The year that wasn't

It’s that time of year when I begin to think about the New Year’s resolutions I made in January. I was reading over a blog I wrote on New Year’s Day 2011, and I had some pretty lofty aspirations. Sadly, I realized this week that I hadn’t attained any of them. I started to think that 2011 has been a big “FAIL” for me so far.

I used to think New Year’s resolutions were stupid, and I pretty much refused to make any. I figured most people never follow through with their resolutions, and if they do it’s only for a few weeks. By February 1st, most people’s resolutions are forgotten and tucked away in their minds to make again next January 1. However, for New Year 2010, I decided to make a resolution to learn how to knit. I’m not sure why I picked knitting, but I think I felt like it was something I needed to learn how to do. Just so I could say I could do it. To confess, I’m one of those people that likes to impress people with all the neat stuff I know how to do. I love the “ooos” and “ahhhhs” people make when I fold a tiny origami star for them or speak some fluent Spanish in front of them. I’m not proud of it, but that’s the way I am. I think that’s the reason I decided to make a resolution. I thought it would be neat to learn how to do something new each year.

It took me about two months and two different teachers, but I did learn how to knit. On Father’s Day I presented my dad with my first completed knitting project, a brown, wool/alpaca scarf. It was beautiful and I couldn’t believe that I had knitted it! I also vowed to learn how to make something that took less time than a scarf, and eventually my mom showed me how to make washcloths. They are way cute and super impressive, and fortunately quick and easy to make. I also got my first taste of how it felt to actually keep a New Year’s resolution, and I wanted more of it.

So come December 2010, it was time to decide what my new resolution would be. But why be limited to just one resolution? Why not make several? I thought maybe I would learn how to crochet, but decided against it since I’m still learning the finer points of knitting. Then I thought it would be fun to learn something about every country and nation in the world, but that seemed a little overambitious. After much thought, I settled on the following three resolutions: Go to Ireland, learn how to drive a stick shift, and improve my Italian to be as good as my Spanish. I was very determined to do all three. But here it is, September 16, and I have completed none of them. I began to feel like a failure.

It was at this point I began to really think about 2011 and the things that I’d done. The first three things that came to mind were mistakes that I’d made, errors in judgment. These three things (mere coincidence that I thought of three?) seemed to overshadow all the good things I’d done this year. Then I forced myself to really think about what I had accomplished this year, and the good things that had happened.

There were a lot of resolution type things that I’d accomplished this year that I didn’t exactly put on my list. I decided to get fit and start eating right. I started taking a bootcamp cardio class at my local community center in January, but by March I had quit going. Resolution shame came over me. I’d failed already! But I persevered, and I joined the gym at the end of May, and I’ve been working out with a personal trainer there for almost four months. I’m eating right, exercising 6-7 times a week for an hour a day, and I look and feel awesome. And while it’s cost me an arm and a leg, it’s totally worth it because I’m investing in my future health and well-being. As far as I can count, I’ve lost 10 net pounds since January 1, gained a lot of muscle, and dramatically reduced my body fat percentage. That’s definitely something to feel good about.

Now, while I haven’t travelled to Ireland this year, and probably won’t due to financial difficulty, I have taken four trips this year. In February, my mom, dad, brother, and I all travelled to South Carolina to see my sister graduate from Army bootcamp. I don’t remember the last time I was so proud of anyone. And while I wanted to strangle my family several times on the trip, there were many great, touching moments, and I have never felt closer to them than I am now. I also traveled to New York for my uncle’s wedding in August. It was his fourth, but his first since getting sober 23 years ago. He’s a changed man, and I admire him. My new aunt is amazing, and so are all of her family members we met. It’s a great feeling to become connected to so many great people with a simple “I do.” And finally, in August and September, I made two trips to San Antonio for my best friend from high school’s bachelorette party and wedding. I’ve known her since fifth grade, and it was really special to see her tie the knot and move onto a different stage in her life.

After much reflection, I have decided my year wasn’t such a waste. And it’s really only September. Three months is plenty of time to learn to drive a stick shift and brush up on my Italian. I’ll also need to start thinking about resolutions for next year. I think maybe I’ll make just one instead of three. Any more accomplishments after my one resolution can just be bonus resolutions. I don’t want to stress myself out too much.

