Caller Unknown

This morning I was woken up by a phone call.  I’ve said this before, but I’m really, really not a morning person.  I’m really groggy, I don’t think clearly, and my voice is lower than normal.  This morning it was a friend returning my call from a few days ago.  I rolled over in my cot and answered the phone.   The conversation went something like this:

Friend: Hi Ben!
Me: Hello… (I tried to make my voice sound normal, but I still had my retainers in and I had a bad case of morning voice.)
Friend: Did I wake you up?
Me:  Oh, that’s great!
Friend: …
Me: I mean, yes.  Yes you did.

I’m often confused and disoriented when I wake up and I guess my default response to a question is “Oh, that’s great!” because that’s what I said before my brain processed the question asked by my friend.

A few days ago I was woken up by a phone call as well, but this call was from a number I didn’t recognize.  I answered the phone and it was some guy calling from the BYU counseling center offering me $20 to take a survey online.  I’ve taken many BYU surveys for free and I was definitely willing to do one for money.  I was still pretty asleep when he asked, “Would you be willing to take 30 minutes to do an online survey for $20?”  I responded, “I love $20.”  He then verified my email address and let me go back to sleep.

I had only been asleep for a few minutes when I got another call from another number I didn’t recognize.  Still groggy, I answered the phone.  The woman on the phone explained that she was so-and-so’s sister and that I’d met her and so-and-so’s surprise birthday party two months ago.  My sleepy mind tried to figure out what was happening, but it was struggling.  She went on to say that there was a girl at church that she thought would be perfect for me and she wanted me to take her out so she asked her if she would go out with me, got my number from so-and-so, and called me.  That’s when I realized that this near stranger was setting me up on a blind date and had gone to great lengths to do so.  My sleepy response was, “Wow, this is very brave of you.  You don’t even know me.  Yeah, I’ll go out with your friend.”  She gave me her friend’s number and then I crawled back into my cot.

My last story happened last night.  A friend called me to tell me that she had left a secret Santa gift on someone’s porch.  She asked me to text the person to let her know that there was a gift on her front porch.  She wanted me to send the text so that the text would come from an unknown caller.  Later last night my friend emailed me this girl’s Facebook status.  Here’s what it said:

“Nothing like waking up from a nap and letting your dog out to go potty only to find two gifts outside your front door to yourself.  Then checking your phone and seeing you got a text from a number you don’t recognize saying ‘There is a gift on your front porch. ~Santa.”  I got a huge fleece blanket and a beautiful outfit… Yes I opened them early Santa!  HEHE Man I am feeling loved and the Christmas spirit!!!  Thank you Santa!!!”

You’re welcome, stranger.  I purposely used a squiggly line in front of Santa’s name because I thought it seemed more Santa-like than a boring old dash.

So if you get a call from an unknown number, don’t be afraid to answer.  You might just get a date, twenty dollars, or a gift from Santa.  And if you sleep in past 9:00 am you're likely to get woken up by a phone call.

Scrawny Jeans

It feels so good to be done with my first semester at the University of Arizona and to be back in Washington for Christmas.  It’s been awhile since I last blogged because the end of the semester was slightly hectic.

Today I went shopping with the Kecks, one of my second families.  We stopped by the Levi’s store to look for jeans and as usual I was having trouble finding jeans in my size.  Apparently few people are as lanky as I am (it would be so much easier if I just got a little tubbier).  One of the sales people started looking for jeans in my size without my soliciting his help.  He was unsuccessful and sincerely apologized.  Since there were no jeans that I wanted Nathan, my 18 year old friend, recommended that I try on a pair of skinny jeans.  I wasn’t planning on buying any skinny jeans, but I thought it’d be funny to try some on just like it’d be funny to try on a do-rag or a cardigan, but I’d never buy such a thing.

I went into the fitting room and wriggled my way into the jeans.  I examined myself in the mirror and thought I looked pretty absurd.  I left the fitting room and went into the main part of the store to show the Kecks how funny I looked.  I was totally expecting them to disapprove of the skinny jeans because Nathan wears skater clothes, Lisa shops at Ann Taylor, and Brad was about to buy a pair of jeans that had just been described as “unflattering.”  I was bum-puzzled when they all loved the jeans.  The conversation went something like this:

Me: They’re too tight.
Lisa: They look really good.  I like them.
Nathan: I like them, too.
Me: But I can’t move.
Brad: They really do look good.
Me: But you can see the curvature of my butt!
Lisa: That’s kind of the point.

