Awkward Wednesday: You'll Ask Anyways

(Just an FYI before I begin: Over the weekend after posting my very naked post, I obsessed over how much I did not like it. Without the use of the internet for a couple days, I couldn't change it it all.  I even speculated at taking it down and rewriting the whole thing to something I would enjoy more, but by the time I had the power to change it, it had been up long enough I figured I would have to deal with what it was. I guess sometimes I'll write things and not be satisfied with the results no matter how much I change them, and that's OK. Thanks for enjoying it though.  I just felt like telling you all, so pretend like you never read this and go back to the original post. Pretend like I took your subway sandwich, added a little more turkey, and then gave it back. You ordered a meatball sub you say? Well what were you expecting from me, I've never worked in a deli.)



As far as people go, I'd place myself in the group that often doesn't know how to respond to a lot of questions. What kind of questions you ask? Well, the specific questions that make me (and the many others like me, I know I'm not alone) feel like I have no appropriate response.  Basically questions that I don't enjoy asking and don't think should be asked. Let's just dive in:

Why are you so tall?
Really? Really? You've known me for as long as you do and this is what you're going to ask me when I tell you that you may ask me any one questions about myself no matter how deep and personal?  You really need to rethink your life sir or madam.  But really, how am I supposed to go about answering this question?

Well you see, every night I strap my ankles to the door frame and sleep like a bat.  The force of gravity pulls my body and elongates my frame to the figure that I have today.  

Actually, I'm wearing stilts all the time.  I'm really only 4'5 and 4'8 if you're high.

God loves me more and wants me to be closer to heaven.

How the hell should I know why I'm tall? I assume that this also applies on the other side of the spectrum to you shorties out there and I bet some of you find it equally tiresome. Instead of spitting directly in your face though, I'll just laugh and smile while making a mental note to buy you Whoppers (the candy, not the hamburger) for Christmas. Then you can suffer passive-aggressively since no one should like that devil's vomit. JUST LET US BE TALL IN PEACE.

How can you not like ______?

But Ryan, why don't
you like me?

Well I'll tell you how I don't like whatever it is that you're convincing me is amazing.  I just don't. I'm sorry that you like it, but it obviously differs from my own personal tastes. If you keep shoving it in my face, it is not going to magically change my mind. Blasting Taylor Swift* directly into my ear drums will not make me a die-hard fan and sell all my internal organs to go see her live.  It will, though, motivate me to sell your organs so I may purchase a plane ticket to wherever YOU'RE not.

The exception to this rule for me is if someone hasn't tried something.  If I have delved deep enough into a certain category of whatever, please just let me have my opinions. If not, then you can bully me. Which makes a good enough segue into our next question...

How do you know you won't like _____?

I know I just said you guys can bother me if I haven't tried something enough for my opinion to be set in the subject and that you're all gonna throw out the hypocrite card.  Please, set down your torches and pitch forks and let me explain.

Look, I'm aware of the fact that one must explore and try new things in their life to gain experience and this "personality" I keep hearing about, but there are just places I will not go. Things I'm already aware of suck/related to something I've done.

Ow, my feelings.

This movie has Kristen Stewart. Please, set this 8 dollars on fire instead.

See how that insect has deadly fangs and an evil glint in it's eye thing? I'm not holding that until you kill it with fire.

You got a puzzle for us to do tonight? Yeah, I have a lot of...cats to wash right now...FIRE

Fruit cake (need I say more?)

(Apparently I have some subconscious thoughts about fire...)

I am going to stay far away from all those things I deem not suitable for any form of exploration. Why? Because I damn well please. Or any other sentences that sound like that. Please, attack me for me contradicting myself. But remember that Santa puts bitches like that on the naughty list.

So, why are you single?

When I get asked this, part of me knows that it's some kind of weird compliment. Kind of like the person is saying that I, of all people, should have been scooped up by now by some Prince Charming in a BMW and whisked away to his snazzy pad.  Of course, I hear: What's wrong with you that causes you to be undesirable?

All of my exes died mysteriously and it just keeps happening! *paired with crazy eyes*

I'm exclusively looking for old, ailing, extremely wealthy, men in the hospital.

Well I have this weird itch I can't seem to get rid of...

I hate everyone.

I think this is the one that stumps me the most. Hm, well I don't know why I haven't found that person yet. As far as I know, I'm usually not voluntarily being single but I'm also not voluntarily picking up everyone that comes along. Did it ever cross your mind that maybe I want to be single? Maybe my lover just died in a horrible cat grooming accident and you are exacerbating my wounded soul. Maybe I'm a sister wife. How do you feel now? Because I hope it's like shit.

Do you know what you're doing stranger by asking me this question?! You're making me think of all the decisions that have led up to this point and made me realize I'M GOING TO DIE ALONE. Or that I'm single. Either or.

I know this may be some weird flirting technique but realize for me (and those like me) you're hurting our brains. Ask me why I don't like T-Swift, I'll have much more to say.

So there you go, a few questions that cause me minimal anxiety. If you ever expect me to answer more than a silent stare or a slow, "I dunno...," then pick a different subject, like different cat breeds or how Crocs deserve to all be incinerated; then we can become friends.  I know that I'm not perfect and have probably asked something along these lines and have badgered you into liking something, but I'm trying, OK? You guys will probably just keep asking these anyways...

Do you guys have any questions that you feel like you can never answer very well? What are your favorite "answers"? Is it my fault for not thinking about these specific topics enough to myself or is it the person who is asking the questions? Please, let me know.

You all know how I have to have practice conversations with myself in the mirror to even get through a day.  Sometimes even the anxiety of that gives me a small seizure.





