Mystery Dream Date

There seems to be an influx of happy couples recently. Just to name a few, there are Heather and her boyfriend, Jon; Oscar and Michaela, my parents, Beyonce and Jay-Z. Happy couples are everywhere, which does not exactly make me jealous (I’m a lone-wolf and couples make me want to kill puppies), but got me thinking what I require of a potential boyfriend. So here it is, my picky list of all the qualities I desire most in a man.

Physical Attributes

• A head taller than me (according to Colleen Bott, this is the perfect height, and I agree)
• The ability to grow facial hair (this is part of the required manliness I will detail later)
• Eyelashes
• Few, preferably no, allergies
• Nice Hands! (so important!)
  
• Healthy (An overly buff gym-rat is no good, but neither is a couch potato)
• Has hair (sorry alopecia victims)
• hair must not be excessive in length
  

Characteristics

• Not a pansy: This is incredibly important and includes the following
• Does not shave legs (sorry swimmers and cyclists)
• Does not spend more time getting ready than I do
• Does not cry except in cases of tragedy and extreme joy (this extreme joy does not included weddings, but is exclusive to his own child being born or winning the lottery)
• Is not a gymnast (this would probably violate the head taller than me rule anyway)
• Eats meat
• Has more guy friends than "gal pals"
  
• Kills bugs (this is very necessary as I am allergic to bugs and cannot kill them)
  
• Played at least one sport in high school (cheerleading does not count)
• Can handle my sarcasm (probably the most important of all, as I can be mean)

• While being manly, however, this person must display characteristics of kindness, sensitivity, and caring, i.e. is not a chauvinist and does not make fun of me when I am upset and does not try to impress me with "manly stunts" such as guzzling down beer or scaling North Dining Hall.
  
• Must like my family
• Must like mammals (dogs, cats, people, etc.)
• Does not dislike Notre Dame (I don't expect everyone to love it, but you cannot dislike it)
• Is an orphan (no in-laws!) or has a family I really get along with
  
• Ambitious and goal-oriented (I'm no one's sugar mamma)
• Intelligent
• Let's me win in tennis occasionally
• Enjoys ice cream
• Financially secure (this is not really going to be an issue until I'm considering marriage (so in, like, 8 years) but I just thought I'd throw it in there)
• Does not consider country his favorite type of music
• Not a hillbilly
• Sense of humor--this is the most important quality of all. This person must be funny. I must laugh. And he must understand sarcasm and be able to take it, as well as dish it out. I haven't really decided yet if I could be with someone who's funnier than me because I really like being the funny one, but I'd take funnier than me over not funny at all (we don't want a repeat of sophomore year).

Talents: This is a list of acceptable talents for the perfect man. Possessing at least two is clutch. More than two is fantastic

• Speaks a foreign language
• Plays an instrument
• Plays a sport
• Cooks (bonus points!)
• Fixes computers
• Really good at Taboo or the Friends trivia game
• Good at gardening
• Snappy dresser
• Has several famous friends
• Can quote "Scrubs"
• Can pilot a plane
• Magical powers (as long as they are not used against me)
• Good at explaining things (this would come in handy, as I absolutely loathe explaining anything to anybody. Just ask Caitlin)

Since no one is perfect, these qualifications are more like guideline than rules. The only requirement I'm going to have to stick by is the sense of humor one. Seriously, be funny. Maybe I'll find a nice Italian guy to meet all of these requirements....Who am I kidding? Those mamma's boys cry when their soccer team loses.

Cap'n George Washington Crunch

Hello and welcome back to Blogalicious! This week, we’ll be examining the two main worlds of Elise’s summer—FYE and home.