At this point two male sales associates joined in on the conversation.  They were the kind of people that wear tight jeans rolled up at the bottom, v-neck shirts, have pierced ears, and wear Toms.  They both insisted that I looked awesome, too.  I didn’t know what to do so I started spouting excuses for not being able to wear the jeans such as, “I can’t wear skinny jeans; I’m a Republican!”  I also tried to explain that my legs are so skinny that the idea that fabric was touching all sides of my leg at the same time seemed unseemly.  But they wouldn’t have any of it and insisted that I looked great.

I eventually waddled away from the conversation pretending like the jeans were so tight that I couldn’t walk properly in them.  After struggling to get out of them I tried to hand them to Amanda, the lady guarding the fitting rooms.  She told me that the jeans made me look sexy (that’s quite a feat, let me tell you) and wouldn’t take them.  I tried to give them to her and she would not take them.  Lisa walked over, grabbed the jeans and said that she would be buying them for me as Christmas present because if she gave them to me then I’d be obligated to wear them.  I had been defeated.

As we looked around the store a bit more I said to Lisa, “Are you going to make me wear v-neck shirts, too?”  One of the sales associates wearing a v-neck overheard and said, “You could totally rock a v-neck.”  I decided to stop mentioning clothes before they picked out an entire wardrobe for me that I didn’t want.

When people ask me what I want for Christmas this year I’ve been saying, “All I want is some new socks.”  They had a great sale on socks so I bought a pack of six for $2.  I had unexpectedly been gifted a pair of jeans that I thought made me look ridiculous, but at least I left with the only thing I wanted for Christmas.

When I got home I told my sister that the Kecks had bought me a pair of skinny jeans.  She was horrified.  That’s no exaggeration, she was actually horrified.  So many mixed signals tonight.  I guess some people just don’t want to see the curvature of my butt.

The Dangers of Being Tall

In 2011 I made a goal to make my bed every day that year, and I did it.  I decided to continue that goal this year and I did a great job of doing it until I moved to Arizona.  For some reason Arizona has made me a little lazier than I used to be (but only a little).  I recently decided to get back on the horse and start making my bed again.

The aftermath of my height-induced accident

On Friday morning Kevin and I were chatting as he was getting ready to leave for work and I was getting ready to leave for school.  While we were talking I started making my bed.  I must be a violent sleeper because when I wake up in the morning my bed is far from made.  Often my blanket is wadded up at the end of bed.  I started straightening out my blanket as one would lay out a picnic blanket, by waving one end up and down.  Directly over my bed there’s a fan with a light fixture on it.  I have hit the fan numerous times while changing my shirt which usually results in me yelling out in pain, depending on how fast the blades are going.  While I was straightening my blanket my hand hit the dangly thing you pull on to turn the fan and lights on and off.  I hit it with such force that it flew into one of the light fixtures and shattered it causing shards of glass to rain down all over my room.  I was a little surprised.

This is what my bed looked like when I got home from school

What was most surprising, however, was how Kevin and I reacted to my suddenly destroying a light cover.  Kevin, who owns the house and the light I just broke, said very matter-of-factly, “I saw that coming.  I should’ve warned you.”  I replied, equally matter-of-factly, “I did not expect that happen.  I should probably put on some shoes before I cut myself.”  We were both remarkably unstunned by what had just happened.  I had to go to school and Kevin had to get to work so I just shut my bedroom door and left the cleaning for later.

On my way home from school I stopped by the Home Depot to get a replacement light cover (because I'm a good renter).  The cashier at the Home Depot was really chatty (note: I prefer talkative cashiers to the quiet, boring kind) and I explained to her how I'd accidentally broken the light fixture.  She said, "Honey, I always hit this one light in my living room when I'm sweeping, but it never breaks.  I swear, one day I'm just gonna look at it wrong and it'll shatter because I've hit the darned thing so many times."  Her story made me feel less silly for breaking the light cover and gave me a funny mental image of a middle aged woman in her living room scowling at her light and then watching it burst into pieces.

