The Romantic Gesture

I write more about romantic stuff than I actually do romantic stuff. Is that part of the curse of being a damaged writer who is forever single? Probably. 

So, I saw this retweet by Taco Bell on twitter (duhhh) and it was a girl talking about how she got asked to her prom via a verde sauce packet. Like, I guess he got a packet that had a blank white place to write your own message and he wrote "Prom?" in the space and gave it to her. Okay, maybe it is just the hopeless romantic that nests in my body all year long talking and controlling my mind, but this totally made me want a boyfriend (and no, not a creepy guy from the internet). And so I started to think about all the perfect ways a guy could propose going steady with me or asking me on a date that would just be completely irresistible to my girlish wonder.

Number one, and this will forever be a school girl fantasy for me, is through one of those stupid elementary school check-yes-or-no notes. I don't know why this approach to romance is so damn appealing to me, but it I don't think I could ever not say yes to one of those bastards (unless, of course,
the guy was a bastard... and then the cards change). Of course, sadly, I'm at an age now that doesn't really think that kind of gesture is appropriate. Instead, we just bump and grind and have casual sex with people we have no emotional attachments to. Adulthood, everyone! 

Number two is really for my inner fatass... also, I kind of stole this from The Princess Diaries, so shoot me. Anyway, a guy orders me a pizza (preferably cheese because who doesn't like cheese? Oh, right. Lactose intolerant bitches!) and then has the pizza place write out "Will you... [insert desired action here]?" in Sour Patch Kids on top. I know, it sounds totally gross, but I would eat the Sour Patch Kids before eating the pizza... maybe. Okay, I'd totally try them together, but who cares?   But, really, who could say no to that? Personally, I can't say no to pizza ever, so that's the best way to win my heart.

-___- Desmond and Daniel = Constants 4ever

Number three is also food related (damn, how have I lost 65 pounds with this much food on my mind?).  Okay, so, the guy gets a custom fortune cookie fortune made and puts it in a fortune cookie (really, Angela? you don't say?) and gives it to me after getting me chinese food. Of course, the fortune says something really cute like "Hey, sexy. Be my constant. Love, Daniel Faraday" or "Eat together, fat alone. jk. Let's be fat together." The LOST references are not optional.

Finally, concert proposals. I have been to way too many concerts where girls get proposed to by their boyfriends on stage or during the show at some point. I want that. That is like the most badass gesture in the book of gestures. If a guy could get, say, Jon Foreman, lead singer of Switchfoot, or another relevant member of a band to be like "Hey, this guy loves you lots. Go out with him/ marry him, okay?" That'd probably have a very high feedback rating. But that's just my opinion.

So, pretty much, my stomach is my heart. But is that really a surprise to anyone? 

Musicians are SEXY!

Only half true, Napoleon. You forgot the hair.

So, back during my spring break, Bruce and I watched this movie called "Safety Not Guaranteed" (which, just incase you were wondering, was actually pretty cute if you're looking for one of those moderately sappy indie movies), and, in one of the scenes, the main female character listens to the main dude character sing and play a song that he wrote for his girlfriend. During this scene, Bruce asked why girls go gaga over guys with instruments or guys who can sing. And it got me thinking for a moment. WHY do girls go crazy over these dreamboats with extra filling (aka talent and cuteness combined)?

Now, I'm totally guilty of this. Thinking back on all of my celebrity crushes I've had over the years or even guys I got goosebumps for in the real world, a lot of them had some kind of artistic talent that set them apart from the rest of the herd. I mean, my first school girl crush, for the love of God, was a skilled drawer at the age of 8... And later in high school, I liked singers and writers. There is just something about how a guy can twiddle his thumbs and make amazing stuff come from the ordinary (whoa... that sounds dirty. And now I'm making you analyze what I just said.... and now you think I'm a pervert! Happy day!) that makes him like a million times more attractive instantly. Because, trust me, I've liked guys who, before I knew they had this hidden hotness talent, I didn't even give a second glance. And then WHAM! *instant lady boner from hearing Josh Groban*

Of course, not every single guy who has some kind of artistic ability is going have the girls on their knees begging "Please, baby, please!" It's a package deal, dudes. You gotta walk the walk and talk the talk... and have great hair and teeth. 

