The awkward trials of being accidentally funny

Apparently, I said something funny a few days ago.  Katie swears by it.  But she can't remember what it was.  However, even though none of us can remember me being funny, I have been pressured into remembering it and then writing a blog post about it.  It's possibly the most stressful thing I've ever been through.  I try to dig through my memory for something funny I might have said 3.6 days ago, but I just can't recall it.  Every once and a while I'll say something that I think might be it, but then I look at Katie and she makes no response, or worse, gives a pity laugh.  I'm patronized by the idea that I might have said something amusing that might have changed my entire life for the better and perhaps could have made me money and fame and gotten me several boyfriends, but I just can't remember it.  Also, apparently that one sentence (thought, word, idea?) that I sputtered out 3.6 days ago used up all my funny.  Sorry guys.  I can only be funny when I'm about to go into a memory lapse, apparently.  And that memory lapse also affects my roommates.

Maybe that funny phrase was actually a magic spell, and it makes whomever hears it forget what I said.  Pretty useless, admittedly, unless your goal is to make several people crazy trying to figure out what it is that I said, including myself.  I'm pretty sure if I figure out how to harness this superpower, I could be president of the world.  Or something.  Because I could say something stupid that would make people stop voting for me, but then they would just forget what I said and just remember that I was funny.  Success.  I'm gonna have to practice this.

...

What kind of bear has no teeth?

A gummy bear!

....Yeah, I don't think that was it.  *sigh*

Foot In Mouth Disease.

I celebrated unofficial "Ugly Sweater Day" on campus yesterday.  On my way to my first class, I passed a girl wearing a borderline ugly/ironic American flag sweater.  I was booking it to class and clearly high off endorphins.   As I passed her, I stopped and shouted "Hey, ugly sweater day?"

No.  She was just wearing it.

I mumbled an obligatory "Oh... well I like it?" and ran away.  I really hope I didn't ruin the sweater for her.  Thank goodness there are 30,000 students here.  Although by Murphy's Law, she will be joining me when I go abroad next semester.  And possibly be my roommate.  That's kind of how my life works.

I'm good at breaking and entering. Or others are just bad at locking doors.

Our building, good ol' Glenwood Number 4, is the furthest one from campus.  It's so far!  Once I even get to the Glenwood parking lot I have to walk past 3 buildings just to get to ours.  Sometimes my subconscience gets impatient, and I become sure it can't be that far.  So I unconsciously turn into the third building and go into the matching apartment there.  The first time this happened was during the first week of school.  We were still unpacking, and there were boxes and dishes and misc. items all over the kitchen. We all left that morning vowing that we would organize when we got home.  Well, when I walked into the apartment after school, everything was clean and tidy, and there was even a vase of flowers on the kitchen table!  I froze, thinking to myself, "Wow!  My roommates have been busy!  I wonder who got the flowers!"  As I continued to walk through the entry way, however, something felt off.  The couches were in different spots, and the decorations that we had haphazardly put on the wall that morning had disappeared.  That's when it hit me.  This was not the apartment I was looking for.  I quickly exited that apartment and shut the door, then walked out of the building like nothing had happened.  When I finally got to our building and entered our real apartment, there were the boxes and dishes and a distinct absence of flowers in a vase.  Home, sweet home.

This has happened numerous times since then.  You would think that I would learn that we live in building 4.  Actually, no, let's be real here.  I'll never learn that, but you would think that the owners of the apartment I keep walking into would learn to lock their door.  I've met them now, they're very nice.  They were pretty convincing when they pretended to understand why I can't figure out where I live, even after 3 months.  I'm sure we'll soon be on first name basis, and then they can give all my information to the psych ward and have them come pick me up.  They know where I live and everything.  So, if one day I just up and disappear, I'm either at the matching apartment one building over, or in the psych ward.  Either way, please come get me.

now i'm three dollars richer!

sometimes, i like to think of myself as a crafty person. as such, there are various sewing/refashion blogs i follow. the other day, i was checking my favorite one and noticed one of the posts included a picture of a young-ish guy modeling a shirt the author refitted. said my-age-ish-looking guy was labeled as the author's younger brother. i couldn't help but notice that he was super familiar looking... but i figured he just had one of those faces.

tonight at dinner, a few boys came and sat at a table near where marina, sara, dallin and i were sitting. immediately i identified one of them as Blog Boy. after filling marina, sara and dallin in on the sitch, i began measuring how crazy it would be if i went and asked him if he really was the boy from the c&c blog. then i began measuring how awkward that conversation would be and decided it just wasn't worth the trouble...

until marina told me she would give me a dollar if i would talk to him. then dallin and sara offered to pitch in a dollar each, also. i almost never say no to free stuff, because i'm cheap- and i certainly don't say no to easy money! indeed, it was a strange and somewhat stilted conversation. because i don't know how to be normal. but nonetheless, i walked away with two IOUs and four quarters. win? i think so.

if sewing is your thing, or if you want to see the post, or if you just have some time to smerf, the blog is cottonandcurls.blogspot.com, and the Blog Boy post was written about a week ago about refitting t-shirts. check it out, the author is fantastic, and i think i secretly hope she'll notice traffic from my blog and come and read this and mention it and it'll be an awesome circle of upped views. true story.

true story.

sara starts laughing. i creep on her, and immediately know i have to post this. if you don't know why, quit smerfing around and get to reading.

-katie

well this is awkward.

turns out the unfortunate boy i potentially scarred is in the same physical science lab as jessie and i. there are nine other sections and nine other labs he could be in... but of course he's in mine. you would think i had smerfed mother theresa in a past life for the poor karmic synergy i'm getting lately.

let the semester full of avoiding eye contact and awkward hellos begin.

(of course i will keep everyone updated)

-katie

if he could've, i think he would've run away. screaming.

i had an encounter with one of the new boys in our ward yesterday. his name is britton (i think... he didn't stick around long enough for me to double check) and he is in the same physical science class as jessie and i. jessie, social butterfly that she is, invited him to sit with us, and then walk back to the dorm with us afterward.

it just so happens that i get a little tongue tied around new people sometimes, and i say all the wrong things. it also just so happens that i have been a bundle of nerves lately as i consider my various potential classes/futures. i've been really stressed the last few days about making sure i'm in good classes this semester that i'm more socially inept than usual.

with that in mind, consider what this poor new kid must be thinking as he walks down freshman hill with jessie and myself as i start rambling about my mid-year crisis and how conflicted i've been feeling. then jessie, trying to comfort me, mentions my mini-breakdown/cry fest the night before, and that's it. we've completely lost him.

i wish i could've told him i'm not normally so smerfing chaotic, but if i'm being honest... i'm a big basket of crazy. i saw him later that night and apologized while explaining that i usually dole out the crazy in little bits until people are used to me. but i don't think he understood.

tragic, really.