Doors Are Hard

You know what never fails to be awkward? When you push open a door from one side at the exact same time that someone else pulls it open from the other side.

Especially when that other person is a guy who's a foot taller than me and I nearly collide with his chest.

Did I mention that he's an attractive guy and that I wouldn't mind if he asked me out?

Yep. Awkward for sure.

Questions of Style

I love shoes. I have a lot of them. Not an exorbitant amount, mind you, but a lot. I could probably go over a month without wearing the same pair of shoes twice. No, not probably. I could. Which is why it's not so much of a surprise when I forget about shoes that I own.

I was getting dressed before work this morning when I remembered something. I own a pair of saddle shoes. So on the fly, I put them on.

All day long I have vacillated between thinking I look awesome and thinking I look ridiculous. I still can't decide.

A (not so) Recent Discovery

I have come to a conclusion: I am awkward. There are no ifs, ands, or buts about it. No matter how hard I try to not be awkward, I just seem to get worse.

My awkwardness comes out mostly in the normal, everyday, brief social encounters, such as passing colleagues at work or saying hi to people in church. I try to be pleasant and friendly by saying hi, or simply smiling, but the hi will get caught in my throat or the smile will feel more like a grimace.

Lately I've been noticing a couple of situations where my awkwardness comes out in full force. The first is the stair encounter. KLAS is located on the top floor of an office building, and I always take the stairs. The worst possible thing about walking on the stairs is when someone is walking behind me. For some reason, it makes me feel jittery and stressed. If I get to work at the same time as a co-worker that I don't know very well, I will hang back so they enter the stairwell first. I also hate the awkward pleasantries that pass between acquaintances. *shudder*

The second situation is the bathroom conversation, which is so much worse than the stairs. If someone else is in the bathroom at the same time as I am, I will either book it to wash my hands and get out of there before the other person is done or hang back until the other person leaves. The thought of having to talk to someone while I'm washing the bathroom germs from my hands stresses me out for some reason.

Why do these situations stress me out? I don't know. Oh yeah. Because I'm awkward.

Though I do have to say that once I get to know someone, I become significantly less awkward. I am still awkward—that won't go away anytime soon—but I like to think it's not debilitating.

Idiot Moment of the Day

To begin this rather awesome moment of idiocy (and to defend myself just a bit), I must say that every time I get out of my car, I lock it. I never leave it unlocked, anywhere I go. Even if I'm just running into the store for five minutes, I lock my car. I don't have keyless entry, so I have to put the key in the driver's door and turn it, which locks all of the doors. The thing is, I can never remember which way locks the doors and which way unlocks the doors. I usually end up turning the key twice until I hear the locks engage.

Well, this morning I headed out to my car and went to unlock the doors so I could start the car and let it warm up while I scraped. My doors were all frosty from the night's cold, and my windows were completely frosted over. I stuck my key in the lock and turned until I heard the locks engage. But when I pulled the handle, the door wouldn't open. I was pretty sure it was frozen shut, so I pulled harder, but that didn't work.

The maintenance man at my apartment complex walked past as I was trying to get my door to open and asked me if it was frozen shut, and I said yes. He was very nice and tried to help me open it. I went around to the passenger's side door to see if that one would open so I could push the driver's side door open from the inside, but the other door was frozen shut too. The maintenance man grabbed a water bottle from his truck and tried melting the ice away with it, but the door still wouldn't open.

At this point, the maintenance man looked at me and said, "Are you sure it's unlocked?"

"Yeah, I know I unlocked it," I replied, but I pulled out my keys just to show him that it was already unlocked. Some of the water he had used had melted enough of the frost on the window so I could see the lock inside the car, and sure enough, the stupid car was locked.

I felt like the biggest idiot in the entire world. My doors weren't frozen shut. They were locked. I couldn't believe it, because that meant I didn't lock my car the night before, so when I turned the key, it locked it instead of unlocked it. I mumbled an inaudible thanks to the maintenance man and got into my car as quickly as I could. Thanks to my idiocy, I was fifteen minutes late to work.

Man, I am awesome. Except...not.

Ah, the Joys of Cyber Stalking

So, a couple weeks ago, I joined Twitter. Yes, Twitter. Why? So I could follow Sherwood. (What else would it be?) They post a lot of pictures and videos and just kind of let their fans know where they are and what's going on, which is kind of cool.

I planned on just checking their updates and all that jazz. Then I discovered that you can tweet at people. So tweeted at them to let them know that I absolutely loved their new album. No big deal. Then I looked at their page and realized that they actually tweeted back at people. Well, that's pretty exciting. So I tweeted at them again telling them that I'd be at their Utah shows. And they tweeted back! Oh my gosh! So I tweeted a few more times, in the hopes that they would tweet back. Then I discovered the band members' individual pages, and I obviously had to follow them.

And that's when I realized that Twitter made me feel like a stalker.

All Twitter is is a way for normal, everday people to feel like they have some connection to their favorite celebrities. Nobody cares about what their real-life friends are doing . . . that's what Facebook's for, after all. I always thought Twitter was stupid. And then I got caught up in its stupidity. Because, you know, I need to know that Nate Henry can't sleep on their tour bus. I need to know that the band is chilling in New Orleans. Even though I couldn't have cared less three weeks ago.

So I'm done tweeting for a little while. I don't like feeling like a crazy psycho stalker fan. Especially because my worst fear is that I'll talk to the band after their show and they'll say, "Hey, you're the girl who tweets at us all the time and follows all of us." That would be a little embarrassing.