Why I'm thankful for wisdom teeth...

(...or the long overdue continuation of Faux Fiancee)

I had to get my wisdom teeth extracted this past summer, and I decided to go home to California so my mom could mother me while I convalesced. It's an eight-hour drive for me to get home, and it's pretty much all desert, so there isn't much to keep a guy's mind busy. Also, my car's CD player doesn't work, so all I had was the radio, and, because Michael Jackson had died the night before, every radio station I came across was playing either Thriller or Billie Jean, it seemed. Come on, people--he's the King of Pop and you can only come up with two songs?

Anyway, somewhere in Nevada, I decided I would give Katie a call--just to see how talking on the phone would work for us. (I hate talking on the phone, so I was a little apprehensive that the awesome week we had just shared would get swallowed up in a summer of infrequent and awkward telephone conversations.) I called her up and we talked for, I dunno, maybe half an hour, and the conversation didn't flow throughout that time but rather came in spurts. I crossed the California border and told her I had to go because I was supposed to call my parents and tell them when I made it that far (this was close enough to the truth: they told me to call periodically and report my progress), so the conversation ended and left me feeling far from confident about the coming weeks.

My parents' house is situated such that cell phone reception is totally unreliable most anywhere on their property. Because of this, the next bits of communication between me and Katie came in the form of a couple of voicemail messages that she left on my phone. But I went for a walk each evening while I was home so we could talk in real time, and our conversations' lengths grew exponentially--half an hour, one hour, two hours (does doubling count as exponential? I'm really bad at math...)--and it wasn't long until our conversations were back to being long and easy. After I got my teeth extracted, I didn't go for walks much, but I started calling her using my parents' landline, and life continued charmingly.

One day, my Dad suggested to me that, since Katie and I were in the same state, I may as well swing by and visit her on my way back to Provo. This was a ridiculous suggestion because that involved adding roughly 7 hours of drive time to my journey. Strangely enough, though, Katie made the same suggestion later that day in semi-jest, and I tentatively agreed to it--not jesting at all but a little worried about the cost of gas. Then--a miracle. My sister who lives in Sacramento but was down visiting my parents for Independence Day (ironic, no?) told me that she really didn't wanna ride the train back and asked me if I'd be willing to give her a ride if she paid for my gas. I have no idea whether she was put up to it by our dad or came up with the idea herself or just honestly didn't want to ride the train, but I took this as a godsend and readily agreed. I called Katie and worked out the details, and it was decided that, on the next Tuesday, I would drive my sister up to Sacramento, go to Katie's place to hang out with her and meet her family, stay the night, and leave the next morning--probably as quickly as possible because we were both certain that this was probably going to be the most social encounter imaginable, what with the whole, "Hey, Mom and Dad, this is the guy I proposed to--blindly--after a comedy show--and now he wants to stay the night and--and--he'll leave first thing in the morning, I promise!" Nevertheless, when faced with the chance to embark upon a brave new world of social faux pas, this little butterfly never backs down--never, I say!--so we went ahead with the plan.

And what happened next is almost as unbelievable as the story of how we met. (Is that poor narrative style? I think it probably is, but I can't help myself sometimes: I just love dramatic suspense--or whatever this is....)

I got to Katie's parents' house around 5pm on Tuesday evening. I walked in and introduced myself to everyone, and then, as I had feared, we stood there just staring at each other, suffused is a palpable haze of awkwardness.

Well, now what?

We were all wondering that, I'm sure, but only one person--the hero of this chapter, perhaps--actually had any idea: Katie's seven-year-old sister Christina. She grabbed my hand and said, "Let me give you a tour of the house!" and dashed the ice to pieces as she dragged me up the stairs. After that, I was very much a part of the family, somehow--so much so that I did not, in fact, leave the next morning, or the morning after that, or even the morning after that. I didn't leave until the mid-morning of Saturday, and then I had to honestly tear myself away because I really didn't want to go. It was fantastic.

The 10-hour drive back to Provo was punctuated with calls to and from Katie. Once I called, and for a good, solid minute before she said hello, all I could hear was her and her family laughing hysterically. I had no idea what to make of it. Turns out they were playing a trivia game, and it was Katie's turn, and she didn't know the answer, and she asked if she could have a lifeline and call me; her mom said, "No, you can't call him. But if he calls in the next five seconds, you can ask him for help"--and I did!

And so I went to Provo, feeling wonderful because of the solidity I had given my friendship with Katie, but feeling more than a little sad that it was now time to settle into its summer hiatus--or at least its summer relegation to phone calls and email.

