I'd Rather Be Blind

Does anyone else feel like they've got front row seats with their BFF at the Spice Girls reunion tour? That's how we feel right now...we're back! Believe me when I say we got busy. But trust us when we say the stories and pathetic love lives have not ceased to exist!

Guess what happened? Corinne was on campus last week when the coolest girl ever walked up to her and said, "Are you the one with the blog?" People recognize us, and that makes us want to write more. Like seriously? Y'all rule the world. That gives me a tiny bit of hope that perhaps we're not the only ones getting stood up on Saturday nights...which leads me to our next story:

If blind dates aren't the worst thing to ever exist, prove it to me right now (this doesn't mean you can go out and hook me up with your awkward nephew or brother... UNLESS he's a 25-year-old lumber-sexual, has good style and is over 6'0". We'll talk). It started with the usual text of "I just gave my friend your number; he's going to call you". Is it sad when you get to the point where you're totally ok with this? It's like a missionary talking about their #1 finding tool, but the cat lady version. Pathetic, I know. So, in your experience, do they always call? No. But this one did and we made plans for the next Saturday. He said we'd keep in touch throughout the week and then... nothin'. Nada. Nunca. Fin. I heard deafening silence...zip. zilch. all week. Even up until the said planned event- Saturday night. So this is when we ask ourselves if we should hold any responsibility in contacting them. Our theory? Heck to the nooooo. A woman likes to be pursued! So that leads us to this moment:

Maybe this is just what we needed to get us back out for our fans' sakes. 

A Series of 3 (unfortunate events)

As you may have noticed, our blog has been running a little dry as of late. Not for lack of effort mind you, but it appears that the universe had bigger problems to worry about than our never-ending tale of rejection. But fate smiled wryly on Tuesday as she delivered Austrie and I a cruel, ironic invitation. It came in the form of intense humiliation in the span of five minutes in the bookstore as every male that I've dated in the past few months walked past me, awkwardly avoiding eye contact. As Austrie and I laughed/cried our way to the cashier, we noticed a flyer sponsored by the university to attend speed dating. SPEED DATING. After the gales of laughter subsided, Austrie turned to me with wide eyes, and shrieked,"Let's do it!" Laughter attack round two ensued, with a determination that we would subject ourselves to the event that would guarantee at least one solid blog post. (We really go the extra mile for y'all)

>On Thursday<

After the longest day, with greasy hair and the film that settles on your skin after hours of CAD and classes, we trudged the walk of desperation as slowly as possible up to the Hinckley.

As we approached out destination, we saw something that made my heart turn cold, and weakened my commitment to the blog.  

>Bald, blazer, green socks with chacos<

Yes, he too was attending speed dating. It only went downhill from that moment. After a quick walk by, I literally wanted to run in the opposite direction as far as I could. The only thing that got me across the threshold was Austrie repeating to me over and over, "For the blog, for the blog!" And so for you, dear readers, we subjected ourselves to three-minute increments of torture for an hour and a half. There were some boys that you could tell were genuinely trying and were really, really shy, but for the most part, every stereotype that enters your mind when you hear the phrase speed dating is accurate. I even got to "date" bald-chaco, and was asked what I was told the most important question of my life: "How do you feel about Lord of the Rings?" The clincher of the entire night was the prayer, supplicating divine powers to allow temple marriages to be achieved through this evening. I. DIED. Not to mention the staff running the event was looking at Austrie and I  with total bewilderment, as if to say,"What are you doing here?!" And as we left, almost wetting ourselves with our laughter about what we had just experience, an idea was born. And here we announce that we have now entered a series post. Over the course of the next few weeks, you will be rewarded with posts that all have to do with the number three. 

Tonight was Episode 1: 3 Minutes. Stay tuned for part two. You're really going to want to  read it. You might even want to swipe right. 

Things You Never Say To a Spinster Pt.1

Old ladies at the temple are just the cutest.

I had just walked out of the dressing room, waiting for Corinne when a older sister walked up to me and said, "Are you waiting for you husband?" I laughed and thought, "Well, I guess you could say that..." I think I was dumbfounded.
It was around the same time when I was at the temple with my mom. A woman working there realized my mom and I had the same last name. Putting two and two together, I'd have thought she would quickly figure out it was a mother/daughter-thing going on. Quite the contraire. She said, "Is that woman your sister in law?" I gave her a puzzled look..."Her? That's my mom...." The woman left, only to pick up the conversation right where we left off a few minutes earlier. I could tell she was curious as to why I would be at the temple without a ring on my left hand. (As if that's the only reason deemed acceptable to be in the temple!) I went on to explain I had recently returned home from serving a mission. After a smile she said,"You hang in there...I didn't get married until I was 30!"
It's a good thing I don't get depressed easily.