I've always considered art a doorway to the soul, so a guy that just puts his soul on the table like that without making a girl work hard looking for it... That's just really hot.

Honestly, I think a guy exposing that side of him is what makes him super attractive. Courage and confidence are hot. If a guy lets me read his writing or isn't afraid to sing in the car with me (because I can't resist a good car sing-a-long no matter how hard I try), that instantly becomes bonus points
on the scale of "Is this guy worth swooning over or not?" But it's not like EVERY single guy who does these things is going to get my heart racing. Just, if you've got the rest of the ingredients, the added spoonful of sugar on top just might make the cake.... or give me diabetes.

So, write me your poems. Tell me a story. Serenade me with the sweetest canticles of the John Denver variety. Doodle me a picture of a Scottish terrier eating my face off. Do your finest, sir.

Too bad you'll never live up to any of my unrealistic expectations due to the fact that I read Twilight freshman year of high school.

Oh No I Didn't!

The back of an angel.  (photo by me!)

So, 2 years ago, I was lucky enough to be invited to see Josh Groban in concert with my friend, Emma, and her mom. Dude, I love Josh Groban. He's probably the most "adult" singer that I listen to because I'm normally not into music that doesn't have some curve of angst in it (because it's totally not like I don't already have enough angst as it is). Anyway, when I found out that I was going to be seeing him I was like freaking out and preparing my acceptance speech to the spontaneous marriage proposal he would pull out of his pocket during the concert if our eyes should meet for a brief moment. Yeah, that is how much I love Josh Groban. Then again, who doesn't love Josh Groban? I mean, he totally kicks major ass in everything he does. You could probably say he really knows how to... RAISE things up. (Get it? Like, You Raise Me Up...like the song. Nevermind)

Okay. Back to my story. Damn. I'm ADHD right now.

So, we get to the BOK Center in Tulsa, and that's when I find out that we have freaking floor seats. Just FYI, in my adult life I have never ever ever had real floor seats to any concert, so this was a huge deal to me. Because everyone knows that most performers will travel through the crowd on the floor at some point during the show and that gives anyone an opportunity to touch the person they've just paid a ridiculous amount of money to see in concert. Then, when we were situated in our seats, suddenly something rather close to me and amazing caught my eye. 

It was a smaller stage. With a piano on it. A Groban-sized piano. 

So, I immediately turned to Emma. 

Me: Girl, what is that over there?

Her: What?

Me: That thing 10 feet away from us right now. 

Her: Oh my gosh.

Me: You don't think he'll be right there, do you?

Her: Oh my gosh. 

Me: *internally dies from the potential closeness of Josh Groban*

Her: Oh my gosh. 

So, then I just sat there totally flipping my shit because Joshua Winslow Groban might be super close to me any moment from then. And then his opening act came out. And that was alright. I don't remember much of that because of the amazing piano stage that was 10 feet to my left. Yes. It was like being at a funeral and having no choice but to think about the rotting corpse in the box in front of you. (Yes, I did just compare a lifeless body to a piano. Deal with it)

And then it happened. He came out. And began the show. On the piano. 10 feet from my body. 

I melted. 

He did his thing and I continued to melt onto the floor beneath me. His smooth vocals, piano-playing that could make miracles happen, and perfectly styled hair were flawless. The whole crowd was silent for lots of the show because we were all mesmerized by this God-like presence before us. I'd never been to a concert where the crowd wasn't 98% screaming teenage girls or drunk neanderthals, so this was a new concept to my mind. I loved it. 

My favorite thing about concerts are the stories that the performer(s) will tell during the show. Josh, thank the high Heavens above, did this at my concert. He talked about how he'd seen that Tulsa was having it's annual Mayfest (which the cute little idiot called May Fair... but I'll let it slide this time) and some other stuff. Then he told a story about how someone had made a tweet about how he wouldn't be caught dead at a Josh Groban concert. 

Unf. (photo by me!)

Now, what happened next can't be explained. 

Me: OH NO HE DI-DN'T!