The morning after I got back to Provo, I got up and went to Church and there met up with a friend that I had not seen in more than a month. He asked me how my life had been in the interim, and I gave him a big, "Well let me tell ya!" and caught him up to speed with the inexplicable awesomeness that was my relationship with Katie. He ate it up, grinning from ear to ear (therefore, I suppose, metaphysically chewing with his mouth open), and then he said something truly amazing: "That's awesome! Hey, I'm roadtripping out to Sacramento with some friends in three weeks; if you want to come, we'd love to have you."

As soon as Church was out, I called Katie to tell her the news and to ask for permission to return. Unfortunately, I got her voicemail, but, being totally unable to hold in my joy, I left my news on her phone. Hours of pacing and wringing my hands passed, and then she called with an answer. I excitedly answered the phone and was greeted, not just by Katie, but by her entire family on speakerphone saying, "Kyle! Come back!"

Faux Fiancee

So. I joined HumorU, and I performed my first show a couple of weekends ago. Video of my set can be found here. After every show, HumorU has a stack of note cards that people can write a review on to let us know what they thought of the show. Saturday night (which is where that video clip comes from), we got a note card that was so crazy, you'll have to see it to believe it. You can see a scanned copy of it here. You'll have to read that if you want any of the rest of this story to make sense.

Okay. So that's the background; here's the story:

I called her up--mostly to see if this was for real. I figured that either she was joking or this was some trick that someone had played on a roommate thinking, "Haha. This'll be funny. Now Katie will get a really awkward phone call!" But I just couldn't pass up an opportunity like this, so I called the number on the card. I got her voicemail, and it said, "This is Katie's phone. Leave a message and I'll call you back," so I thought, "Well, this phone belongs to Katie. May as well leave a message." So I left a message saying something this:

Hello! I got this card recently, and it says it's from you. I don't know if you wrote it. This is Kyle Jepson from HumorU, and I did a show last night and, afterward, someone left me note that said, "[read note]." So I'm calling because I think it's funny. Call me back if you wanna: my phone number is [phone number]. Bye.

That was on a Sunday afternoon. A couple of hours later, she called me back, and I answered, "Well hey there!"

"Hey, is this Kyle?"

"Yes it is."

"Hi. This is Katie."

"Well hello."

"Hi. Um. Yeah. I wrote that note."

"Really?? Wow. I'm--I'm flattered. And I have a lot of respect for you because you are bold."

"Yeah," she conceded, "it's a blessing and a curse."

The conversation quickly dried up into an awkward pause.

"So," I said. "What happens now?"

"I threw myself out there," she said "so now it's your turn!"

"Oh! I! Well! Um...."

So we set up a time to meet up on campus at JambaJuice. We were both taking summer classes, and this happened right at the beginning of the last week before finals, so I knew I was going to be swamped with Latin. (I got an A in that class, but the way. I'm so proud of me right now!) So this was a Sunday and we set a date for a Thursday afternoon--almost two weeks away.

Meanwhile, there's a guy in HumorU named Pete, and his little sister (18-years-old) came to the show and thought I was cute and asked Pete to set us up on a date, so the Saturday after I talked to Katie on the phone, I went on a blind date with Erika. Erika was nice, but she's a freshman at BYU-Idaho, so we really didn't have much in common. We had a nice time together, but I don't have any intention of seeing her again.

This had me feeling a little more worried about meeting up with Katie, but I was resolved to go through with it.

Katie and I were going to go out on Thursday, so I called her Wednesday night to solidify plans, and we decided to meet up at JambaJuice at noon.

I got to JambaJuice about ten minutes early and just sat and waited. When I got there, the place was pretty well empty, but then people started pouring in, and about a million girls walked by me in the next 15 minutes. I was going out of my mind! Every time someone walked by, I'd sit up and smile, but the only person who walked up to me was a guy who thought I was there to sell him a chemistry book.

I learned a lot about myself as I sat there waiting. I have always claimed to be affected very little by physical appearances, but it turns out that this is not true: I am a fairly typical guy. As girls walked by, "Oh, please, no!" and "I'd take that" were constant thoughts, and I felt equally guilty about both. Katie showed up about 5 minutes after noon, and I was so relieved at her appearance that I hopped up and hugged her as soon as she said my name--which really isn't my style. I bought her a drink, and we sat and talked for about four hours.

Four hours!