The book that changed my life and also made it more complicated

I read a book a few years ago that changed my life. No, it's not The Bible, although that changed my life too. It's called, He's Just Not That Into You.

The basic premise of the book (and movie by the same name) is that if a guy isn't calling you, taking you to the movies, asking you to be his girlfriend, marrying you, then he's just not that into you. He might be into you to some degree, but not enough to take any of the aforementioned actions you're upset that he's not taking. Now, the author does posit that there are always exceptions to the rule. This is what has made things so complicated. Every girl hopes her man or perspective man is the exception, not the rule. Yeah, I think you can see my dilemma.

The book has helped me a lot, because it has cut down on the amount of time I spend wondering why a super cute guy I met who was really flirting with me didn't ask me out, ask for my number, etc. If he'd been that into me, he would have asked. If there wasn't enough time or opportunity to ask (he met me in the middle of a hurricane) he would have tracked me down somehow. Greg, the author, says that you should take the amount of time it takes you to notice a cute guy and cut it in half, and that's the amount of time it take a cute guy to notice you. So the possibility that he might not have had enough time to realize how cute and fabulous you are is highly unlikely.

This was quite sobering, as I realized how much time I spent wondering why all these cute boys I ran into weren't asking me out. Women spend a lot of time analyzing things like, "Well, he said that he really liked my dress. So obviously he thinks I'm way cute! I wonder why he hasn't asked me out yet?", or "He said he was glad he ran into me today, why didn't he ask for my number? He obviously likes me!" It may seem silly, but women have great memories (maybe you already know this if you've ever forgotten a birthday or anniversary) and we analyze everything the cute guy ever did, said, or wore, and plug it into a formula that obviously says to us, "He's into you!" But then they never call, or ask for your number, and you are left totally confused as to what happened.

It's so simple: He's just not that into you. It seemed so obvious when I read the book that I felt like an idiot. How could I not have seen this sooner?

Greg is also a non-believer in girls asking out guys. According to his research (asking a few of his guy friends) most successful relationships come from guys asking out girls, not the other way around. I'm not sure Greg's research is legit, but I am pretty traditional in my belief that the guy should ask the girl out. And if the girl is making it pretty obvious that she's into him, it shouldn't be that hard for the guy, right? At this point I'd like to go into a tangent about another book I read called For Women Only that talks about the inner lives of men and their insecurities, one of the main ones being rejection. However, that would make this post much longer than it really needs to be. But for those reading this post who are thinking just that, that men fear rejection and it's not so easy for a guy to ask out a girl he likes, Greg also makes the point that, if a guy is really into you, he will overcome any obstacles in his way to get to you, whether those obstacles are a hurricane, shyness, an ocean, etc. This is why women love men so much. They are conquerors and overcomers. They strive to succeed at all costs.

This all makes lots of sense, but there are still times, like right now, when I meet a guy who seems so perfect. He's ridiculously good-looking, he makes me laugh, is very intelligent, is a Godly man, and we have so much in common. We always have a good time when I see him, and I look forward to seeing him. He even said once that he thought we'd have a really good time if we hung out. And it's been two and a half months and he hasn't asked me out, even just to coffee. I've dropped so many hints, like telling him to come see me at my other job where I work as a server, hinting we should hit the pool together, and inferring we should go to a movie. And nothing. He doesn't bite. And he's never mentioned a girlfriend or a wife the entire time I've known him. I don't get it. I'm awesome. He's awesome. He seems like the perfect guy for me. I told God the other day that if he had some other guy out there for me who was way better than this guy, than my mind would be truly blown, because this guy seems pretty awesome. He's just not that into me is really hard to accept right now, because it really seems like he is into me.

So back to the book, let's start the exception possibilities:

He recently got out of a really bad break-up and isn't ready to date yet.
He's afraid to ruin our professional relationship and maybe jeopardize his job.

That's all I can come up with. Other than maybe he's gay.

The hardest part is, I know that I'm awesome. I just don't understand why he doesn't think I am, and why he's not into me. Or why if he does think I’m awesome and he is into me, why he isn’t asking me out. That's the trouble with women. We always want to know why.

