

I told him.

"Oh yes, the land of Mormons. . . How many husbands do you have?"

I told him I had twenty.

"Just one?" he apparently hadn't heard me very well. "Is this your husband?" He asked pointing to the strange man sitting next to me.

"No," I repeated loudly, "I have twenty."

He stopped his monologue and just stared at me, obviously not knowing how to respond. Then simply turned to someone else, and changed the subject.

I thought my response was quite clever and funny, and I was feeling okay about it until later when another girl from our gang, a girl who had not been to the Conan show asked me why I had responded that way.

"You made us all look stupid," she said angrily. "They probably thought you were serious." Then she turned away.

This took me off gaurd. What sensible person would think I was serious? And who was she? I had never talked to her before in my life, why was she yelling at me? What a ho!

I thought she was stupid, and I thought the guy's question was stupid, so he go a stupid answer. And that's all I have to say about that.