That was Thursday. Friday, nothing happened. Saturday night, I was hanging out with some friends, and Katie texted me, and we had a texted conversation that lasted a really long time--certainly the longest texted conversation I've ever had (not that I do a whole lot of texting; still, it lasted a couple hours, I think). Sunday, I called her up to say hello (she had taught a mission prep class that day, and I wanted to know how it went), and she invited me over to her place, so I went. While we were there, she got a call from a guy in her ward who was cooking stir fry, so we went over and hung out there for a little while. Then I had to leave for a presidency meeting. We idly talked about meeting up later that evening, but it never happened.

Monday after FHE, I was going to watch the 1960 version of The Time Machine with my roommates. Katie texted me to ask what I was doing, and I invited her to come over to meet my roommates and watch an old movie, so she did. We watched the movie, and then the five of us (me and Katie and my roommates) sat and talked until midnight hit, and then she had to leave because of the university's honor code's curfew, so I walked her home. When we got to her place, we stood outside the door and talked for a while, and then we ended up sitting and talking for a while, and we sat and talked until sunrise, and I finally went home a little after 8am.

We had hung out for 10 solid hours!

I went home and crashed into bed, slept for about three hours, and then got up and went to work. After work, I texted her to ask her if she was home, and she was, so I went over to her place at about 6pm and we hung out for a little while. I had a ward bonfire at 8:30, and she came with me to it. We hung out there until the party wound down and then at my place until midnight hit and then we went back and sat on her porched until 3am!

So, Monday night, we hung out for 10 solid hours; Tuesday night, 8 solid hours. Of the 24 hours that made up Tuesday, I spent 13 hanging out with Katie.

This has never happened to me before, readers. You know me; you've read my blog: I go on one or two dates with a girl, and then something ridiculous happens that makes it fall apart. That's why I have more blogs than girlfriends.

Wednesday is my busy day because I'm a part of two clubs that both meet Wednesday night, but I managed to hang out with her for an hour or two in between work and club meetings.

Thursday was my last day in Provo (I went home to celebrate the 4th of July by getting my wisdom teeth extracted), so I wanted to make it awesome. I went to work that morning and by 3pm I was done with everything I had to do before leaving town, so I texted Katie and we got together a little after 4:00. The on-campus art museum has a really cool exhibit right now of Walter Wick (the guy who writes the I Spy books), so we went to that together. We spent a couple of hours looking at the pictures and searching for the hidden things. It was fantastic. Those couple hours were really a turning point for me. Up to that point, everything had just been happening so fast that my head was spinning and all I could think was, "Is this really happening to me? To me? Kyle Jepson? This is happening to Kyle Jepson, and I'm Kyle Jepson??" But as we wandered around that exhibit, I realized that what was happening, crazy though it may be, was pretty stinking cool. Here, for the first time in my life, was a girl I really liked who wasn't avoiding me and wasn't merely tolerating me but genuinely seemed to enjoy my company, and it happened without any effort on my part. I call it a miracle.

Downside: she's from Sacramento and she was heading home for the rest of the summer on Saturday morning. So we had a rip-whirlin' good week, but now we're separated by hundreds of miles.

GLOOM

So we spent a couple of hours at that exhibit, and then I had to go home teaching and we were separated from about 8:15 till about 9:45, but then we met back up and we went with my roommies to Brick Oven Pizza, after which we dropped my roommates and car off at my apartment, and I walked her home.

As we were walking, I got this a text from one roommate that said something like, "If you don't give her at least a quick kiss on the lips or the cheek you will disappoint her and me."

Thanks, man....

I showed her the text, and we both laughed.

We got to her place and sat and talked till about 2am, at which point she said that I should probably get some sleep before my long drive home. Then we both stared at the ground and pondered our impending separation in silence for a while.

"Well," I said. "Let's start with standing up."

"It's cold," she said, taking off the blanket she was wrapped in.

"That's okay," I said. "I'm going to hug you for a really long time."

"Oh," she said. "That isn't forward at all...."

We hugged. For a really long time. Not a really long time, but it was the longest hug I'd ever given up to that point. After it ended, we just stood and looked at each other and said how sad it was that we were leaving, which launched us back into conversation, and we stood and talked for another 5 or 10 minutes before I said that I should probably go.

More sad staring at the ground.

"Okay," I said. "I wanna hug you again."

And then I actually did hug her for a really long time.

"I'm going to miss these nights," I said as we hugged.

"I'm going to miss you!" she said.

"I'm glad about that," I said. "It wouldn't be fair if I missed you a lot and you didn't miss me at all."