I think the one thing I remember Greg saying in the book is that while there may be some explanation or exception, a rockin’ girl like me can’t wait around forever. And if I really am a catch, someone else will catch me.

What Do I Do?

I’m sitting here at my desk with my headphones in, and the whole world is muted. I can hear sounds, but they are all muffled. I feel like this is the way a lot of people live their lives. Muted. Not really hearing, seeing, feeling, and living the way they were meant to. I feel like this is how I’m living my life.

What do I do? How do I break out of this muted life?

I feel like the answer is that I have to fight. I have to fight for what I want, for what I crave, for what I feel like I am meant to be doing.

I also feel like I’m on the brink of something. I feel like I’m chipping away at a wall of concrete and I’m about to break through to the other side. And once a hole appears in the wall, a little light will shine through, and I’ll be able to peek through to the other side. And when I get a glimpse of what is to come, it will give me the will and the power to take down what is left of the wall. In the future, when I look back at the crumbling remains of the wall that didn’t just fall down, but was made to fall down, I will remember how much I had to fight for what I have.

Now I just need to find a pick axe. Or a jackhammer. Or some dynamite.

(Listening to: What Do I Do? - Sam Phillips - Album: The Indescribable Wow)

Do you use supplements?

Over the weekend my roommate and I decided it would be a good idea to join 24 Hour Fitness, which is like the Mecca of workout facilities. It’s not like joining a community center, which I did at the beginning of the year. Oh, no. It's very different.

You see, the community center is a very non-threatening kind of environment. Community centers are mostly frequented by old people, families, and middle-aged men and women. That’s not to say a few young people won’t sneak in here and there, but for the most part, you aren’t surrounded by a bunch of protein shake guzzling meat-heads who think they are the next Mr. Universe or Vin Diesel. The people who check you in and hand you your towel look like your grandparents or the school librarian. Most of the folks working out there are fully clothed in t-shirts and sweat pants and aren’t wearing a speck of make-up or bronzer. It’s about getting in, working up a bit of a sweat, and getting out.

I walked into my new gym today after work and sheepishly approached the front desk. The lady standing behind the counter did not look like either of my grandparents, but looked more like Christy Brinkley. The young beefcake standing next to the Christy clone was pretty confused by the information I gave him. Although I understand that the statement, “I just got a membership on your website yesterday and this is my first time in,” is a very confusing sentence. Especially when the only thing feeding your brain is Muscle Milk.

Luckily, Christy Brinkley’s long lost twin stepped in and got me checked in. She then explained that I get a free training session to get me started, and she summoned one of the resident beefcakes to get me penciled in for my first session. As I waited for my beefcake trainer to arrive, a group of other beefcakes milled around a few feet behind the front desk. I thought for a moment that maybe their job was to just stand at the front of the facility and look buff and hot. They were all, as Zoolander would say, ridiculously good-looking. I started to feel frumpy standing there and began to question my choice of jeans and a t-shirt.

Luckily, my trainer arrived within moments. He was also ridiculously good-looking. I wondered to myself if they have any ugly people working there. I think my trainer’s name was Richard, or maybe it was Derrick. Any way, what’s-his-name was buff, brown, and beautiful, and was walking with a limp. He informed me that he hurt his knee in a game of basketball. I made a quip that maybe I didn’t want him as my trainer if he’s all gimpy. He then threw in a comment that his wife wasn’t too happy with him that he threw his knee out. I really hate it when men do that. Within thirty seconds to a minute of meeting you, they throw a “my wife” or “my girlfriend” into the conversation just to let you know that they aren’t available. They do this because they assume everyone wants to date them. Get over yourself Richard/Derrick. He scheduled our session for Thursday and we shook on it. He bid me goodbye, and I realized he must have forgotten that Christy told him to show me around the facility. I didn’t feel like wandering around like a lost idiot, so I just left.

Halfway down the front steps some guy in a polo shirt and slacks comes trotting out the front door after me. I think I met him earlier, before my beefcake trainer showed up. “Did you want to work out today?” he asked. “Uh, I guess,” I murmured. “Well let’s get you back in here,” he beamed, “and I can show you around and get you started on some cardio!” Great. He shook my hand for like the third time and introduced himself as the district manager. He's not much taller than me, but I'm sure you can guess that he was . . . buff and beautiful! That's right! I always imagine district managers to be old and usually a bit paunchy. Well, they usually are. But not a fitness center district manager! I realized at that point that Richard/Derrick would probably get chewed out later for letting me leave the facility without getting my workout on because that's what district managers do. They chew people out.