B is For Backhand

It's a given law of nature that when competing predators see prey being pursued, they join in. In the English vernacular, we call this "coming out of the woodwork." When I was preparing to leave on my mission, all of the sudden every male within a 12 mile radius was knocking on my front door. Any time I'm dating someone exclusively, I experience this same phenomena. Hello?! Where were you three months ago when I awkwardly had a face-off with the guy who stood me up? I'm just saying, you're timings a little off dudes. That being said, the specimens that are expelled from said woodwork are usually....of an exotic breed. Take last Sunday for example. As a ward missionary, it's my privilege to teach the Gospel Principles class (learn more here) every other Sunday. When you know you're going to be standing in front of an audience, you try to make an effort to look your best-No sense in subjecting your class to an eyesore for an hour! Now, I'm not one to EVER toot my own horn about my physical appearance. If I do, it's out of a fit of facetious-ness. My best friend will tell you that I carry the lowest opinion of myself, but that's a topic for a Dr. Phil edition or something, not the Cat Lady. ANYWAYS, it's about as rare as finding Peter Pan's shadow that I will deem myself attractive, much less voice it. But on this particular Sabbath day, I would have given myself a 7. I was wearing my hunter-green pencil skirt, Nieman Marcus heels, and my hair was doing its usual voluptuous routine. As class began, I was excited to have seemingly eager participants, until I realized that one of them was that kid. You know the one I'm talking about; the guy who has to speak just to remind himself how beautiful he thinks his own voice is? He was becoming very distracting and disruptive, and finally winks at me and says,"I'm just teasing. Just ignore me." In typical Sister-Chidester-smackdown fashion, I retorted,"It would be much easier to ignore you if you would be quiet." A midst the muted cheers for my verbal lashing, our wanna-be Flynn Ryder looked somewhat abashed, and thankfully corked it for the rest of the meeting. After class ended, I gathered my things, cleaned up the whiteboard, and turned around only to find our antagonist about 6 inches away from my face. "Yes?" I said. "Do you have a critique for me or something?" He proceeds to grin like a goon and says,"No, but I do have a question; you said you're a designer, right?"

"Right," I reply. 

"Can you tell me what material this is?" he asks, holding out his suit coat arm. 

"Um...probably not, considering that's not my area of study."

"Please, can you just try?"

(pinching the fabric between my fingers) "My guess would be viscose and polyester." 

Grinning, he looks me dead in the eye and states,"Nope. That's boyfriend material." 

"..............................................................................................................................................................."

There was literally nothing to say to that. An incredulous laugh/gasp passed my lips, and then I walked off to talk to actual boyfriend material.

This Ain't a Fairytale

Would you be surprised if we told you we signed up for an elective together? We didn't think so. We feel very strongly that by living together and having all the same classes together, we were still lacking a quality-time ratio. Let me express to you the importance of choosing electives with the potential of meeting someone from the male species. There is one boy in our design classes. ONE. Electives are a legendary time in which the Clarke building unleashes designers into unknown territory, as if we have exactly one hour to spot a rare unicorn: AKA a man. So go ahead, close your eyes, imagine us walking across campus with the hopes of meeting only the cutest men enrolled ... and of course having them sweep us off our feet, and ride off into the sunset on a bicycle built for two.
Enter World Religions.
As we briskly enter room 111, (after a quick pep talk) we're on the prowl. Are those two empty seats in between two quite eligible bachelors we see? Dare we hope? There's no apparent glimmer coming from the left hand where the fourth finger meets the knuckle. So we stake our territory by strategically placing ourselves in said empty seats, and await the ringing of church bells.

HALT!

The universe has once again taken pleasure in conspiring against us. Dashed to pieces are our dreams of romance! Gone forever is the window of opportunity! I swear those rings just popped up, like daisies! Things can only go up from here ... that is until the next class ... when it happened again. 111 has become the new 666.
(Stay tuned for part 2)

It's Only Been 24 Hours....

And already folks, ALREADY, we have three delectable, horrifyingly classic tales to entertain you with. Reunited at last (and it feels so good) the Cat Lady Corner is already bustling with willing candidates to supply and endless amount of laughter and tears. Back at work, back into the swing of classes and co-eds. The following conversation that took place yesterday morning is theme track to our matching-sweater-lives.

(Austrie): How's work treating ya?
(me): Pretty good. We went to badger creek today
(Austrie): What is that?
(me): It's like a camp
(Austrie): Any hot co workers? ;)
(me): Yep. He's engaged.
(Austrie): Freeeeeeeeak. Typical

I Am

I'm not a stranger to the cruelty and callousness of the human race. Truth be told, none of us are. Each of us could fill pages with stories of the daggers others have thrown into the underbellies of our insecurities. The driving force behind this post is not to solicit empathy or pity, but to raise my voice and make my stand in regards to today's experience, and experiences past. Today I was told that I will make a great mother, but I'm not wife material. After finding my voice following a stunned silence, I asked this man what made him say that? His response? "You lack what it takes to get a man interested, let alone keep him interested." 

People: The problem here isn't that this happened to me. The problem here is that this is happening to boys and girls, men and women, every. single. day. The problem is that our society has become infected with the objectification of the sexes, breeding the ideology that our worth is completely contingent upon whether or not we are "sexy," "hott," or "gorgeous." To this man I say shame on you. Shame on you for trying to encapsulate all that I am, all that I have to offer, in my appearance. How dare you try to limit me by mortal conditions. To this man, I say you have no idea what a wonderful wife I am. I say AM, because everything that makes me wonderful, everything that makes me ME, is what will make me a treasure of a wife. I am fiercely loyal, but maybe you don't want a wife who will never speak ill of you? I am smart, but maybe you don't want a wife who can speak for herself? I am confident and spicy, but maybe you want a wife who lacks goals and ambition. I am beautiful, but maybe you want a wife who cheapens herself with revealing clothing and degrading actions? My mouth is soft and full of kindness, but perhaps you want a wife who speaks vulgarly. I am strong, I am faithful, I love deeply, completely, and thoroughly. I am funny, full of life, vivacious, hard-working, and full of the desire to serve others. So you're right. I'm not YOUR wife material. But I am somebody's wife, and I won't be "material" to him. To him, I'll be his dream, and he will be mine. How. Dare. You. How dare you try to take who I am away from me. How dare you try to stunt my potential. To any man, or woman, who looks upon another and seeks to rob them of who they can become, you should be ashamed of yourself. Love, true love, is seeing the potential in others, seeing what they can become. I know who I am. I am someone's wife, someone's mother, a daughter of God, destined to become a queen.