"You were supposed to be a jerk," she said. "It was just supposed to be a funny story that ended with, '...but then he turned out to be a jerk, so I never tried that again. The end.'"

The conversation continued, then fizzled, and then the hug ended, and I started slowly, sadly backing away.

"When are you getting your teeth pulled?" she asked.

"Not till Tuesday," I said.

"See?" she said. "You could stay another day!"

"Yeah," I said. "I know. But--" and then I trailed off. If I had been thinking, I would've said something like, "The more time we spend together, the more I'll miss you when you're gone," but I was too sad to be witty.

The awkward good-bye lasted a few more seconds, and then I walked down the stairs and into the pouring rain. I didn't cry, but I made a point of telling Heavenly Father how unfair this all seemed.

THE END

(Not really: look for a continuation soon)

My Proudest Moment

I would say, "Is it any wonder the ladies are flocking to me?" except that I spent the majority of this set making fun of dating....

I know I'm sexy, but dang!

So, I performed in my first stand-up comedy show this past weekend (video to come soon, with any luck). How well did it go you ask? This well:



Yes, I called her.
No, this is not some prank that was pulled on her.
Yes, we're going on a date.

Exciting stories to follow, no doubt.

beeBOO BEEP

I really suck at living in the cellular age: I never, ever have my phone on. To keep people from getting angry at me, then, I have resorted to making clever voicemail answerings. Today I made a new one and realized that I should probably preserve these someplace to show off my awesomeness and then complain when people plagiarize. So here you have my collected cell phone voicemail answerings of 2009, starting with my current one, and going back to the one that was on my phone when the year started:

(Piano Man)
Leave a message you're on Kyle's phone
Leave a message for free
And I'll call you back when I am all alone
And need someone to talk to me

(Downtown)
When you try to call Kyle
You are faced with denial
'cuz you just get his
Voicemail
And he doesn't have minutes
So who knows when he'll get it
and respond to this
Voicemail

(Over the Rainbow)
Somewhere in Provo Utah
A man lives
Who's good at checking voicemail--
Sadly this is not his.

(Gilligan's Isle)
Just sit right back and you'll hear a sound
The sound of a little tone
Then you can leave a message which will then be stored
On Kyle Jepson's phone
On Kyle Jepson's phone

(Beverly Hillbillies)
Well, you have reached the voicemail of a man named Kyle
Who likes to make it answer in a musical style
So you can do some singing at the sound of the beep
Because that is your queue from me to leave a short and sweet
[spoken:] Message, that is.

("O Fortuna" from Carmina Burana)
It's Kyle's phone!
Leave a message!
And I will call you someday!

(We wish you a merry christmas)
I wish you would leave a message
I wish you would leave a message
I wish you would leave a message
And I'll call you right back

The lives of others

I spend 10 hours a week in the library, scanning stuff for the professor who employs me. It doesn't take a whole lot of concentration, so I have to find ways of amusing myself when the things I'm scanning aren't sufficiently interesting.

And that's how I developed one of my new favorite pastimes: eaves dropping on the conversations around me. I have learned that any conversation is funny when taken out of context. Here are the ones I've liked well enough to jot down:

Guy: Wait, you were laughing at a funeral?
Girl: The lady sitting next to me was crying and snorting! It was so funny; I couldn't help it! She was like [SNORT]--[hahaha]--she was like [SNORT]--it was so funny!

Girl1: So he has, like, a thousand pairs of shoes.
Girl2: That'd be pretty cool: "Hm. Today I feel like wearing blue shoes."
Girl3: Yeah. But I just can't imagine spending that much money on spray paint.

Girl1: Some people, like, spit in my face.
Girl2: Really?
Girl1: Yeah.
Girl2: Because of him?
Girl1: Yeah. I just wanted to shout, "I'm not George Bush! I'm not George Bush!"

Girl to guy: Well, first of all, you have to be bored and good looking, so we could totally choose you!

British-sounding girl on cell phone: No, no, no: I'm even more allergic to Band-aids now than I used to be!

One guy to another: She said she did wanna date a punk rocker--but I'm like the pambiest punk rocker ever! I'm really just a wannabe....

But my all-time favorite is this one:

One guy to another: Oh, but dude, make sure you don't get too overzealous your first time 'cuz this one girl did, and she ended up throwing up all over the place--just way too much ice cream.

