Monthly Archives: March 2011

My Meet-Cute with the Geek Squad

For the past year and a half I have been torturing my hands with hours of note taking in my evening classes. I have countless notebooks with notes on random subjects from random semesters. There is no organization to speak of and there never will be. Why do I subject myself to such torture? Why not just bring my computer to class like all of the fancy teenagers?

My laptop was purchased very hastily upon my reentering academia. It was the cheapest model I could find and came with only the very basic accoutrements. It has no webcam, no microphone, no fancy programs and no dignity. I brought this dinosaur to class with me once in the Fall of 2009. I hefted it out of my shoulder-bag, thumped it onto what passes for a desk these days and then began to look around. My classmates were all tapping away on adorable MacBooks or tiny notebooks as I cleared my immediate area and creaked open my 95-inch screen. I had to sit in the back so the entire class couldn’t read my Facebook information. The other students had to be wondering when I would be pulling out a floppy disc to save my notes from the night. It was embarrassing. I have resigned myself to hand-writing notes since that fateful night. Until now.

After receiving a surprise (albeit small) scholarship from GVSU I decided to finally join the cool kids and get something a little more portable. I certainly didn’t want to make the same mistake I had previously, so rather than shop online and in a hurry, I ducked into Best Buy for some professional help.

I always feel awkward when I’m in an unfamiliar retail situation. Unfamiliar meaning anything other than clothing or makeup. I didn’t know how to get someone to come assist me, so I basically just wandered up and down the aisles, touching various laptops and trying to look perplexed. This method seemed to work (after 5 minutes of me looking like a tool) and a tech-savvy employee materialized behind me, scaring me to the point of physical reaction. She laughed, squinted up at me and asked if there was anything she could help me with. Once I recovered I was able to explain that I was looking for a laptop, nothing too fancy, within my specified price range. She laughed again (confusing me about where the humor in my description was) and then another presumably tech-savvy employee appeared at her side. She introduced him as her “knight in shining armor <giggle giggle>” and promptly left. This confused me for two reasons:

1. This particular man didn’t look like anyone’s knight in shining armor. He was unkempt from his shaky facial hairline to his rumpled khakis and as far as I could tell, there was no white horse to be seen.

2. I wasn’t sure why she needed a knight to begin with. I didn’t think I had put her in a rescue-worthy situation. After all, I basically asked for any laptop that fit into my price range. I could have done it myself if only they let customers into the stockroom.

Maybe they didn’t allow women to sell computers. I mean, stranger things have happened. Men aren’t allowed to don the skimpy tank tops and booty shorts and serve you chicken wings, so maybe Best Buy puts their best package forward and assumes customers will take the men more seriously. Ordinarily I would object to such a practice, since I claim to be somewhat of a feminist (Ok…I’ve never claimed that), but this particular sales-girl had pigtails and excessive giggles that made me sigh with relief at the appearance of someone with a Y-chromosome. Still, I couldn’t help but wish for the damsel-in-distress when I struggled to explain to my bespectacled and betesticled salesman that I wanted a “pretty” laptop and not the clunker he was suggesting. He looked at me blankly for a full minute and then asked me to point him in the direction of my choosing.

After following Mr. Geek Squad’s wedgie around the computer department for what seemed like eternity, I settled on a smallish HP notebook that fit  all of my previously described specifications. And it’s pretty. Tonight will be the first night I can take notes (and stalk FB) in class without the shame and embarrassment I imagined before.

So despite your extreme social awkwardness, Geek Squad, I thank you for reducing mine!

In the Business of Homewrecking

I wasn’t going to blog this, but I haven’t had anything else even remotely interesting happen to me in the past few days, so here it is!

I haven’t been going to class as often as I should recently, so after begrudgingly dragging myself to Shakespeare class on Tuesday night I was grateful for the early dismissal brought on by bad weather. Instead of getting out at 8:50, we left at around 7:30. I was glad to have an extra hour to work on what seems like a million upcoming papers. Rather than be responsible and use that time wisely, however, I decided to go to my favorite watering hole for some dinner. I mean, what else was I supposed to do? Get groceries? Ha.

