Category: Social Life

David and Shoa’s Italy Trip from Shoa Video on Vimeo.

There’s a spider in my car. I saw it for the first time last week, and then I didn’t see it for a few days, so I thought it was dead. Then I saw it again last night on my drive home, running around my windshield like it owned the thing.

After driving like a maniac for two miles on the highway, I pulled over to a gas station. The spider ducked into some hidden spot. I walked into the gas station mart and declared to the clerk, “I have a spider in my car.” The clerk stared back at me, so I continued, “Do you have any material that can make it go away.”

The clerk looked at some oil, and then shook his head. I politely thanked him for his efforts and charged out the door, hoping I would catch the spider peeking out of her hiding spot. She remains elusive. Should I find her, I will escort her out of my car.

Yes, I’ve done it yet again. This year’s masterful April Fool’s joke got some assistance however. It was inspired by a someecard:

However, rather than joke about being pregnant, which would be impossible, I decided to suggest something else. I sent the following email out to friends:
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Hey All!

So…David and I have a big announcement, but to avoid any confusion, we won’t share it until tomorrow, April 2.

But. I’m really excited. So, I’ll just say that you should keep an eye on your emails/cell phones tomorrow, and I’ll be needing all of your mailing addresses. Go ahead and send those over as soon as possible please.

Thanks so much.

Love, I’m so full of LOVE!
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This email was wildly successful. It got two “Hahas,” three “Nice April Fools joke,” one “Are you engaged?” three “What’s the news?!” and one address, which was not even a correct address.

I got ’em good this year!

However, I was got pretty good this year myself. I’ll go ahead and share that one with you too.

A few weeks ago, I received an e-vite for a wedding celebration for an old friend that happened to be taking place the same day as my graduation, so I responded asking about two things 1) Would it be okay to arrive late, and 2) Where is the couple registered?

Today (so weeks after I had responded and had worried my question about arriving late was rude) I received a response:

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Hey:

I’m so sorry. We sent you that invitation completely by accident. This is really just a friends and family thing.

As far as gifts go, you can get us a Home Depot gift certificate and mail it to 333 Maybery Dr. City, State 021020

Thanks!
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First I was horrified about being accidentally invited, then as I was re-reading the email, I saw a follow-up email that explained it was a joke. April Fools WIN!

Me: So I read their story on theknot, their wedding website, and their story was

David: I just…(whispers) find it a bit sappy.

I’m a sucker for sappy, so I’m going to go ahead and write David and my story of how we met here.

In 1998, I had thick eyebrows, braces, and a predilection for baggy clothing. I spent most of my time playing the violin and playing the tennis. My appearance and these two hobbies naturally made me extremely popular and coveted by many a teenage boy. While nary a fellow actually approached me to discuss the matters of the heart, I am sure each budding man who shared a class with me harbored deep feelings of desire and longing for the day I sauntered up to him and sputtered, “Hello, I seem to have misplaced the rubber-band that was holding my central incisor and lateral incisor together. Have you seen it? If you do, don’t touch it. It probably has my saliva all over it.”

More than 20 miles away and less than 50, David, with his translucent skin, gloriously curly hair, and forward-thinking glasses was also playing the tennis. In addition to tennis, he was dabbling in video games, learning to drive, and boating camp. Having recently experienced his first kiss, our young Cassanova was excited to meet more young women and experience the romance he had observed while viewing The Princess Bride, a movie he had watched no less than 20 times and would eventually watch over 50 times en route to becoming a man.

That summer, our paths crossed when we both became part of a local tennis team to represent Northern Virginia in the AAU Junior Olympics – not to be mistaken with the official Olympics, which did not even occur in 1998. During the pre-Olympic practice sessions, David and I did not speak. I’m not sure he even attended the pre-Olympic practice sessions. David, did you?

Our not-speaking all changed during the first few days of the Junior Olympics. David, deciding he preferred spending time with the females rather than the males, made fast friends with the four young women on the team. He chatted up a storm with all of us, talking about music, movies, television, and radio programs. He also shared his feelings about a recent tennis-camp femme-fatale with whom he was enamored. As 13-14 year-old girls, we listened him to explain the situation and advised him on how to win her heart. We asked probing questions, such as, “Do you talk to her?” and then provided thoughtful guidance, such as, “You should talk to her.” David took vigorous mental notes during these discussions.

We parted ways after that tournament, only to re-connect in 1999’s summer Olympics. Sharing a similar sense of humor and tendency to stay awake late, we spent a couple of the nights chatting while my roommates fell asleep. When David left, I lay awake in bed, thinking it would be delightful if he would be my first kiss. Then I thought about how complicated the kiss might be, since we both had braces. I dismissed the thought and returned to thinking about the importance of winning the upcoming tennis matches. After 1999, it would be a while before I saw David again.

****

By 2007, I had blossomed into a compelling, thoughtful and absolutely delightful woman. One day, I organized a classy evening of laser tag with my good friends – including Ryan and Helen. They had originally said they would probably not make it because they were going to watch Shrek 3. While we were in the briefing room for the laser tag event, I got a call from Ryan, telling me they were on their way. Delighted, because with laser tag, the more the merrier, I told him to hurry and that they would make it for the next round.