Takes one to know one

When I named this blog Fake Dates and Faux Pas, I had a particular faux pas in mind--the grand poo bah of all faux pas--and I've toyed with recounting it here but kept chickening out because it doesn't paint me in a very flattering light. But the time has come to let the truth be known because, right now, the truth strikes me as really pretty funny--which may mean that I am, in fact, sick in the head.

So let's examine some history, shall we?

(NOTE: I don't think I've done any 'nym-ing in this blog in the past, but in this post I'm changing all the names except for mine because I'm not really looking to make any enemies just now. I'm only a part-time jerk, and today's a day off for me.)

I could back the clock waaaaay back and give you all kinds of details, but they're mostly irrelevant, so I'll just bullet-point the necessary backstory:

• I was diggin' on a girl in my last ward (we'll call her Sally)
• She went home for the summer, and we had a delightful email correspondence
• In said correspondence, we made a lot of fun plans for the fall
• She returned to Provo a few weeks earlier than planned
• I assumed this meant we could carry out said plans
• Within 4 or 5 days of returning to Provo, she had a boyfriend

To be honest, it was quite a blow to my ego that she hooked up with somebody before I got a chance to give her more than a quick greeting in passing--and it certainly didn't help that I found out about him from her roommates instead of her (we were still emailing fairly regularly--how did it not come up?). Nevertheless, I still hoped that we could carry out the fun plans we made (which mostly entailed hiking various mountains), and I figured that this required me to befriend her new beau because the chances of me being able to get her to go hiking with me (a boy) sans boyfriend were pretty much nil. I didn't imagine this would be a problem, though, because I figured any guy Sally would date would be the nice, laid-back, fun-loving sort because that's the way she was.

No such luck. I met said boyfriend at Sally's roommate's birthday party the Sunday after Sally's return to Provo, and it did not go well--at all.

It had been a kind of wild evening for me already. I had just met my new hometeaching companion (we'll call Mark), and he and I hit it off and sat talking boisterously for--I dunno--and hour or two before we headed to the party. I was all kinds of riled up--so much so that, had I taken a brief moment to pause and think, I would have said to myself, "Okay, little Jepson, we probably oughtta just go into the bedroom and talk to the walls--no social ventures tonight, my friend--not when we're in a mood like this," but I wasn't in the sort of mood to pause or think, so all I could think was, "Party? Party? Why, yes, I do feel like a party, actually," and so we went.

I had lived in the complex about a year at this point, so I had a pretty good grasp on the people who lived there--especially during the summer because there weren't a whole lot of us--so when I walked into the party and surveyed the scene, I immediately picked up on the unfamiliar face that was quietly sitting, brooding in a corner away from the action.

"Hey New Guy!" I said, walking over, a look of indomitable gregariousness most certainly plastered on my face. I took a seat on the side table next to him, knocking over a picture and a box of Kleenex. "My names Kyle; who are you?"

"Nathan," he said.

"Nice to meet you, Nathan. Are you new in the ward?"

"I'm not in the ward."

"Ah, just here for the party, then--I can respect that for sure! Where you from?"

"It's complicated."

"Complicated? How can it be complicated--did you move a lot?"

"Not really."

"So how is it complicated?"

"I dunno. Where do you want me to start?"

"I dunno," I said. "How about the beginning--the very beginning--where were you conceived?"

See? Sometimes I just shouldn't be out among the people....

He didn't find this joke remotely funny--actually, I think it kind of offended him.

"Don't remember, huh?" I asked. "That's okay. I don't remember my conception, either--probably better that way, don't you think?"

This, as it turns out, wasn't funny, either. We weren't exactly hitting it off.

"Kay, so," I pressed on, still annoyingly enthusiastic, "where were you born."

"Utah," he said.

"Really?" I said. "Me too! I was born in Logan, but my parents were living in Idaho at the time--don't remember anything about it because we moved to California a year after I was born and lived there ever since. How 'bout you?"

"I grew up in Utah for a while," he said, "then I moved to California."

"Well that doesn't sound too complicated," I said. "Why'd you move? Dad get a job or something? That's why my family moved--kinda."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"You don't want to talk about it?" I asked. "Was it a bad experience for you? I admit some people don't like California, but really how bad could it be?"

"It was a court order," he said. "I don't want to talk about it."

A court order? A court order?? Oh dear, who am I messing with here?

Change the subject, Jepson--quick!

"How do you know [girl whose birthday was being celebrated]?"

"I don't."

"Don't know [girl], don't live in the ward--just a party hopper, then?"

"I here with Ms. Peterson."

'fraida that....