District manager guy, whom I lovingly named, Mr. Shaky, showed me to the women’s locker room and then showed me around the gym. We pass a few girls in the weight room who are completely done up with hair, make-up, and super cute workout outfits. I figured that if you sewed together all the material from their workout clothes you'd probably have enough material for a hand-towel. I started to wonder if this was a workout facility for supermodels and also wonder who let that old guy and that fat chick in over there. Mr. Shaky yammered on about all the machines, blah, blah, blah. He shook my hand about two more times before he let me be at some cardio machine. At that point, I'd been sucking in my stomach since I left the locker room and my abs were starting to burn. I did't want anyone there to know I was a little out of shape, God forbid.

After about 40ish minutes of cardio I called it a day. All the other people on their machines were probably thinking I was a big wussy since I could only do 40 minutes of cardio. I didn’t even lift any heavy weights or grunt while pulling and tugging on one of those crazy contraptions downstairs. I figured 40 minutes was enough time that Mr. Shaky wouldn't chase me out the front door again.

After grabbing my bag from the locker room, I headed for the front door. I tried to sprint out before Mr. Shaky saw me, but he spotted me and hollered a goodbye. Luckily he was too far away for another handshake, but he did remember my name as he hollered at me to have a good evening. I’ll give him five bonus points for that. Which brings him up to -7.

Sitting in my car all sweaty, I decided I need to get some looser workout shirts. If I keep having to suck my stomach in like this for 40 minutes at a time while working out, I might give myself a hernia. I also wondered if quitting the community center was such a great idea. Oh, well. Too late now!

I hate that this song reminds me of you.

I still think about you. I wish that I didn’t. It only makes me sad and angry. No one I’ve ever met has treated me worse than you did. And I still struggle to understand why. I struggle to understand what it was I did, other than love you in spite of yourself and your circumstances, to merit the pain you inflicted on me.

I still remember the first time I saw you when I was 16 years old, almost eleven years ago. If I’d only known then how much pain you would cause me, how many tears I would shed over you, and for how long our doomed relationship would rule my thoughts, dreams, and nightmares, I might have run the other direction.

It’s not like you hurt me physically, although I think sometimes it would be easier to forgive you for such behavior, as most of the time it’s easier to explain. What you did to me runs much deeper. You hurt me in areas that I didn’t know could hurt. You broke parts of my heart that I didn’t know could be broken. You can credit yourself with bringing me to the lowest point I have ever been at in my entire life. The point at which I felt utterly hopeless, completely worthless, and like I’d never be happy again. There were parts of me that I thought could never be healed. Parts that would always be broken. I remember thinking that I would never find a man who would love me more than he loved himself.

A little over a year ago, I lay in your arms crying. You were passed out from drinking too much. I placed my hand over your rapidly beating heart and, sobbing quietly to myself, begged God in prayer to save your tortured, dysfunctional soul. I asked for a miracle in your life and in mine. I cried out for help. Thank God for delivering me from you a few months later.

I am lucky to serve a God that never gave up on me. He never left me. And he is restoring and healing me in ways that no one else in heaven or on earth can. When all else fails and everyone else fails me, he does not. He is faithful.

I know that’s something you can’t understand. Being faithful.

I can only thank your brother for revealing to me what I had suspected all along; that you were a liar. You’d lied about almost everything. You were dating and/or sleeping with at least two other women, your home was nearing foreclosure, you had no job, and no real plan to find one, you were relying on your friends to pay your bills, and no, you didn’t really have brain cancer. That was the lie that made me feel most foolish. Who lies about having a terminal disease? And why?

I can’t tell you how many tears I’ve shed for you. Tears of anger, longing, sadness, and self-loathing. Tears of frustration, helplessness, loneliness and pity. Tears of grief, mourning, and rejection. I’ll bet you never knew there were so many different kinds of tears. It’s unfortunate that I can’t remember any tears of happiness shed for you.

