1. Recently, while standing in the checkout line at Wal Mart, I was greeted loudly with a cheery and thickly accented “Extrrrra Meat! Extrrra Pico!” from a smiling Café Rio line cook (still sporting sweet pork stained apron and hairnet), who not only recognized my face, but apparently remembered my typical lunch order too. I’m pretty sure this indicates a severe Rio addiction. Luckily though, this experience aided the blossoming of a convenient new friendship, and now I get my “extrrra meat” for free.
2. Along the same lines, I exchanged a smile/nod with a familiar looking woman at Target one day, both of us obviously acknowledging recognition of one another. I couldn’t remember who she was for a few minutes, until it dawned on me that she was, in fact, the main daytime clerk at the Provo City Justice Court. The disturbing part isn’t necessarily that I recognized her, but that she recognized me. If my nearly suspended license (I am literally 10 record points, or 1/5 of a standard speeding ticket away from getting my driving privileges revoked) isn’t enough to keep me driving defensively, this definitely will be.
3. When I was young, foolish, and lacked the dating skills (aka “game”) I have now since perfected, I thought it would be a wise idea to write out a list of things to talk about in preparation for a date with a particularly boring (but, like, sooo hot!) boy. This list was entitled “Things to Talk About with Sexy/Boring Rob”. Unfortunately he somehow came across this list halfway through the night, after I had already steered our feeble, strained conversation through the first four bulleted items. Embarrassed, I then attempted to save the “relationship” by leaving my flip flops as collateral of sorts, to ensure another hang out during which I could redeem myself. Instead, all this act earned me was one final text from Sexy/Boring Rob: “I left your shoes on the porch, see you around.” Ouch.
4. A few summers ago, for some odd, unexplainable reason, I signed my roommates and myself up to sing a musical number in church. (Sometimes when I listen to music too loud, I get my sing-along voice mixed up with Celine’s, Rhianna’s, Beyonce’s etc. and mistakenly think I have musical talent.) Unfortunately, I forgot to inform them of this until about ten minutes before the meeting, resulting in the most butchered, painful rendition of “Nearer My God to Thee” the BYU 226th ward had ever been forced to witness. Shoulders were shaking, and tears were falling everywhere as audience members attempted to stifle their laughter. I foolishly invited my own mother, who consoled me later with a “Sacrament meeting isn’t really the time for professional performances…” Later that night, a few of us were walking past our apartment complex’s volleyball sand pit where a group of guys was talking. I overheard the words “worst singing ever” and “really hot though”. Hey, at least we looked good!