How to Snapchat Your Way to an Awkward Situation

To begin this story I must travel us back in time to a place where people were not truly aware of my freakish awkwardness and I could still be found somewhat desirable by the opposite sex.

Why must we travel all the way back to this faraway time?

Because in order for you, my readers, to truly understand the mortification and embarrassment I feel via my snapchat errors…then you must understand who all the characters in the story are.

So please join me in my travels back to my college days.

Character number 1 = me. Awkward. Strange. Capable of 12 hour Lord of the Rings marathons and a diet consisting of only Lean pockets and sriracha… BUT new enough to the college campus for people not to know this about me and still be crazy enough to like me.

Character number 2 = well…let’s just call him Maximilian to save his identity and to keep me from wanting to slide off the face of the earth like flubber if he ever found this blog.

Character number 3 = Max. A similar name to Maximilian. His full name may be Maximilian. Who knows? What you have to know is that I call him Max and that he is a fellow spirit like me. I’m talking a let’s paint our faces and film things spirit. I’m talking about a “I’m going to dress up as refrigerator poetry for Halloween” spirit.

Okay so facts you need to know:

1. I also used to try to play basketball aka shoot around and gather people for a round of knockout

2. Though I probably looked like a bag of mexican jumping beans while throwing a basketball haphazardly at a hoop, people may have called it “adorable.”

3. Put a little of Satan’s juice in me and I dance like a hoochie mama…

4. Maximilian happened to like basketball

5. I think Maximilian’s attractive. He is a good looking fellow.

6. I drank the devils drink and I danced with Maximilian

Maximilian’s naivety to my weird, you’ll run away if you know what’s good for you, my god she loves cats so much she’ll probably marry one characteristics, caused him to have a moment of bad judgement and ask for my number…something he’d end up regretting…

Maximilian asked me out and I, of course, chickened out because really I. Can’t. Do. Anything. You’re. Supposed. To. Do. As. A. Normal. College. Girl.

So, though we did not end up going on a date, we would occasionally nod at each other at parties OR talk for five minutes senior year when he offered to show me where the keg was. Good stuff.

So here’s what to keep in mind: He has my number in his phone.

Let’s flash forward two years.

I am snapchatting away (because if you haven’t heard snapchat is perhaps my favorite outlet for letting my freak flag fly).

And lo and behold I get added by “Max at UofR”

Now remember that I have another friend who’s name is Max (not Maximilian) and who is also a strange bird like me.

So i’m like OH YES! Max added me. Shit’s about to get weird. Shit’s about to get so weird. Like we’re gonna do some falsetto singing, onsie smirking, look how weird my feet look in this lighting snapchatting…

And that’s just what I did.

For months.

And Max never responded to me. But I thought that’s fine. Some snapchatters are more receivers than chatters. Cool.

Now we get to the good part.

I don’t know if everyone feels the same way, but I enjoy watching people’s stories. I like to see what activities people are doing throughout the day. I like to be able to watch the same shot of hot dogs cooking over and over during a 24 hour period. I like that.

So naturally, when I see that Max has posted a story I jump to it.

Oh, I think to myself, this is gonna be good.

And you know what? It was.

But not quite in the way I thought it would be. And then it turned bad. Real bad.

Because when I began watching Max’s story it was a snap of Maximilian.

Strange, I think to myself. Why would Max have a snap of Maximilian? Are they friends? Do they work together now?

And that’s when my brain starts turning and I am hit with the truth.

For the past few months I have been sending my glorious, a small child would fear these snapchats, to the wrong Max. To a Max who once thought I was a normal, cute, hoochi mama dancing girl. To a Max who was so painfully normal and adorable that I couldn’t see myself going out with him…

Thank you snapchat.

I have officially destroyed my last chance at seeming desirable.

I now must avoid any possible University of Redlands reunions in fear that I may see this poor innocent young man who was probably hoping to get sexy little shots and instead was met with double chins and weird noises.

Damn you snapchat. Damn you.


That Time I Almost Burnt Down Thanksgiving

So for Thanksgiving this year I went with my pal Cienna and her boyfriend to her family’s lake house up in Clearlake.

Here’s a couple of things you should know from the start:

1. It’s a lake house compound. Between the five siblings there are 4 lake houses.

2. Myself, Cienna, and her boyfriend Chris stayed in the littlest of cabins. The Karen of the houses if you will.

3. The lake and those houses are beautiful. The rest of Clearlake is scary. Like pregnant tween scary. Like the line is stopped at the Safeway checkout because the guy in front of us is trying to use his expired raincheck coupon…

4. Cienna, Chris, and I are not rugged folk.

Okay, so now that you have all of those facts in mind we can continue on with the story.