Kevin told me that night that our other roommate, who's also tall,  had broken a light cover in his room in the exact same way that I had.  It's tough being tall.

I Almost Said No

I’ve been meaning to write this post for a while now, but I’ve been busier than usual and haven’t found the time.  I hope this makes you laugh.  Also, I share this story with permission (unlike my last post about Kevin.  Also, he still hasn’t read it so I think I’m in the clear).

My first week in Arizona was a little lonely as expected and I was excited to make friends as quickly as possible.  When I attended the grad student orientation that week I purposely wore a BYU shirt hoping it would help me meet some Mormons (preferably the single, pretty, female kind).  I had forgotten to register for orientation and since I wasn’t on their list, the check-in people wouldn’t give me a free t-shirt.  They did say, however, that if I waited until everyone else checked in they would give me one if there were any left.

While I was waiting for my t-shirt a small, Chinese woman walked up to me and said, “You went to BYU?” and I said that I did.  She said, “We shared an office.”  At the moment I recognized her.  At BYU all the Spanish, Portuguese, Chinese, Japanese, and Korean teachers share an office.  It’s really big and we mostly kept to our own language group.  I didn’t know this woman, but I’d seen her many times.  She didn’t know my name and I didn’t know hers, but we were both happy to see each other and we exchanged phone numbers.  Her name is Hongyi and I was not expecting us to become good friends.

A few weeks later I got a random text from Hongyi that said: “I am taking driving class and I have learning permit.  After driving class, can you help me to practice more?  Thanks.”  My first thought was, my dad would tell me not to let a foreigner drive my car.  I’d never seen her drive before and had no idea if she was good or bad.  Honestly, I almost said no, but then I applied the Golden Rule and replied: “Yeah, I’d love to.”  Not the most honest text I've ever sent.  And so began yet another plot to a foreign film.

I told Hongyi that we should practice driving on Sunday morning since there would be fewer people on the road.  On the first Sunday I rolled out of bed and drove over to her house in my pajamas.  As I was driving over to her house I kept asking myself how I'd gotten myself into this situation.  I was fairly nervous because I’d never seen her drive, but I relaxed when she walked out of her house already dressed for church.  Her church clothes made her seem very competent and that put me at ease.  I had her get in the driver’s seat and she told me that she was so nervous.  I could empathize.  I showed her how to put the car in drive and we were off.  It was immediately evident that she needed to practice a lot.  She stayed in all the lines and didn’t hit anything, but she drove painfully slowly, made left turns dangerously slowly, and parked in four spots instead of one.  Luckily only once did I have to say, “Stop.  Stop!  STOP!!!”  I was glad when I got back behind the wheel.

Hongyi's English is very good, but it's not great and there were a few times when she didn't understand what I was saying.  For instance, I'd say, "Use your blinker," and she wouldn't do anything so I'd say, "Use your turn signal," and then she would.  Our language barrier made me nervous, too.

After our first time driving I didn't give her any feedback on her driving because she was already so nervous while she drove.  The next week I made a list of some things that she could master that day.  First, I taught her how to stop without giving us whiplash.  Then we practiced going the speed limit.  She would go 20 in a 40 and so I kept saying, “Hongyi, what’s the speed limit?” and she’d say, “40,” and I’d say, “And how fast are you going?” and she’d say, “Oh!” and speed up.  She improved a lot that day and her progress was very gratifying.

Our third lesson was when things started to get really fun.  We practiced parking and driving at Pima Community College.  The parking lot is enormous and there’s no one there on Sunday morning.  While we were driving in the parking lot I was talking to Hongyi and she was focusing more on talking than driving.  I said, “Hongyi!  You just ran a stop sign!”  She apologize and said, “There is a word in Chinese [she then said some word in Chinese].  I don’t know how to say it in English.  It means that you cannot do two things at the same time.”  I wanted to say, “Oh, we’ve got a word for that in English – it’s called man,” but I thought she wouldn’t get the joke so I said, “You're saying that you can't multitask.”  On another day we practiced driving and talking at the same time.  It wasn’t a skill that I had thought about practicing, but she needed the practice.  Even though the parking lot was completely empty we pretended there were other cars there.  If she turned too sharply into a parking spot I’d yell, “Hongyi!  You just hit a parked car!”  and she’d apologize.  She always backed up really slowly – painfully slowly.  When she’d back up I'd start to say, “There are cars waiting your spot.  They’re getting mad.  They’re honking at you now.”  And then she’d drive a little faster and drive through an imaginary parked car and I’d say, “Oh, you just hit a parked car.”  It was a lot of fun and we both laughed a lot.

