"In vacant or in pensive mood..." I am: Bekah; 24; Law Student / Favorite Things: Carbs (so there!), Johnny Damon, Smiling at babies, Grilled cheese, Comfortable silence / Favorite Supreme Court Justice: Brennan / Favorite Wilson: Owen by an inch / Today's Special: Song: Elliott Smith, "Bled White"; Quote: "You know, there's like a butt-load of gangs at this school. This one gang kept wanting me to join because I'm pretty good with a bowstaff." Please love me: mmbekah@yahoo.com


February 2003 March 2003 April 2003 May 2003 June 2003 July 2003 August 2003 September 2003 October 2003 November 2003 December 2003 January 2004 February 2004 March 2004 April 2004 May 2004 June 2004 July 2004 August 2004 September 2004 October 2004 November 2004 December 2004 January 2005 September 2005

 
I Wish We'd Known Each Other, That Was a Little Awkward

Ok, I wasn't going to write about this because it's a little personal, but what the hell. I have officially been asked for my hand in marriage. This proposal was as romantic as it was unexpected. It all began when I went to pick up my friend from the airport, and had to wait for him in the pickup area where UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES ARE YOU ALLOWED TO STOP YOUR VEHICLE even when there are no other cars around. So of course, I pushed my luck and tried to wait there. After about three minutes, a young man with a bright orange official-looking vest sauntered over, tapped on my window, and began the following conversation, recorded here word for word:

Orange vest man: Girl, you are lookin' so pretty sittin' here [t-shirt and scrubs, he was clearly on crack]. I hate to do this, but my boss over there (points vaguely behind him) is crazy. I hate to do this to you now, but she's makin' me tell you to move.

Me: Oh, well...ok. There aren't any other cars here though...whatever, I'll loop around.

Orange vest man: Yeah, sorry. Hey, hold on a minute. Are you married?

Me: Um, no. No I'm not.

Orange vest man: Do you want to be married?

Me: Uh, eventually, I guess...

Orange vest man: Ooo-wee, you've got some pretty brown eyes.

Me: Yeah, thanks. I'll just loop around.
Me (alternate response): Oh my God, that is the sweetest, most original thing anyone has ever said to me! Now that you have mentioned my eyes, how can I refuse you? I mean, not many women have brown eyes or anything! Please, get into my car and we will run away together, you smooth talker you. I cannot wait to become Mrs. Airport Freak!

The next day, still glowing from my proposal, I went to the grocery, and the bag boy handed me my one (1) bag, winked, and asked, "You sure you don't need help getting that out to your car?" No thanks dude, I'll manage. Yes, I am apparently irresistible to bag boys and airport personnel. But don't worry, I'm not naive enough to think I'm alone here. I'm pretty sure all women, and possibly somewhat androgynous men, are irresistible to any guy who would propose to a total stranger in an airport pick-up lane. But something good did come of this airport experience. It is now one of my very favorite instances of male stupidity (not that I'm counting, for that would be impossible), surpassing the time in Florence when a guy on a moped rode by my friend Devon and me yelling "Ciao bitches!!" Ah, Italians really know how to treat the ladies.

posted by Bekah at 8:06 PM :: |