Actually, another fact that you have to know is that I am from Hawaii. This means my skin is thin. Like butterfly wing thin. Like edible rice paper thin. Like Kate Moss thin. We’re talking thin.

Anyway, so in this cabin there is, um doi, no heater. Do you know what that means? It means that the only way to not have my hoo hahs fall off is to light a fire.

Well, of course, Chris jumped at the opportunity to be the fire keeper. He took to it like a moth. You know – a moth to a flame.

Anyway, he was extremely excited about living the mountain man life and providing heat to our small cabin. And Cienna and I weren’t complaining.

Though he may have stoked the fire a little too much here and there and might have been carried away when he said, “Now I know what it must have felt like when Man first created fire…,” we were just grateful that there was warmth.

Not to mention the fact that Cienna and I were too busy learning the lyrics to “Send Me on My Way” to care about anything else.

…I probably should have cared about learning how to make and stoke fire…But I mean COME ON! Have you ever listened to that song?? We better crraaaawwwwwwwl.

Yeah. Try to stop singing that one once you’ve started.

Finally we did venture by boat across the lake to eat our Thanksgiving feast at the big lake house or what Cienna’s uncle refers to as “Wally World.”

As the inventor of the Go-ped, her uncle has no shortage of toys for us to play with. Here’s a tip though: DO not scooter around a neighborhood as fast as you can after stuffing your gullet with Thanksgiving treats. You. Will. Throw. Up.

So, to continue.

The song had ended. The feasting had ended. I was no longer on my sick bed. And we were back in our little Karen cabin.

All was well and we all went to our beds.

Another fact you must know about me:

I NEVER sleep a whole night through. I would if I could. Trust me. But I just can’t seem to make it through a night without waking up. Whether it be from the cold, a fog horn sending a warning out to ships while simultaneously serving as my own personal form of Chinese water torture, or some other thing that happens to stir me from my (at least I consider) well deserved REM cycle – I always wake up in the middle of the night.

SO, of course, I wake up and find that my toes are fat, little, ugly popsicles and the fire is out.


That’s okay, I think to myself, It’s not like I’m completely useless. I can build a fire. What would I do if I was out in the wilderness having to survive on my own? What if I was Katniss Everdeen? Then What?! Would I just sit here in my bed trying to make my blankets do all the work while a perfectly good fireplace lay unlit only steps away? NO! I would make a goddamn FIRE.

Yes, my thoughts are pretty intense in the middle of the night.

So there I went getting the kindling in place. Yes I do know what kindling is and that it has to be lit before the log.

I even tore up a magazine to really get that thing going.

All in all I was doing pretty well.

But here’s where I slipped up. Blame it on logic.

Remembering how cold I had been just moments before, I thought to myself, hmmm wouldn’t it be clever if I added more than one log to this fire.  It would probably last the WHOLE night if I added two more logs to this one.

Well yes, there would be more to burn and so there would be a longer lasting fire BUT what my midnight logic did not take into account was the fact that the fireplace has actual dimensions and stuffing it full of logs was not a smart move.

I ignore this fact and cram in the three large logs. Two of them fit fine but the third is barely held behind the short bottom rails.

I notice this. But do I stop the process and remove the obviously excessive log?

No, no. I decide that it’s more important to have a lasting fire than to, I dunno, have a safe fire fully contained in the fireplace. …Just call me Annie Oakley or don’t because she actually knows how to survive in the wilderness instead of putting herself and EVERYONE else in the cabin at risk.

So there I am with the long lighter clicking away to start this burning hunk of flame. Sure enough the magazines catch, the kindling ignites, and all the logs catch aflame.

That’s when it actually hits me.

Whoa this flaming piece of wood is creeping out from the walls of the fireplace.

Okay, I think, I’ll pull down the glass cover and force it inside.

Well the glass comes down, but it is so close to the flames that not only will it not lock but I am also suddenly in fear of it heating up so much that it explodes outwards.

So what do I do? Do I scour the place for a fire extinguisher? Bring over a large bucket filled with water?

Nope. I fill a wine glass with some tap water and bring it over to sit next to me and the fire because THAT will really do something if a flaming hunk of wood breaks through the glass and sets the carpet on fire.

And that’s how I stayed, laying right next to the fire place anxiously glancing from my book to see if the glass was about to shatter from the heat of the log that was leaning up against it while simultaneously humming Disclosure’s “When A Fire Starts to Burn”. I’m going to say it was about two hours later that the log finally burned all the way out and I felt safe enough to climb back into my bed.

Moral of the story is:

Do not let me think I can EVER go camping alone or EVER put me in charge of something like a fire. Seriously? I can’t even cook noodles without somehow sending boiling water everywhere. Who thought it was okay to let me anywhere near something as dangerous as flames? COME ON!