Sometimes I think you might suffer from multiple personality disorder. I do remember a kind, funny, gentle man that surfaced on a few occasions. Maybe that man is the man you wish you could be all the time. Or maybe he was a lie too.

I don’t know why you felt like you had to lie to me. I accepted you as you were, and I told you that. I didn’t care that you’d been divorced twice and had a two-year-old son. I just wanted to be with you. One of the last times I saw you, I told you I wanted to move to Oklahoma to be with you; that I was tired of waiting to be with you. You told me you had to get yourself straightened out and work on some things, and until you did, you wouldn’t be any good to anyone. You said you wanted to be with me, and I told you I would wait. I’m glad I didn’t.

I’ve decided that if I can survive you, I can survive anything. I just pray that you survive yourself. I pray that you won’t be able to hurt anyone else like you hurt me. I pray that you won’t call or text me ever again. And I pray that you will fade into the back of my memory, with only the scars you left on my heart to remind me of how far God has brought me and how I never want to go back there again.

The Love of My Life

One of the best moments of my life was when Mario Chalmers hit a three pointer in the 2008 NCAA Men’s Basketball National Championship Game to tie the score and send the game to overtime. KU would then go on to beat Memphis 75-68. Some may say it’s a little sad or pathetic for a sporting championship to be one of the best moments of your life (especially if you weren’t actually playing in it), but my bet is those people aren’t sports fans. And I haven’t had a wedding day or popped out any kids, so what do you want from me?

It’s nearly impossible to put into words all the thoughts, feelings, and emotions that go with being an avid sports fan. It’s hard to explain to a non-sports fan the awful, heavy feeling my friends and I felt in the pit of our stomachs when Memphis was up by nine points with just 2:12 to go in regulation. It’s similar to the feeling you’d get if your spouse told you they were leaving you for their kick-boxing instructor. And as we stood there in disbelief, thinking all was lost, we went from feeling the lowest of lows to the highest of highs. Kansas went on to score 12 points in the remaining two minutes, culminating in Mario Chalmers three point tying basket with just 2.1 seconds on the clock. When that shot went in we all jumped so high in the air we could have touched the ceiling. I can’t remember the last time I felt so happy, so exhilarated, so over-joyed. As my friends and I hugged and jumped and jumped and hugged some more, KU went on to win their first national title in exactly 20 years. We felt like we’d just landed a date with the hottest chick/dude in the world. It was like winning the Powerball Jackpot. Like meeting the President. And the celebration that took place afterwards in the streets of Lawrence? Imagine having a party with 30,000 of your closest friends. It was kind of like that.

What followed is a blur. My friends and I paid our tabs at the Bottleneck as quickly as we could and poured out onto New Hampshire Street. We hugged and high-fived every stranger we passed. As we reached Massachusetts Street, we could already see that most of Lawrence, Kansas was pouring in on all sides and from every direction, like a swarm of army ants devouring a piece of sticky candy on a hot summer sidewalk. The air was full of cheers, screams, whistles, horns, shouts, chants, songs, high-fives, and various shouts of "Champions!", "Rock chalk Jayhawk!", and "Yeeeeaaaaaahhhhhhh!" The best part of a celebration like this was that there was no plan at all. It was spontaneous and wonderful. Chaotic and beautiful. It was about being with family and celebrating one of the awesomest things to happen to that family in the last 20 years. The streets were shoulder to shoulder, so packed with people that hardly any cars could pass. You'd think we'd just won a war. It was like we'd just topped Saddam or Hitler. People were embracing, kissing, dancing, and any number and combination of other things. Mass Street was Crimson and Blue for as far as the eye could see. And my eye could see pretty far. I got to the highest point I could and as far as I could see there were Jayhawk fans. It was like that scene at the end of Field of Dreams when the camera pans out and the line of cars on their way to the baseball diamond seems to go on forever and ever. It was just like that. If you win it all, they will come. And come they did. And the best part was, there was no violence. Just happiness, joy, and camaraderie. And lots of celebratory drinking. Only two people were arrested that night, one was in connection with a car fire several blocks from the celebration, and I'm pretty sure the other was the Asian guy who's Jayhawk joy inspired him to climb to the top of the flag pole at US Bank. There were plenty of officers waiting for him when he finally came down. It was like Jayhawk Mardi Gras. People parading up and down the streets until all hours of the morning. I don't remember what time I finally went home, but I do know that I wanted that night to last forever.