So this is Sally's boyfriend. This, then, is the man I was hoping to befriend. Totally the nice, laid-back, fun-loving sort--totally the kind of person I wanna spend my weekends hiking mountains with. Conversational types are the best on long hikes 'cuz there isn't much to do but talk.

A real winner.

Attempt one was not going well. Time to back off and try again later.

"Oh," I said, "so you're the new boyfriend. Well congratulations! Anyway, I'ma gonna go get some cake now. I love cake--'s the reason I come to parties, really. You want me to grab you a piece?"

"No."

Come to the party of a girl you don't know and you don't even like cake? Tough life you're livin' there, buddy.

"Okay. Well. Nice to meet you, Nathan," I lied and went to get some cake and mingle with actual nice, laid-back, fun-loving people.

One of my roommates came to the party a little later and struck up a conversation with Nathan. This particular roommate has some unbelievable people skills--the sort of guy who people enjoy showing their puppies to regardless of whether he pets or kicks them--so it appeared to me, from my distant vantage point, that he was able to do quite a bit better than I did.

When the conversation ended, my roommate talked to me about it.

"Have you met Sally's boyfriend?" he asked.

"I tried," I said. "I tried to strike up a friendly conversation, but he didn't want any part of it."

"Yeah," my roommate said. "I chatted with him from a while but--I dunno--I get bad vibes from that guy. Something's not quite on the level."

"He told me he got moved to California by court order," I said. "He could have some sort of traumatic (or violent) past."

"Yeah," my roommie said. "Not a guy I'd wanna mess with."

This too should have sent up some red flags in my mind. I mean, not that this roommate is a professional bare-knuckle boxer or anything, but still....

The event of the night aren't especially clear to me (it has been, like, eight months now), and I don't remember what brought it up. But something was said or done that caused me to say to Nathan, "Oh. Well, I hope that doesn't put a damper on our new relationship," at which point he stared me in the face and said, "We don't have a relationship."

That was the breaking point for me. That was the point when I wanted to stand up and say, "Chill out, man: I'm trying to be your friend, so why don't you just sit yourself down, slap an inane smile on your face, and graciously accept my soulless platitudes so I can butter you up and get at your girl."

See? Takes one to know one. We're jerks of slightly different flavors, but we're jerks just the same.

It was shortly after that--while I was eating, I believe, my second piece of cake--that I got the idea for what I wanted to do. I was sitting next to Nathan on a couch, and he was doing his best to ignore me, and I decided that, no matter what he did to ignore me, I'd make sure he'd never forget the day we me.

The party wound down. Most folks left. It was just the girl whose party it was, some of her roommates (one had gone to bed already), Nathan, my roommie, my hometeaching companion, and me. Sally and her awake non-birthday roommate (we'll call Jane) were on a small couch; Nathan, my roommate, and I were on a longer couch arrange perpendicularly to the other; my hometeaching companion was talking to the birthday girl over by the cake--so they weren't really a part of the social casualty that followed.

"Well," my roommate was saying, "it's been fun, but we probably oughtta get goin'."

"Yeah," I said. "Sally, welcome back, it's good to see you again; Jane, always good to see you. Nathan"--here I grabbed his head and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek--"a pleasure to meet you," and I jumped up and fairly jigged out of the room, taking in a glance Nathan's discomfort, Jane's surprise, and Sally's utter horror. My roommate, who was halfway between standing and sitting, slowly sat back down and facepalmed.

I walked triumphantly back to my apartment. Nobody ignores me--no sir! Deny me friendship, I'll compromise your manhood. Don't mess with me, man--I'm a loaded gun!

Back in my apartment, dizzy with insanity, I leaned against the counter and drank a glass of water. Another roommate walked in and, upon seeing what must have been a disconcertingly crazed look on my face, said, "Kyle--what'd you do?"

"I just kissed a man," I said, I took another sip.

A while later, my other roommate returned from the party completely chagrined.

"I don't know what you were trying to accomplish there, man," he said. "I told you I got a bad feeling from that guy."

He told me that he had just spent the last several minutes running interference for me--smoothing things over so I didn't get lynched. Later, Jane came over and told me that Sally was extremely unhappy with me: "I don't know that you're an enemy," she said, "but I'm pretty sure you aren't a friend any more."

The drama that ensued from that fantastic faux pas of mine is a tale unto itself, and this post is plenty long, so I won't address it here. Maybe some other time--if popular demand demands. What I'm driving at, though, is this:

I'm a jerk.