Josh: *turns in my direction*

Josh: That's right! "Oh no, he di-dn't!"

Instantly, Emma's mom had her hands on my shoulders and she was saying that I'd talked to Josh. 

And I had.

I had spoken to Josh Groban. 

Truthfully, I didn't think he'd hear my yell because I'm just so used to not being heard, but he did. He acknowledged that my vocal cords had produced a sound that his ears understood. It was amazing. 

So, you see, I might just say things spontaneously sometimes, but sometimes that unflattering habit of mine can perform pop-opera miracles of the Josh Groban variety. So, anyone who says I need to keep my mouth shut can suck my big, fat one, okay? Because I know they haven't talked to Josh freaking Groban. 

Oh! The People You'll Meet At The Gym!

I'm a frequent frequenter (five stars for redundancy) of the gym. Like, I go maybe 5 times a week, so that's a lot of times and a lot of my time spent with sweaty strangers. And, over the course of my lifetime at the gym, I've seen a lot of types of people huffing and puffing and grunting beside me. I've actually come to categorize these people because, well, when you're just walking up an incline for an hour, you get really bored and need things to keep your mind busy.

So, I present to you: the people you'll meet at the gym.

1. The foreigners who don't understand the custom of wearing deodorant. Yes, I know that sounds terrible when you really think about it, but seriously. You are in America now. We have deodorant everywhere you can buy pretty much anything because people like to smell good. Now, because you don't wear deodorant when you workout, you smell like goat testicles. Okay, I don't actually know what goat testicles smell like, but I am sure that they don't smell like a walk through the freaking tulips. So, if you go into a gym in an area that is populated by people from other countries or just really any country where large quantities of body hair is popular, you're probably going to run into a few people who smell really freaking bad.

2. The bodybuilders who look like they have seriously been lifting weights since they moonwalked out of their mother's hooha. Yeah, you know who I'm talking about. I'm totally cool with the fact that they have muscles bigger than my head, but damn. Damn. Damn. Damn. How? Or, an even better question, where do you find shirts and pants that fit your humongous muscles? Well, I'm sure if I had their bodies, I just wouldn't even bother buying clothes. I'd just be like "Yo, check out my pectorals and other muscles that I don't know the names of! Bow down, puny peasants!" I mean, sure, it's a little intimidating. Like, I look over at the bodybuilders when I'm doing resistance training and I feel like I might as well not even try because look at their muscles. If you're like me, you might want to stay away from the big shots.

3. The girls who are going to run a 12 minute mile so they can feel slightly better about the amount of beer they'll be consuming that night. Yeah, I know what you're doing. After so many people plop down on the treadmill next to me and all do 12 minutes on it, I kind of get the picture. I mean, girl, I get it. I'd do the same thing if I had the social expectations of thirsty thursday riding on my gluts every week, but seriously. There are other things you can do besides that mile. I'm just saying. Yes, I know, I'm a gym snob. Sue me.) Plus, your hair looks way too neat for you to be at the gym. And are you wearing Chanel right now? But at least they didn't give in to pole dancing to burn their calories. Hola!

4. The people who are only at the gym because they decided to stick to their New Year's resolution. Finally, someone is saying it. I am totally supportive of the fresh meat that walks through the doors of the gym at the beginning of the year. I think that is fantastic that they are up for getting fit and healthy despite the unbelievable amounts of doughnuts and Big Mac's they ate the previous year. And, hey look, it's April and you're they're still here. That's even more impressive. I applaud your effort! And bonus points for not doing your hair or makeup before you came!

5. Old people! Okay, this is my favorite thing to see at the gym. Especially when it's elderly couples that exercise together. It kind of melts my inner bits and pieces every single time I see them. And what gets me is that they go hard when they workout. Like, they are there to win the gold and whoop some youthful ass with their age spots and war tattoos. They don't even have earbuds and an iPod. They are just loose skin and bones. And it's damn adorable. 

So, if you think you won't fit in at the gym and so you don't go, shut up. There are some real freaks at the gym. Myself included. So, just get up off your ass and go break a sweat. And, please for the love the good Lord upstairs, put on some deodorant. The world will thank you for that!