I can't think of another memory as joyful that's not related to sports. I have similar memories from my freshman year at KU in 2003 when the Jayhawks made it all the way to the Big Game, only to lose to Syracuse as Michael Lee's game tying three pointer was blocked by Hakim Warrick. That shot did not go in, and Lee was not dubbed "Miracle Michael," but the games leading up to that last heartbreaker were amazing.

I remember being crammed into my friend Sean's dorm room on the third floor of McCollum Hall dormitory with about twenty other people for the Kansas/Arizona game. We huddled around his TV like bums around a flaming garbage can. After blowing a 16 point lead in the second half, the Jayhawks were back within three points. After KU commed a shot clock violation, Arizona had the ball with 7.1 seconds on the clock. Jason Gardner threw up a 25 footer, but Kirk Heinrich got a hand on it and tipped it away. Luke Walton got the rebound and fed it back to Gardner for one last shot, but it didn't go in and the game was over. We were in the Final Four. Rowdy Freshman were running up and down the halls all over the building. Sean and I went down to the parking lot to join a bunch of others in celebration. And as we stood there, we could hear cheers of joy all across Mt. Oread and all over town. Car horns honked in the distance, fireworks shot into the air, and beer cans were cracked open all across Lawrence. I knew at that point that I was part of something special. Something that would live on for years and years. Something I had already felt rush through me that year as I had cheered on my Jayhawks in the hallowed basketball haven of Phog Allen Fieldhouse. After beating Marquette that same year in the Final Four and advancing to the Championship game against Syracuse, my friends and I ran up and down Mass Street high-fiving everyone we saw. I high-fived so many people my hand went numb. It was the best feeling ever. That is until 2008, when I would beat my single evening high-five record, and experience one of the best nights of my life.

And that's one of the best things about being a sports fan, the memories. Imagine this: I walk into a pub in Ireland and spot someone in a Jayhawk t-shirt. After just a few minutes of KU related conversation, it feels like we’re old friends. We both know the history, the wins, the losses, the players and coaches of past and present. As alumni, we attended classes in the same buildings, lived and studied in the same dorms, and can recall with remarkable precision almost every detail of the foliage that covers one of the most beautiful campuses in America. We share stories of where we were when Roy left, what we thought when Self showed up, and how many celebratory beers we drank after Mario sank his miracle shot. And as we buy each other Guinness after Guinness, what onlooker would know that the only thing really connecting us is the love of a college basketball team in a small Kansas town thousands and thousands of miles away?

The Art of Talking to Women

While I typically like to spend New Year's Eve at home on the couch, I broke out of the mold in 2010 and went to a New Year's Eve party. The guy hosting the party works with my friend Bill at Costco.

Once I arrived, a quick sweep of the room confirmed that there were no potential future husbands in this bunch, so I struck up a conversation with the first person I came accross. I can't tell you the name of the fellow I was talking to (that's just how memorable he was), but I can tell you he was completely clueless about how to talk to pretty women. Our conversation went as follows:

Clueless Dude: So, yeah. Have you seen this show on HBO called "Spartacus"?

Me: I don't have cable. Just Netflix.

Clueless Dude: Oh. Have you ever seen the movies "Troy" or "300"?

Me: Yeah, dude movies. Lots of blood, guts, and fighting.

Clueless Dude: Yeah! Well, "Spartacus" is a lot like those movies! It's really great. You'd like it.

Me: I doubt it. It's not really my favorite genre.

Clueless Dude: Oh, well it's got a healthy amount of porno in it too!

Me: Um, yeah. Still not my thing.

Clueless Dude: What? You don't like porn?

Me: Um, I guess I like the occasional steamy scene, but no, I don't typically sit down and watch porn.