FYE, the nut hut formerly known as Coconuts, is a place where the fine residents of Stow and Kent may purchase and sell CDs, DVDs, video games, and body jewelry. We’ve also got a few giant Johnny Depp standees, but I’m hoping those always remain in the store for me to gaze upon. Working at FYE is an easy job, mostly consisting of leaning against the register and shouting “What can I help ya find?!” over the obnoxiously repetitive R&B and Rap music that is a favorite of the FYE managers. There’s also free gum and occasionally, we get to watch a movie of the manager’s choice (either a horror or action flick or Eddie Murphy film, sometimes a combination of all three (Norbit)). My favorite manager left to work at Chapel Hill’s FYE (she invited me to work some shifts there as well, considering I’m getting anywhere from 4-20 hours a week at Stow’s FYE, but I declined, saying “I’m scared of Chapel Hill” which is entirely true). I get along with the new manager, but since being promoted to being head manager, she is getting somewhat power-hungry and very “by-the-book.” The few menial tasks I did have to make me feel like I had some sort of purpose have been taken away and replaced with “Work on customer service.” Every hour, about 2 customers come in, therefore, working on customer service is the equivalent to working on my basketball skills. It’s pointless. I can’t really blame my manager for doing this, since she is the new head manager and she is just going by the book (all associates should do is customer service—really), but if she is going to be so stringent with the rules, I wish she would also employ the rule of not talking about personal situations with employees. I do not want to hear about her recent break up, I do not want to hear about the chick she met on the Internet, and I do not want to hear about her night at the strip club. When she’s not talking about her personal life, she’s pointing out all the reasons why I am the whitest girl in Summit County. She didn’t really like my “catch the grape” dance move and deemed me too white to dance right. When she played a song on her cell phone to me and I didn’t know what it was, it was because I was white. And when I had never eaten collared greens or spent a night at the clubs in Cleveland, it’s because I’m a suburban, preppy, white girl. To all of this, I respond; “I go to Notre Dame, what do you expect?”

The best/worst part of working at FYE is the colorful cast of customers we get. There are a few regulars (at a CD store? Yes) including Myron, whom you might remember from last summer’s blog. Myron does not come into FYE as frequently as he used to because he got in a fight with one of the managers and the district manager called him and told him to stay away. He still stops by occasionally to ask a million questions, not buy anything, then tell me what he’s having for dinner (steak or that KFC bowl that looks like Colonel Sanders vomited in it). There’s also an odd family that I do feel sad for, as three of the four members have some sort of mental disability, the father being the one out of four. They come in about once a month, with the mother screaming at her children and the father calmly perusing the DVD aisle. Besides those regulars is the trainer from the gym next door who is so beefy, he can’t put is arms down; the thief from Wal-Mart who, every new-release Tuesday, brings in brand-new copies of the newest movies to sell, claiming he has watched all 25 of them in the 6 hours they have been on the shelves (he even goes so far as to give us a review of these movies); fat hillbillies in short shorts; the Asian guy who only buys porn; the creepy guy with the long beard who only buys Anime (and asked me why we don’t have a bigger selection of “anime smut”); the 30-something guy who buys way too many video games and has way too many Spiderman shirts for his age. There are probably more, but those are the most interesting regulars. From the fat hillbillies comes my favorite story of late. Two women and one dude come in one day to browse through FYE and talk about how things are so much cheaper at Wal-Mart. The one woman is short and round, but wouldn’t look so bad if she wasn’t wearing Nair-esque short shorts and sporting a tiny T-shirt. To top it off, she was looking at the body jewelry and telling my manager and me about her new belly-button piercing (my manager even got to see it! Thank goodness I had dodged down another aisle). As they were about to leave, the man came up to the counter and inquired about a pre-order he had made. “Yeah, I just, uh, wanted to know about that new Harry Potter movie that’s coming out. I put a dollar down on it, so I want to make sure it’ll come in on time.” I responded politely with, “Oh, did you order a movie we didn’t have in stock?” Hillbilly: “No, it’s that new movie. The one that’s coming out on the 21^st!” Me: “No, that’s the book. The book is what we were taking pre-orders on.” Smelly: “No! I ordered a movie! It’s the new movie I want!” Me: “The new movie is in theaters. The book is what’s coming out!” Idiot: “No, it’s a movie. Why would I want a book?” Me: Shrug and raised eyebrow. Him: “I’m going to Chapel Hill. They’ll know what I’m talking about!” His women-folk paid for their $1 body jewelry and left. I’m sure that man was quite disappointed when he received a book on July 21^st and didn’t know what to do with it, not knowing how to read.

