Em Holl is wonderful and is today's awkward blogger. She and I lived on the same floor 2.5 years ago and in the same building last year. Many times, she'd get herself into awkward situations that she would ask me to help her out in and she'd return the favor. (OOH- I totally just thought of a great new story I have from that). Anyhoo- Em is all grown up now and creating/receiving awkwardness from not Newark. :) Here are two of her stories.
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Story #1
A few months ago I was salsa dancing with a few of my girlfriends. For the longest time, the only men who would ask me to dance were as tall as my shoulder and much older than I was.
Finally, a guy my age sks me to dance. And yes, he's completely dreamy looking. He dances phenomenally. It was one of the best dances I have had to this point in my life. As he looked at me and smiled, he started a conversation.
He says, "I don't speak English. Hable espanol?"
Why, no, I don't. Hmmm. "Non. Hable anglais? Parlez francais?"
"No. Are... You... Married?"
Thus ended my night.
Story #2
I currently live with my parents. However, the downturn in the real estate market has created quite an opportunity for me, so last weekend my father and I started house hunting. I have never done this before, so I wanted his help.
The realtor met us outside the house, and we introduced ourselves. Upon entering the house, the owner showed us around. It was a nice house, and we all wandered into the yard to see the fences, shed, etc. When the realtor went to get her business card, the owner looked at myself and my father and asked him who he was.
"He's my father," I cut in.
At this point, she has an expression of acute embarrassment on her face, and she replies, "I thought he was your... errrr... umm... I didn't want to make any assumptions."
Well, obviously at this point, since she is stumbling over her word choice, she did make a few assumptions. Namely despite the family resemblance, she thought he was my sugar daddy and boyfriend. Wrong on every level. And this is not the first time this has happened. Next time we are taking my mother, too.
Showing posts with label dancing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dancing. Show all posts
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Guest Feature: Em McKeever's Awkward Life
Yay! I've only talked to Em in real-life a few times but I think she is just absolutely awesome! We met at one of Michael's open mics and chatted and then became fb friends and twitter followers and fellow blog readers :) Em is super cool. She loves nature and saving it (like me but she actually does it for real), and has a super great voice and is phenomenal and guitar-playing and sings about horseshoe crabs. I'm so excited that she shared this story!
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I’m very glad to have been given a chance to share my awkward story – there are not often appropriate vehicles for awkward stories, y’know.
This story begins in North Carolina. Greensboro is not what I’d call a vacation hotspot, but it’s where I went to school and it’s where many of my beloved college buddies still reside. I periodically take a week or two during the year to visit – and by “visit,” I mean generally mooch off my friends and sleep on their couches, while spending time catching up with folks in a rapid-fire succession of coffeeshop meetings, lunch dates, and general shenanigans.
I was so thrilled when Liz asked me if I wanted to go contra dancing. I learned to contra dance during college, and I’ve become deeply passionate about it over the years. I’ve been getting tired of annoying all my friends up north with my constant invitations to go dancing, so it was really exciting to be invited by someone else for a change!
It promised to be a great night. While Greensboro isn’t much for vacations, it’s got some great thrift stores – we found me an awesome skirt as well as a pair of pumas. I borrowed a top from Liz and BAM! We’d concocted a snazzy contra outfit! Now I was super-pumped.
Feeling great about life, we sallied forth. The beginner-to-expert ratio was very low, which is the best combination – you always want to be bringing new people to experience contra dance, but it’s best if it’s expert-heavy. That way, the beginners learn quickly, and the experts don’t get bored of dancing only with beginners the whole dance. I ran into a lot of old acquaintances, danced my way through a series of wonderful partners, and sang along to the live music. It was all over too quickly.
I was approached by a man who held out his hand, and invited me to join him for the final waltz. I obliged – it’s rare that I don’t oblige, unless I already have a partner. Waltzing is slower, more laid-back than the frenzied fun of contra. You have time to talk with your partner for awhile. To be sure, I enjoyed this man’s company, and I accepted his business card when he offered it to me at the end of the waltz – but I had pegged him as maybe mid-thirties.
People have a hard time guessing my age. I apparently have not aged physically since turning 21, according to most of the guesses. Sometimes, though, especially after a conversation, they guess on the older side. So I didn’t necessarily think that he was trying to rob the cradle. But I also wasn’t necessarily sure that he was actually looking for anything romantic – maybe he just wanted to talk.
Which was probably my first mistake, and my first step towards awkward.
I tried to figure it out. I’m not too shabby of an internet researcher (aka stalker), so I looked and looked… Facebook. Myspace. Google. Youtube. Anything.
Nothing!
Well, says I, what could be wrong with a little networking? So we played tag for awhile until we finally both had a window open.
But guess what? By this point, my researching had paid off.
17. Years. Older. Than. Me.
Which is not a problem, really – I relate well with folks of all ages – but it’s quite a different story when you suspect that the other party is interested in more than just a friendly chat. There’s this feeling in your gut that says, gee, this is a mess and I don’t really want to talk to this guy anymore, but I’ve been saying that I do, and, wow, I don’t know how to get out of this huge awkward mess and oh, crap.
Well, the call came in. And I was sitting at home, by myself, not doing anything. I stared at the phone, hesitating, and then I decided I’d better just bite the bullet. Maybe tell him that I didn’t really want to talk.
Only, when I picked up, we just started talking. There was no confession from me that I didn’t want to talk. There was no resistance. It just kept getting worse and worse, and the knots in my stomach kept doubling and doubling.
I’d had people pull the plug on me before. People who had enthusiastically traded e-mails with me, contacted me, and then all of a sudden stopped returning them. It stunk at first, but after a couple weeks I’d forgotten all about it. No big deal. So I could have walked away at any given time from this increasingly awkward conversation – and for whatever reason, I didn’t know how!