Clueless Dude: Oh. Well . . . that's weird. *Clueless Dude stands there awkwardly for five seconds and then heads over to the margarita machine.*

This guy clearly had no idea what women are into. A safer question for him to ask would have been, "What's your favorite TV show?" Then, depending on my response, he could have proceded accordingly. My response would have been, "It's hard to pick. I watch a lot of BBC shows. But I also really like 'The Office', 'Lost', and 'Gilmore Girls'." Even if he had no idea what the BBC was, chances are he's seen one of the other shows I named off. This gives him a decent range of what I'm interested in, at least TV wise, and he can procede by talking about any common TV ground we may share. But no. None of what I just wrote would make any sense to Clueless Dude because he doesn't think. He just says whatever pops into his head. He probably doesn't get why he hasn't had a date in five years, except with that chick from Lawn and Garden who loves Rusell Crowe movies and has a second job at Cirillas.

That wasn't even the last of my conversations with Clueless guy. He later bragged about how he was the valedictorian of his high school graduating class of four people. He then confessed he was actually pretty stupid and had to go to an alternative school just to get his diploma. I'm not sure why he thought bragging about his lack of intelligence would be appealing to me. I just shook my head and spaced out for the remainder of the conversation. When I was leaving the party and saying goodbye to everyone, I extended my hand to Clueless Guy for a handshake. "Nice to meet you," I said, hoping he would get my obvious attempt to avoid a hug. Nope. He shook my hand and then went for the hug anyway. What an idiot.

And this was no isolated incident. I met an equally as Clueless Guy just two days before at Old Chicago. I'd gotten off work at 11:30 at night, and was headed home after a long shift. I stopped at the bar to say hi to my friend Kate, who was having a brewsky. Kate used to work at Old Chicago, so we chatted for a while. I told her it was my birthday the next day, and she and two of her friends demanded that I stay and have a drink in honor of my birthday. And so I agreed.

I sat down at the bar next to her friend, Kelly. Kelly was a nice enough guy. He was also fairly intelligent. We chatted about his job in Colorado and how he was a philosophy major. We discussed foreign films and foreign language. He even spoke to me in fairly decent Italian when he found out I took four semesters of Italian at KU. He told me about his plans to go to grad school in Boston. It was suprisingly decent conversation.

However, things quickly took a turn for the clueless. Kelly kept trying to persuade me to take shots with them and to stay out all night and party! It was, after all, my birthday the next day.

"Oh, just call in sick tomorrow! No big deal!"

Kelly did not have an off button. No matter how much I protested, and no matter how many legitimate reasons I gave him for only having one beer and going home to bed, he kept at it. Halfway though our conversation, Kelly put his arm around the back of my chair. Great. He was already closing off my exit. When I'd finally had enough of Kelly and had finished my beer, I paid my tab and got up from my stool to leave.

"Don't leave!" Kelly said, grabbing my wrist, "You have to stay and party with us!" I tried to be polite.

"Look, dude. What's your name again? Anyway, I'm leaving now."

"No! You have to stay and be irresponsible with me!"

"No, really, I'm going home and going to bed. I have to be at work at 7:00 am."

It was at this point that Kelly grabbed both of my wrists and tried to pull me towards him. It was also at this point that I had to summon all that was within me to not punch old Kelly boy in the face. I wrenched my hands from Clueless Kelly's grip and backed away about three feet.

"It was nice to meet you. I'm leaving now."

"Well obviously it wasn't that nice since you're leaving," he quipped.

"Yeah, bye."

I was so irritated. Can guys really be this clueless? If you get to the point where you have to physically restrain a girl from leaving your presence, she probably ain't interested. If Clueless Kelly hadn't been a friend of my friend, he probably would have gotten punched, and he would have heard a stream of very colorful words. I've always wondered how much damage a swift elbow to the jaw could do.

I related these very amusing stories to two of my co-workers at Old Chicago, one of whom is a married man in his forties.

"Guys just don't understand the art of talking to women," my married, guy friend John remarked. "Some of these pick up lines guys use these days: 'Nice shoes. Wanna have sex?' When has that line ever worked?" he asked. I mused to myself that it would probably work on the chick from Lawn and Garden. Guys like John have women figured out. They respect and appreciate women.

I guess I just feel like I'm drowning in a sea of clueless lately. Someone throw me a life preserver of common sense. I just want to know that there is at least one, non-clueless guy left out there.

I just don't get it.

Mars. Venus. John Gray had it right.