A few weeks ago I took Hongyi to the DMV to take her driving test.  She’d gotten a lot better, but neither of us was sure if she’d pass.  She was really nervous and I had to keep encouraging her and telling her that she’d already passed her test in driving school and since she'd done it before she could do it again.  I waited nervously in a plastic chair while she took the test and when she came back she had a huge smile on her face because she’d passed!  I was so ecstactic that I wanted to give her a big hug and jump around in circles, but due to our different sizes I just gave her a high five.  She probably didn't want to hug my stomach.

Hongyi in front of my car with her new license

We went out to eat to celebrate and she let me pick the restaurant.  I picked the Texas Roadhouse because they have the best rolls in the whole wide world.  As we were driving there I said, “I’m so excited!  I’m soooo hungry!”  Hongyi said, “Oh, I thought you were excited because I passed my test.”  I said, “Oh yeah, that too, but the rolls at the Texas Roadhouse are so good!”  We had a great meal and it was blast.  That whole afternoon I was so happy.  I was thrilled for Hongyi and together we really had accomplished a lot.  As we were eating I was struck by how we’d become such good friends.  When we ran into each other at orientation I didn’t even know her name and then two months later we were great friends.  Helping Hongyi practice driving is one of my favorite memories from the semester, and I almost said no.  I'm so glad I said yes.

Really, Really Ridiculously Good Looking

My planeteer costume from last year and Lindsay

As an adult, Halloween has never really been my thing.  I don’t mind dressing up, but I’m not a big fan of the effort and/or money involved in creating a costume.  Last year I was a planeteer because the costume was super-simple and referenced my childhood.  I thought about being a planeteer again this year, but then I had a better idea.

I’ve been told for years that I look like Peewee Herman, and I concur (I’ve also been told that I sound like Ben Stein and have eyes like Kermit’s).  At one of my middle school’s last year we had an era dress up day – the 8th graders dressed up like the 80’s, the 7th graders like the 70’s, the 6th graders like the 60’s, and the teachers like the 50’s.  I didn’t have anything that looked very 50’s so I decided to wear a red bowtie with a dress shirt, my suit jacket and I parted my hair.  I could have passed for a mid-century professor, but I also could have passed for Peewee Herman.  I decided then and there that I would be Peewee Herman for Halloween.

Fast forward about six months and I’m living in Tucson.  Kevin, my roommate, told me that the next day was 80’s day at his work and he didn’t know how to dress up for that.  After recommending neon clothes and sweat bands I said, “Just dress up like a nerd.  Tuck your shirt into your jeans and wear a bowtie.”  He liked the idea, but didn’t have a bowtie so I lent him mine.  He got home from work and excitedly told me that people had said that he looked like Peewee Herman and that he was going to be Peewee for Halloween.  He asked me if he could borrow my red bowtie for his costume.  At first I wasn’t sure what to say because he had just accidently stolen my idea, but he seemed really excited about the idea so I agreed.

Kevin doesn’t read my blog (or so he says) and he doesn’t know this story.  So if any of you know Kevin for reals, let's keep this story between you and me.  I don’t want him to feel bad for unknowingly stealing my costume.

I now had a costume dilemma.  We had a Halloween dance at church on Friday night and I didn’t know who to be.  I didn’t bring my planeteer vest to Arizona so I would have to buy another one and didn’t feel like spending $5.  I briefly considered skipping the dance, but that seemed lame.  I also considered going to the dance and not dressing up, but that seemed even lamer.  I did what I usually do when I don’t quite know what to do – I checked Facebook.  One of my friends had posted: “I've narrowed down my Halloween costume ideas to two: Marty McFly, or ridiculously photogenic guy.”  I had completely forgotten about the ridiculously photogenic guy of Facebook fame and immediately decided that I would be him for Halloween.  And I didn’t feel bad stealing my friend’s idea since he lives in Washington.