I don’t know if you’re a believing sort of person, reader-person, but I really believe that God stepped in to stop this awkward downward spiral. I’ve never had a connectivity issue in my house, ever. I get great reception, there’s always at least two bars.
Mid-conversation, the service just dies. Dies! The phone is suddenly “SEARCHING FOR SVC” after 10 minutes of crystal-clear conversation. I try calling. I try texting. Nothing works. I sit quietly, approximately 10% disappointed and 90% immensely relieved. And I get this sense of God trying to communicate a very important message: “I’ve given you what’s colloquially known as an ‘out.’ USE IT!”
I sent my admirer an apologetic e-mail for the loss of service with no distinct promise of a return call.
Two seconds later, my phone has service again.
I mean… maybe you think it’s petty and small-minded to think that God would bother to step in and solve my personal problems. If that’s you, I really have no rebuttal. Perhaps it is petty and small-minded of me. Or maybe I live on faith that God knows me, loves me, and protects me. Regardless, I was absolutely saved from my own awkward situation, and I’m grateful!
-----------------------------------------------------------
I’m very glad to have been given a chance to share my awkward story – there are not often appropriate vehicles for awkward stories, y’know.
This story begins in North Carolina. Greensboro is not what I’d call a vacation hotspot, but it’s where I went to school and it’s where many of my beloved college buddies still reside. I periodically take a week or two during the year to visit – and by “visit,” I mean generally mooch off my friends and sleep on their couches, while spending time catching up with folks in a rapid-fire succession of coffeeshop meetings, lunch dates, and general shenanigans.
I was so thrilled when Liz asked me if I wanted to go contra dancing. I learned to contra dance during college, and I’ve become deeply passionate about it over the years. I’ve been getting tired of annoying all my friends up north with my constant invitations to go dancing, so it was really exciting to be invited by someone else for a change!
It promised to be a great night. While Greensboro isn’t much for vacations, it’s got some great thrift stores – we found me an awesome skirt as well as a pair of pumas. I borrowed a top from Liz and BAM! We’d concocted a snazzy contra outfit! Now I was super-pumped.
Feeling great about life, we sallied forth. The beginner-to-expert ratio was very low, which is the best combination – you always want to be bringing new people to experience contra dance, but it’s best if it’s expert-heavy. That way, the beginners learn quickly, and the experts don’t get bored of dancing only with beginners the whole dance. I ran into a lot of old acquaintances, danced my way through a series of wonderful partners, and sang along to the live music. It was all over too quickly.
I was approached by a man who held out his hand, and invited me to join him for the final waltz. I obliged – it’s rare that I don’t oblige, unless I already have a partner. Waltzing is slower, more laid-back than the frenzied fun of contra. You have time to talk with your partner for awhile. To be sure, I enjoyed this man’s company, and I accepted his business card when he offered it to me at the end of the waltz – but I had pegged him as maybe mid-thirties.
People have a hard time guessing my age. I apparently have not aged physically since turning 21, according to most of the guesses. Sometimes, though, especially after a conversation, they guess on the older side. So I didn’t necessarily think that he was trying to rob the cradle. But I also wasn’t necessarily sure that he was actually looking for anything romantic – maybe he just wanted to talk.
Which was probably my first mistake, and my first step towards awkward.
I tried to figure it out. I’m not too shabby of an internet researcher (aka stalker), so I looked and looked… Facebook. Myspace. Google. Youtube. Anything.
Nothing!
Well, says I, what could be wrong with a little networking? So we played tag for awhile until we finally both had a window open.
But guess what? By this point, my researching had paid off.
17. Years. Older. Than. Me.
Which is not a problem, really – I relate well with folks of all ages – but it’s quite a different story when you suspect that the other party is interested in more than just a friendly chat. There’s this feeling in your gut that says, gee, this is a mess and I don’t really want to talk to this guy anymore, but I’ve been saying that I do, and, wow, I don’t know how to get out of this huge awkward mess and oh, crap.
Well, the call came in. And I was sitting at home, by myself, not doing anything. I stared at the phone, hesitating, and then I decided I’d better just bite the bullet. Maybe tell him that I didn’t really want to talk.
Only, when I picked up, we just started talking. There was no confession from me that I didn’t want to talk. There was no resistance. It just kept getting worse and worse, and the knots in my stomach kept doubling and doubling.
I’d had people pull the plug on me before. People who had enthusiastically traded e-mails with me, contacted me, and then all of a sudden stopped returning them. It stunk at first, but after a couple weeks I’d forgotten all about it. No big deal. So I could have walked away at any given time from this increasingly awkward conversation – and for whatever reason, I didn’t know how!
I don’t know if you’re a believing sort of person, reader-person, but I really believe that God stepped in to stop this awkward downward spiral. I’ve never had a connectivity issue in my house, ever. I get great reception, there’s always at least two bars.
Mid-conversation, the service just dies. Dies! The phone is suddenly “SEARCHING FOR SVC” after 10 minutes of crystal-clear conversation. I try calling. I try texting. Nothing works. I sit quietly, approximately 10% disappointed and 90% immensely relieved. And I get this sense of God trying to communicate a very important message: “I’ve given you what’s colloquially known as an ‘out.’ USE IT!”
I sent my admirer an apologetic e-mail for the loss of service with no distinct promise of a return call.
Two seconds later, my phone has service again.
I mean… maybe you think it’s petty and small-minded to think that God would bother to step in and solve my personal problems. If that’s you, I really have no rebuttal. Perhaps it is petty and small-minded of me. Or maybe I live on faith that God knows me, loves me, and protects me. Regardless, I was absolutely saved from my own awkward situation, and I’m grateful!
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