Now onto the second world of my summer: Home. I am really enjoying being home this summer, maybe because I know I will be so far from it this fall and because this may be my last summer at home. Plus, I really get along with my family, especially when we have conversations like the following

Me: Is Cap’n Crunch a pirate?
Mom: In a strange, twisted sense of the word, yes.
Me: How does that work?
Mom: (exasperated by these questions coming from her 20-year old daughter) I’m not sure
Me: Keep in mind that he’s not actually a captain, but that he’s a cap’n with an apostrophe
Mom: Yes, of course.
Me: I guess he’s the Cap’n of cereal. So he’s a cereal pirate. Or is he a serial pirate?
Mom: I pirate conspiracy right in our grocery stores.
Me: Gosh darn you, General Mills!

Later, I proposed the same pirate question to my father. So my mother spoke first.

Mom: He’s not really a pirate, he's more like George Washington.

Me: .....what?

Mom: Because of his hat. George Washington had the same one

Me: Pirates had those hats, too.

Mom: No they didn't! Just George Washington...

Dad: (finally chiming in) He wasn't a pirate, he was the captain of a British war ship.

Me: Why British?

Dad: Ok, he was the captain of an American Navy Vessel.

Me: I was thinking he was the captain of cereal.

Dad: (considering this for a moment) Well, maybe.

Me: So could it be a pirate cereal ship?

Dad: No, because pirates are bad. They scare children

Me: Not all pirates are bad. And they're not always scary. Kids love those pirate movies

Dad: Yes, but they don't eat them [movies]. Kids need good things and pirates are bad so Cap'n Crunch can't be a pirate

I guess that answers that question. In other memorable family moments, I told my Dad that he danced like he had Downs Syndrome and he replied with "That's because I'm gettin' doooown!!"

My brother is funny is his innocence and interpretation of the world around him. This is what led him one day, while describing the mobile Deli he would one-day own, to say that his slogan would be like that commercial, "Mamma Mia! Pizza Pizza Meat-a-ball!" He was referring to the old commercial where the guy says "That's a spicy meat-a-ball." I, being the wonderfully caring sister that I am, corrected/insulted him. But I hope that mobile deli thing works out. That would be fantastic.

In the same car-ride, I mentioned that video on YouTube with the prisoners of that prison in the Philippines doing the thriller dance (you should really see it, it's incredible). After I was finished describing how the prisoners did such a perfect job recreating Michael Jackson's hit video, Alex chimed in with "Then they all had butt sex!" leading my parents to turn around inquisitively. Instead of telling him not to say things like that, my mom asks him to explain what butt-sex is, to both embarrass Alex and see if he actually knows what he's talking about. Turns out he kind of did, as he said, "It's a gay origy." Again, I corrected him with some name-calling and biting sarcasm to let him know the word is orgy, not origy. He's growing up so fast...

So that basically sums up my summer. It's been a good one, but if I have to work at FYE one more summer, I will go as nutty as the customers.