Here's the guy in case you've never heard of him

I told Kevin, and Manny, and Maurie, and Christina that I was going to be the ridiculously photogenic guy, but none of them had heard of him.  This made me think I’d made a bad costume decision.  I explained to them that some photographer had taken a picture of some random people running in a marathon and the guy in the picture was unusually photogenic for someone running in a race.  The photographer posted the picture of Flickr with a caption that said, “Mr. Ridiculously Photogenic Guy,” and for some reason the image went viral and was the source of numerous memes.

I decided to be the ridiculously photogenic guy anyway mostly because it was super-easy (I wore my running clothes and taped a homemade marathon bib to my shirt).  A lot of people at the dance didn’t know who I was and I explained it a few times, but I formed a special bond with the people who did recognize me.  A few strangers said, “Hey, you’re that meme!” and “You’re that guy from Facebook” and my heart warmed when someone said, “You’re the ridiculously photogenic guy!”  So instead of portraying a man that was arrested for indecent exposure, I portrayed a man a girl once described as “handsome.”  I think I made the right choice.

Okay, so maybe I'm not ridiculously photogenic,
but at least I'm somewhat photogenic

Kevin doing the Peewee dance

Drunk Running

Running in Tucson has proven to be rather difficult for me.  It’s been so freakin’ hot here that running in the middle of the day is out of the question.  I could run in the early morning, but anyone who knows me well knows that I am not a morning person (I had one roommate who would always enthusiastically say, “Good morning!” and I’d always groggily reply, “What’s good about it?”).  I’ve tried to get up early a few times to run, but it just doesn’t work.  I usually run at night when it’s hot in the summers, but Tucson is super-scary.  My friends from the Phoenix area have described Tucson as “sketchy,” “ghetto,” and “usually five degrees cooler than Phoenix” (the last one is a good thing).  I’ve been told that since there are observatories in the area there is a light ordinance in Tucson to prevent light pollution.  My neighborhood has some unsavory people living in it and I would not feel comfortable running through my poorly lit barrio at night.  So instead, I go running at Reid Park which is well-lit and has a bike/jogging trial.

As I drove up to Reid Park on Saturday night I saw a sign that said: “BEER FESTIVAL OCT 6.”  I got to the park at 10:00 pm just as the beer festival was ending.  Usually at that hour the park is mostly deserted with only a handful of people running and few shady characters talking in the dark areas of the parking lot, mostly likely dealing drugs.  But on Saturday night there were a TON of people there, many of them drunk.  It made for an interesting run.

When I run I occasionally get catcalls from random people.  It’s rare, but it happens.  On Saturday at least two dozen people yelled at me.  Most of the catcalls were nonsensical things like “AHHHH!” or “EHHHH!” but I did get a few sentences like “YOU’RE RUNNING!”  and “IT’S LATE!”  and other things that a good Mormon boy wouldn't repeat.  Whenever someone would yell something encouraging I would do a raise-the-roof motion with my hands as I continued my run which usually resulted in laughter and more yelling.  There’s one section of the trail where I have to double back and I ran by the same drunk people twice.  They yelled more the second time.  I could smell alcohol in the air.

Drunk people don’t tend to think super-clearly and I saw one guy whizzing behind a palm tree.  The restrooms were less than 50 yards away.

As I was running by a different guy he suddenly lurched toward me and I was momentarily worried that he was going to shank me.  Then I realized that I don’t ever use the word shank and getting shanked isn’t a regular fear of mine.  He was simply stumbling and I just happened to be in the direction of his stumble.  Luckily I escaped unstabbed.  Another guy almost ran into me while walking his bike.

All in all, it was a much more exciting run than normal.  And on a running note, I have greatly improved since I got to Tucson.  Before I could barely run two miles in my minimalist shoes, but now I can run four.  I'm hoping that using minimalist shoes will move my legs from the "skinny" category into the "sexy" category.  But it may just be a pipe dream.

Note: at no point during my run on Saturday night was I drunk, nor have I ever been drunk.

Photos courtesy of: tucsonliving.blotspot.com

Sometimes I'm an Idiot

My friend Melissa got home from her mission in July 2011.  A month later I made the two hour drive from my parents’ house to her house.  It was the first time I had seen her in 18 months and I was excited to hang out.  When I got to her house she said, “I’ve got something really fun planned for us to do.  We’re going to bake cookies and take them to lonely people.”  I thought that was an awful idea and my words and mood made that evident.  I had just driven for two hours and now I was supposed to go visit lonely people that I didn’t know.  I was not a happy camper.  Melissa, however, would not be swayed and we baked a nice batch of chocolate chip cookies and visited some lonely people.