When they arrived, I noticed they brought friends. I saw David and I said, rather excitedly, “David Lastname!” Then I took it down a notch. “I’m not sure if you remember me, we were at AAU together! I’m MyName!” He laughed and said, “Right, I remember you.”
“Good!” I smiled, then I got back to business. “Everyone gather around so we can review the laser tag strategy. Those 12 year olds are killing us out there, so we all need to step it up a notch. Connor, you’re not carrying your weight. I have half a mind to kick you off the team.”

Unlike Connor, David was surprisingly good at laser tag. He was so stealthy that I didn’t even see him in the arena, but I think he had one of the top scores in the game. After laser tag, I learned that he and Helen used to work together. “Let me get your number,” he said, “I’ll call you.”
“Sure!” I replied, giving him my number, assuming he was just being polite. A few days later, he called, and we made lunch plans. A few weeks later, we were dating. A few months later, we were traveling together. A few years later, we were finishing each others se…sen…sente…David jump in here.

It turned out that after watching Shrek 3, David, Helen’s other friend, and Ryan were deciding where to go for dinner, and Ryan mentioned that I had organized laser tag. David, recognizing my name, said, “I used to know a MyUniqueName…” and Ryan, realizing that David really meant, “I want to go to her!” made the executive decision to take the group to laser tag. Ryan and Helen have since received Thank You notes from me.

“See, I knew, I KNEW this would be good,” David said one day a year later, while we were driving. “This? What is this?” I asked, seeking clarification. “Us,” he replied, “you and me. I knew we would be good together.”

And that is the story of how we met.

Forgive me, the title of this post is misleading. I don’t really know how to look good with an eyepatch. I do, however, know how to look with an eyepatch. Here’s how to look with an eyepatch.

1. Glare with your remaining eye.
2. Wink with your remaining eye.
3. Remind people to look into your good eye.

That’s all I can really think of.

Why the eyepatch? Well, this Valentine’s weekend, I got an eye infection. These things are expensive. With insurance, the eyedrops cost $72, the eyepatch, which I only bought because the infected eye looks a bit hideous, cost $4, and the appointment cost $40. I also threw out my contacts and the cases they were in, so I would estimate that to be another $30. Cost of asking David if I still looked okay and him pretending it wasn’t that bad while he twitched uncomfortably? Priceless.

Update 02/16/2010 – During my check-up today, learned that my eye was not infected. Rather, the contact had been suffocating my eye, and my eye had responded as though there was trauma to the eye. The antibiotics were to ensure my eye would not get infected in its weakened state. I shan’t be wearing contacts for a while. Stay tuned for a post on the glory of glasses.

Well, it seems Father Winter has returned, this time with a vengeance. Our area received almost 30 inches of snow. Can you believe it! 30 inches! Encroyable! I spent the weekend shovelin’ and diggin’, dispersing the white powder the good Lord brought us. It was invigorating.

Then, I walked around and judged my neighbors for their shoveling efforts. If they did a formidable job shoveling their driveway, I gave them a rating of seven shovels. If they cleared out their driveway, but dumped all their snow into the street making it difficult for neighbors to get by, I gave them a rating of two shovels – for being inconsiderate. If they looked like they began shoveling and found the gusting winds and continuing snowfall made it futile, I gave them a rating of three shovels. If it looked like they had not even left the house to shovel off their porch and steps, I gave them no shovels, and a disapproving shake of the head.

While we were shoveling, I also asked my brother if he would like to join me in making a snowman. “It will be whimsical and fun!” I explained, fondly remembering our younger days in the snow.

To my dismay, he replied angrily, “I would rather go inside and do math problems.” I didn’t expect that answer.

A few weeks ago, Ike Carrotstick* was telling us all stories in the car, and after thinking about it for a while, I commented, “Ike! You tell such great stories!”

“Thank you!” replied Ike, pleased that his listeners recognized his talents.

Then, last night after dinner, whilst at the metro waiting for our train, I told our group to gather around, because I had a story to share. They all gathered, and I began,

“I was at the Starbucks, and I really had to fart. Coffee does strange things to me.  Anyway, I was trying to figure out how to do it deftly, when I realized the music was playing really loudly, with a heavy bass in the background.  So I timed my gas exertions with the music, every time the bass hit I would cut one.  After a while, I was feeling much better.  Then, as I was gathering my things to leave, I noticed everyone was staring at me. (pause for effect) I remembered I had been listening to my iPod.”

Everyone nodded and smiled. “That wasn’t you,” Sara said.

“Haha, you’re right, that wasn’t me,” I confessed, “I read that online and thought it would sound better if I said it was me.”  Everyone laughed, except for Ike.

“Ike, do you have a better story you would like to share with us?” I asked, opening the floor to Ike.

“Me? No. No no. I don’t have anything to share,” he replied.

So 5 minutes later, we’re all on the metro, and Ike leans over, whispering, “Did you share that story for a reason? Was it related to anything? From the restaurant?”

“No,” I shook my head innocently, “it wasn’t related to anything. I just thought it was funny.”  Ike  looked uncomfortable.

“You cut one in the restaurant, didn’t you?” I asked/accused.

“No…”

“Maybe just a little one?” I held my index finger and thumb up, to indicate the size of  the fart.

Then his confession came pouring out: “It was actually after, while we were getting up, totally by accident. I thought it was the perfect crime. Then I wondered if your story was me getting busted in disguise. I wasn’t raised in a trailer, I swear!”

For shame, Ike. For shame.

*Name changed.