Creepers Love Me

Summer time and the livin's easy...
A little too easy, though. I actually miss being stressed. Don't get me wrong, I love sleeping for roughly 10 hours every night to wake up and lay outside in the sun until I'm golden brown and then come in to watch the Scrubs episodes I taped from that morning. It's a lovely existence, just not very meaningful and I guess I like the feeling of having a purpose. I am taking a class at Kent State (philosophy, ugh) and I am still working at FYE (I got a whopping 4 hours last week) so I'm being somewhat purposive. Though I'm pretty sure working at FYE does not do much good for humanity or myself. However, there is now free gum and I'm allowed to park right in front of the store instead of in the plaza parking lot. And that's where the perks end.
I started out the summer with an Akron Adventure with Colleen Bott. (The one-and-only Mike Peterson commented on this adventure with "whats awesome is akron looks a lot like akon. so when you say you have an akron adventure, it looks like an akon adventure, as if you were smacking lots of...thats." He really likes rap music and he's a gangsta) Colleen and I drove around Akron, stopping wherever we please. We ended up going to 10 different places in one afternoon, including the VDO (not a disease, but the Village Discount Outlet), Good Will (thrifting is key in AK-rowdy), Revival, Alladin's, some smoothie place, an old bookstore (I almost bough a book on cannibalisms, but refrained), West Point Market, a pet store with lots of cats sitting in one place and never moving (it was freaky), and Archbishop Hoban High School (where Mr. Anderson invited me to his History Spectacular 4th of July Celebration). Muchos good times. I really recommend that smoothie place. I'd tell you the name, but I forgot it, so you'll just have to look around Akron.
To add a little purpose to my lazy existence in St. Ow, I've been going to the gym religiously. I have muscles now. They are very small, but considering before they were non-existent, I'm pretty proud of myself. I always wear something Notre Dame to the gym, hoping one day someone will notice and say "Ahoy! Do you go to Notre Dame?" I just really want to talk about ND and I would love it if someone approached me with an Ahoy. But alas, I'm guessing that my Irish attire makes people think I am of St. Vincent St. Mary's high school, which is heinous.
Philosophy class at Kent State is almost over now (thank goodness) but I did manage to make a new friend the first day of class. We met at the bookstore as we were buying our books. The attraction was instant, he being tall, tan, and blue-eyed and me being bored and desperate. However, because he was attracted to me as well, he was crazy. I am a crazy magnet. I do not know how this happened. It's not like I'm a friendly person, so maybe I only attract crazies because these people are more persistent or something. In any case, the young gentleman turned out to be a 5th year senior philosophy major (as you can tell, my type of guy already), but is pursuing a career in music, though he has not played in public in 4 years. We have a winner! Since my crazy detector has not yet gone off or my inner crazy magnet is drawing me to him, when he offers to go on a walk around campus, I, of course, agree. During this walk, he talks my ear off about his philosophy of life, which is total crap. Apparently, he bears a greater burden than the rest of the world because he understands the universe better and, since everyone has takes care of him to the point where he doesn't have to worry about long-term employment, he feels a greater sense of loneliness than everyone else. He went on and on about the merits of organic food and the high he once got from eating an organic orange (I may have accidentally suggested that I, too, enjoy organic food, but really I meant that I eat Lean Cuisines). Oh, and he called himself a sexy giraffe. Not even kidding. And he has a hoop earring that makes him look like a pirate, but not exactly the Johnny Depp kind. Later on our walk, in the middle of telling me why his music is like a wave and some building on Kent State's campus, he says, "I don't think people hold hands enough." He then takes my hand, clasps it with both of his, and stares deeply into my eyes. As if this weren't enough, he places my hand on his chest and mutters something about a connection or herbal tea or something. So naturally, when he asks me out on a date, I say yes. Please, before you judge me and say that I am as crazy as the people I end up dating, allow me to explain myself. We were in the middle of Kent's campus when he asked. If I said no, he might have run away, leaving me lost in a campus full of hippies. Plus, I just don't know how to say no, apparently. I decided that we should meet at Starbucks after I got off work one Friday because I knew what time Starbucks closed and had some family members who worked there who could protect me. Rape whistle and Mace in hand, I went on my date. The strangest part was that it wasn't awful. He wasn't exaclty Normal McNormalson, but he wasn't as cracked out as before. It was actually a lovely evening, which totally threw me for a loop. What was I to think of him now? Should I give him a chance? Was the crazy guy thing a put on? Then he came to class one day wearing a sleeveless shirt. That settles that. This guy is history. (well, that, and he tried to give me a detailed account of how he would kiss me online one night. It did not seem appealing). I have since been ignoring him and he has finally started ignoring me back. So now my life is open to the next creeper. Bring 'em on.
Other than the above, I've been watching a lot of movies this summer. And by a lot I mean one I've never seen before each night. I'll give you a complete list later. Happy 4th of July, everyone!