Melissa said that we were going to visit her new friend Karen.  On the drive over to Karen's house Melissa explained to me that she talks a lot.  I said, “So she’s weird?” and Melissa responded, “She just needs the gospel in her life.”  I was now even less interested in visiting this lonely stranger.  Karen was a member of the church, but hadn’t been active for quite some time.  I had a really bad attitude about the whole experience until we entered Karen’s home.  Melissa was right, not only did Karen talk a ton, but so did her boyfriend.  Her boyfriend was not a member of the church ans was not interested in it at all.  To make a complicated story very simple, by the time we left, Karen was making plans to return to church and her boyfriend had excitedly agreed to meet with the missionaries.  I was flabbergasted.

When Melissa and I left the house I said, “Wow, I wasn’t expecting that!”  Melissa said, “Can we say a prayer?  I want to thank Heavenly Father for what just happened.”  I was a little surprised because my friends don’t usually ask me to say prayers of gratitude with them, but we did.  I was so amazed by the experience because our mere presence in their house had blessed their lives and I felt immensely stupid for not wanting to go earlier.  As we were talking about the experience on the drive home Melissa said, “For the rest of my life all I want to do is be an instrument in God’s hands.”  What she said is so simple and it gave me a new goal.

At that time I had just recently graduated from BYU and had not yet found a job.  For weeks I’d been telling people that all I wanted was to get a job.  I’d said, “All I want is to get a job,” so frequently and to so many people that when Melissa said, “All I want…” my mind immediately went to what I had been saying for weeks.  And then when she finished her sentence with, “… is be an instrument in God’s hands,” I felt a need to change.  My statement, contrasted with Melissa’s statement helped me to see how selfish I can be.  I’d been focusing on me and on what I need when I should have been focusing on others.

This is the story that ran through my mind as I watched the first session of General Conference this morning alone in my living room.  If you don’t know what General Conference is click here.  In the very first talk President Monson announced that a temple would be built in my new home of Tucson (you can watch that clip here).  It was a happy moment.  And then he announced a change in missionary policy.  Before, men could serve missions at the age of 19 and women at the age of 21.  Effective today, men can leave at age 18 and women at age 19.  I don’t cry much, but when President Monson announced this I started to cry.  They were tears of joy, of course.

While Melissa was on her mission her mom forwarded her weekly emails to me and I read them every week.  She was a marvelous missionary.  I currently have two very good female friends serving missions in Taiwan and Russia.  I read their emails home, too and they are stupendous missionaries.  They had both wanted to serve missions for years and couldn’t wait until they turned 21.  They would have left years earlier had they been able to.  And now, women don’t have to wait until they are 21.  I imagine a lot more women will be going on missions now.

When I was 18 and a freshman at BYU, my friend Aaron and I hiked to the Y on one of our first nights in Provo.  It was our first time living away from home and we talked a lot about the changes in our lives and how much we wanted to go on missions.  We both expressed that we didn’t want to wait until we were 19, we wanted to go right then.  I was really impatient and didn't want to have to wait any longer.  I felt ready for the challenge of a mission and couldn't wait to go.  Had I been allowed to leave when I was 18 I would have, but I had to wait six more months.  And now, those boys who are anxious to go out and serve don’t have to wait.  It’s so awesome.

This policy change is going to be an enormous blessing to the young people who serve missions and to the people of the world who will be taught by them.  I cried because this felt so right.  The army of Helaman (who missionaries are often compared to) has always been young, but it just got a little younger, and I imagine it’s going to grow a lot, too.  Today was a great day for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and I’m pumped for the final two sessions of conference tomorrow.

The Morales family.  They are very happy people,
I promise.  Mexicans often don't make cheesy
smiles in pictures like Americans do.

Note: I was going to add a picture from my mission, but I realized that I don't have any digital copies of my mission pictures (that's right, I had an old fashioned camera back then).  So here's a picture from when I went back to visit my mission in 2009.  This is the Morales family, some of my favorite people in the whole world.