With every intention of having one drink with dinner and then hightailing it back home to gaze into my computer’s glowing face, I ordered a dirty martini and a grilled cheese sandwich. (Best grilled cheese I’ve ever had, it is called the “white cheese” sandwich and has about a zillion different white cheeses on it, including feta.) I intended to sip the martini and revel in the Grey Goose until my dinner was done, and then leave like a normal person would.

I forgot to mention that my good friend is the barkeep at this watering hole, and when she is lacking in mouths to feed (and livers to destroy) she likes to experiment with shots. And she likes me to try them. After about two hours longer than I wanted to stay, I met a nice man who happened to take the bar stool next to me. He interjected that I should not, in fact, attempt going to law school after my undergrad studies are complete. That is how I found out that he was a lawyer and now he flips houses. He was charming, funny and seemed uncommonly worldly for our given location. As someone who had all but given up on finding an interesting man to talk to, I was impressed.

We talked for what seemed like forever, drank and laughed. He then hopped down from the stool and revealed himself in all his tiny glory. He was only 5’7″. This, my friends, is what I would normally call a deal breaker. I cannot date a man who is shorter than me. I just can’t do it. I already feel like an Amazon woman and I don’t need a daily confirmation of that. However, I decided to look past the gnomeness of this gentleman, given that I was so impressed with the less shallow aspects of him. We hit it off. So did our lips.

I exchanged numbers with him at the end of the LONG night (didn’t get home until the wee hours of the morning) and left hoping to hear from him again. I didn’t have to hope for long, since he texted me promptly the next morning (a few hours later, rather). It was a simple “Hi, I really enjoyed talking”…etc. Nothing fancy. But, it was encouragement!

I was feeling pretty good despite the hangover and lack of sleep until I received a call from an unknown number. I answered, thinking nothing of it.

It was a woman who had gotten my name and phone number texted to her in the middle of the night. How curious. She asked if I had perhaps met someone named *** (Not sharing that!) the previous night, to which I of course responded, “Yesss…” tentatively. As it seems, the wonderfully charming man I had met and thrown aside my prejudice against midgets for had not stored my name and number in his contacts list, but rather accidentally texted it to his GIRLFRIEND. The girlfriend he told me he did not have when I asked him outright.

She was a completely rational and smart woman who thanked me for my honesty and assured me that she would be breaking up with him that evening. She apologized for the awkward situation and said that she wasn’t even going to mention to him that she knew about me. She was just going to break up with him cleanly and simply and leave him asking questions. She has restored my faith in young women while simultaneously crushing my hope of ever finding a normal, decent man.

If asking a man if he is attached isn’t enough, then I am out of ideas.

What a douche.

Recent Shenanigans

It has been another long while since I’ve blogged, so brace yourselves for a novella. I’m not sure I can keep it short this time. I promised to get back into the blogosphere as soon as I got home from Spring Break. I had every intention of chronicling my SB festivities via blog the second I returned to this cold and dreary state but alas, I failed. Now, I’ll do my best to recap not only Spring Break, but this past week’s adventures as well.

My sister and I flew into Tampa, FL last week Wednesday and had the pleasure of going from a rickety airplane to a dirty shuttle-van. In an effort to save money, I booked a shuttle to take us the 30 miles to the beach rather than taking a cab. Not only did the ride from the airport take almost two hours (we were the last stop), we were shoved in the back of the van to make room for the geriatric brigade who would dominate the conversation with the hottest retirement-community gossip for the entirety of the ride. I tried to chime in with what I thought were pretty witty comments but was shut down with disapproving looks. I guess I’m just one of the “kids these days” after all.

