Boy Hunt: Chipmunks, Pandas, and Spider Men
Hola. Um... (I don’t know how to say anything else in Spanish...) Never mind. Hello! I have kinda sorta updates! Hold onto your mittens, and let’s go!
Unfortunately, my school recently wound up its pitching arm and threw a big ball of tests and essays at me. And if you’ve ever seen me play baseball, or any other sort of physical activity, you would know that I don’t hit home runs very often. Or even ground balls. Or even THE ball. So I’ve been a little busy lately. But does that mean I’ve let my armor of boy hunting gear get rusty? No siree! I have prevailed!
First off, progress has been made with The Baby Chipmunk Panda Dude! Before, whenever I saw The Baby Chipmunk Panda Dude around, whether in the dining hall or out and about, if we crossed paths, this is what would happen.
The Baby Chipmunk Panda Dude: (Head nod of acknowledgment.) Hey.
Geeraff: (Barely whispering above the volume of the wind.) Hi.
But these encounters are a thing of the past, my friend. Now, that simple “hey” is usually followed by a cheery “How’s it going?” or a splendid “how are you?” AND there is eye contact involved, and I actually use my vocal chords!
I think this is fantastic. The Baby Chipmunk Panda Dude and I are sitting in a shiny new car, ready to drive down the road of friendship. Or maybe we’re riding horses, ready to canter down the path of camaraderie. Or maybe we’re in kayaks, ready to paddle down the river of mutual understanding?
Well, progress has been made, regardless of transportation.
So, recently, I’ve been eating breakfast. Or, wait... I always eat breakfast. But a large group of my friends enjoy waking up at the crack of dawn so they can all eat together before anyone has class. Sweet, right? Yep. Wonderfully, I’ve become a new addition to their breakfasting-morning-awesome adventures. And it’s really fun. (Awkward pause.) Do do-do do-do... (Whistling.)
Wait, what did you say? I didn’t hear... Oh, you’re expecting a boy, aren’t you? (Eyebrow raise.) Well, wait just a boy-hunting second! Spider Man eats breakfast with us, too! Hooray!
Usually, in the mornings, I’m not at my best. Sure, I can contribute a few sentences to a conversation, but I prefer to spend my morning energy on making sure my spoon-to-mouth coordination is working.
Which brings us to our main event. On one particular morning, in addition to my usual Rice Krispies, I also had a muffin. But not just any muffin, people. Are you ready? Because it was... a CARAMEL MUFFIN. Now doesn’t that just sound scrumdiliumptious? (I’m pretty sure I just made up the spelling of that word. Is everyone okay with that? Good.) (Actually, it kind of looks like it should be the name of a dinosaur... scrumdiliumptio-sauraus? Hmmm...)
Oh! Right! The muffin! So this beautiful, warm, fluffy caramel muffin was a great treat. Usually all you can find are the blueberry muffins that make the rest of the muffin look oddly blue, or the icky cranberry muffins that I try to pick the cranberries out of, or the chocolate chip muffins that could always use more chocolate chips. But this caramel muffin? Perfection.
Naturally, I saved it for last, then gently broke it in half. (Did you know that if you break apart a baked good, some of the calories fall out? True story.) I ate the first half slowly, enjoying the conversation around me. But I felt excited, because I had saved the majority of my packet of butter for this last half of caramel baked deliciousness.
And, of course, true to Geeraff form, I dropped the last half of my muffin on the floor. Butter. Side. Down.
I was devastated. But what I didn’t expect was that Spider Man had watched this whole tragedy. Because he stopped saying whatever he was saying, turned to me, and said the following:
Spider Man: Aw, man... that’s the worst.
And I responded! Back! In a normal fashion! Even though I was still mourning my muffin! In fact, looking back, I’m still a little sad. However, talking to Spider Man is definitely becoming easier. I’ve stopped blushing, I don’t say (many) stupid things, and he even acknowledges that I laugh at his jokes. (Hopefully he didn’t notice that one very loud snort I emitted the other morning. Because that was em to the barrassing.)
One thing I am most certainly learning is that guys are pretty awesome. When you hang out with girls all the time, it’s great, but you tend to forget that there’s a whole other species just hanging around. Pretty neat, if I do say so myself.
So, um... that’s all the news I have for you today, so y’all can go on home now! Bye! (Crickets chirping.)
Oh, I’m sorry, did you say something? What... what about Hodgins? That’s what you want to know? Sigh. Fine.
The only easy (and fun!) way to explain my Hodgins-dilema-crisis-panic-striking-problem is through a little metaphor I like to call... the Cycle of Doom.
Monday: It’s a new week! Time to talk to Hodgins!
Tuesday: I still haven’t seen him, because my schedule is so busy... hmmm...
Wednesday: Halfway through the week! Panic! Oh, look, there he is! Well... I’ve still got half the week to talk to him. Maybe tomorrow.
Thursday: Hodgins looked at me during lunch! He must be in love with me. There’s nothing more I can do.
Friday: I’m tired. Can I talk to him next week?
The Weekend: I feel sad.
And so continues the Cycle of Doom until I become a cat lady. (Or a llama lady... I haven’t decided yet.) But do you want to know what I just decided in the last ten seconds? I will stop the Cycle of Doom! I don’t know how... actually, I most certainly don’t know how... but with all my might, I’m going to try.
Tell Geeraff how to break the Cycle of Doom!
Related post: Boy Hunt: Confidence Pants DONNED