Once we finally reached our destination (after dark) we were shown straight to the studio apartment we were renting for the remainder of the week and told we could “check in” in the morning. We were starving at that point and found our way down the main street in Indian Rocks Beach to a restaurant called Keegan’s. It was a seafood restaurant that had been featured on the Food Network’s “Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives”. That was possibly the most exciting thing that happened to me on the trip. I love the Food Network. I had the best crab cakes I’ve ever eaten and my sister tried to set aside her aversion to seafood in the spirit of Spring Break and ordered the Mahi Mahi sandwich. She ate half of it, with a pained expression on her face and multiple comments about the “texture”.

After dinner we found ourselves searching, nay, yearning for a liquor store so that we could secure some champagne and orange juice for the requisite vacation breakfast: Mimosas. There was no liquor store to be found, so we settled for a bar about a block from our hotel. They sold us a bottle of champagne and gave us a plastic cup full of OJ with a plastic glove as a lid for mess-free transportation. That wasn’t even the least classy part of our trip.

The next day brought rain and wind so we ventured to yet another local bar for some lunch and day-drinking. My sister enjoyed an obscenely large burger and I dove into some fish and chips. Upon suggestion of the bartender, we tried a micro-brew called “Arrogant Bastard” which I loved and my sister hated. She hates everything delicious. The beers turned into more beers and chats with the locals. The bartender is from Seaside Heights, NJ and that really piqued my stalker interest. Evidently, the shore belonged to the Irish before the Italians tanned and greased it up. He felt very strongly that we who watch Jersey Shore should know that. Danny the bartender was very accommodating, albeit slightly prejudiced, and welcomed the Williams Sisters with open arms and a liberal pour. We also met two middle-aged ladies we presumed to be lesbians (which was later confirmed when one of them mentioned sticking her tongue in Kesha’s mouth) who were gross. Just gross. Rounding out our experience with the bar regulars was Ricky, a tiny dwarf of a man returning from a court date where he learned the fate of his pending restraining order. It seems our friend Ricky had recently pulled a knife on his landlord for undisclosed reasons. He was a friendly chap.  When we finally left the pub after a few hours of day-drinking, the only logical next step was a quick swim. The salt-content in the water weirded me out immensely. I know that the oceans are salt water. I know that in theory. I just don’t like the reality of it. Give me Lake Michigan any day! When we returned to our hotel room we took showers and naps and woke up just in time for Jersey Shore and pizza. Then we went back to bed.

This is all I have the energy for at the moment. Stay tuned for Part 2 of the Spring Break saga!

The Prodigal Blogger Returns

It has been about a week since I last blogged and I am deeply sorry if I let anyone in the blogosphere down. I was extremely busy spending money. It is, after all, my duty as an American to stimulate our struggling economy and I am nothing if not patriotic. (Please note the sarcasm in that last sentence, I beg of you).

It is tax refund season which means single twenty-somethings like myself get to pretend we have a dispensable income for a couple of months. For most of the year I live pretty modestly (save for the “shoe of the month” club I can’t seem to shake) but once that tax refund comes, my taste for the “finer things” takes over. (*Note: When I say “finer things” I am using that term very loosely. I am aware that nothing I am able to buy is indeed that upper crust.) In the past month I have been able to book a vacation to Florida, get last-minute Lady Gaga tickets (best money I’ve ever spent), get pre-sale NKOTBSB tickets, feed my online shopping addiction and as of this past weekend spend an entire day (literally 12 hours) out and about drinking in Grand Rapids.

Saturday’s day drinking festivities turned into dinner and drinks festivities, which then turned into cigars and red wine at Chophouse and of course, the evening finished at the classier of all the places, The Triangle. Nothing says Saturday like a full 12 hours of alcohol consumption. We were able to turn a dive bar on the West Side into a Justin Bieber dance party. That takes skill that only 12 consecutive hours of drinking away shame and inhibitions can provide.

So there you have it. I have been too busy having fun and making it rain to get annoyed by anything enough to weave a blog from it. I apologize. I will put my cynic hat back on just as soon as I return from my mini-vacay on the Gulf Coast. I promise. I’ve been slacking on my pimping, and it’s time to turn it up.