*I'll admit, gal has some catchy tunes, but overall I'm not a huge fan. Nothing against her and her success, just not my taste. So please don't judge me when I drive up next to you shouting "You Belong With Me" while crying and shoveling a Wendy's frosty into my mouth at 3 in the morning.  We all have our moments.

Eek! I'm Naked!

So, I thought that I'd try and get one of these out while my laundry is running and before I depart for family fun times for the weekend.  See how much I care about you guys?  Above laundry, below family, below any and all burritos.

Makes you wanna hug me, huh?

Anyways, I wanted to talk about my quasi-job since explaining it in public gets tiring.  I want this to be a kind of PSA, or a Sesame Street episode where we count to 20 and Elmo shows up and says something in-decipherable and any and all knowledge to be learned is absorbed through your subconscious.  Then we can eat rolled up cold cuts and cheese cubes!  Damn, I miss childhood sometimes.

Some of you might be wondering to yourselves, "Wait, you actually leave your basement sometimes?"  Yes, yes I do.  Despite the melanoma, poisonous insects, and deadly animals, I venture out of my sanctuary sometimes to do some work.  "What kind of work is this?"  Well, I'm usually naked. "PROSTITUTE!" No, internet, calm down.  "PORN STAR!" Eh, I guess you're getting a little close, but I'll just explain.

I sit for the art department at my university.  While they paint,draw, etc. my body.  Sometimes I'm naked.

"EW! How could you even do something so degrading to yourself and to OTHERS! They have to look at your...your stuff!"  My penis? Well yes, they do, it usually goes something like this:

So that's basically what a lot of people think happens when a person takes off their clothes in a public setting.  In all reality, it usually goes something like this:

(Please excuse the poor use of paint, I realize it looks like I'm dancing.  Or that people are casing spells.  THIS IS A WORK IN PROGRESS. Whatever.)

As you can see from my beautiful masterpiece, no one is crying in terror, vomiting profusely, or even for that matter, being offended.  You see, when you put yourself in the position of being a nude model for artists, everyone acts professionally.  This isn't the third grade where people are giggling at the thought of being naked and this isn't the 10th grade where some people consider this pornography.  It's just art.

What I always found weird about this was how I feel sometimes the artist forgets you're a person.  Not that they forget you're there or can physically act in any way, but they treat you like something to make into art.  For one minute, they'll be talking about the shadows crossing your back like you're not even in the room, the next they'll be asking you what your major is (when you're taking a break of course).

"But Ryan, isn't that awkward to be naked in a room full of people?"

Well, valid question internet person since I think that's really what people worry about.  People are looking at you naked.  NAKED.  Usually that's reserved for you and your MIRROR you perv.  Jk, looking at yourself in the mirror isn't pervy, talking to yourself in the mirror is.  

But yeah, a lot of people have seen my junk out and about but it's not like they're constantly staring at it.  The real purpose of these classes is to study the human figure, not to get some kind of kick at looking at people's gnads; and just let me say, these guys make me look way better in drawn form than I do in real life.  They're able to pick out angles I've never seen before and use colors to make shadows even more interesting.  What can I do?  Well I can make a pretty mean pancake in the morning if that interests you.  No?  Well marry an artist then, see if I care...please come back.

I guess that going into this, there is some level of confidence you must have with your body and some notions that you have to leave at the door.  I think they basically go hand in hand though.  Realize that, whatever you think of your body, these guys are going to make it something of their own and disregard your image issues.  What you see and what they see are completely different things.  Trust me.  

I actually had another friend do modeling at another university in the state and she wrote a very eloquent paper on the subject.  With her permission, I took a snippet of it to better illustrate my examples:

Personally, I found nudity as a means to relate some wonderful, horrible, emotional, uplifting, heart-wrenching, and ultimately THOUGHT-- PROVOKING themes from the artist to the viewer. Of course, some nudity can be shocking and I don’t suggest we shove it in the face of children. But imagine when we develop our children’s taste for the human form in an aesthetic, academic, philosophical, and/or natural way. Imagine when we study classic or modern art to begin a commentary on nudity, its representations both good and bad, the power it invokes in an audience, and its ability to translate the major themes of life.                                                          

                                                                         -Laura Taylor 

The major themes of life.  Because there is something about a naked human form that can display emotions in such a different way than what we usually see.  Nudity does not equal sex.

So next time you think that nude art is disgusting, please, give yourself a little slap in the face and remind yourself that not all nude art is pornography.  We don't have to giggle about it, or shun it from society deeming it "disgusting" in nature.  Or next time you see your friend who poses for nude art, don't ask them if it's awkward.  Why would they do it if it was that bad?  Are they being paid millions?  Millions of chicken nuggets (because then I might just do it 24/7)?  Usually not.  Like me, I bet they kind of forget that they're naked in the first place.  Until a cold breeze comes in.

But, if you guys get the idea that traipsing around campus al natural is ok, please realize not everyone will immediately sit down, pull out a canvas, and start painting you.  You'll probably get tazed.  By me.

Sidenote: To illustrate (literally) how great these people can manipulate a drawing tool, I'll slip one of the portraits of me in here.  Don't worry, it's clothed, you guys don't get to see my goodies.  I only do that when people pay me and paint me...SIMULTANEOUSLY.  *phew* Almost opened up a discussion if I did porn or not.

Spoiler: I don't.

Ooo, look at how my tank top is seductively falling off.
*Scandalous*

The Brownies of My Life

Do you guys know about avoidance tactics?  You know, the things you do (consciously and subconsciously) to help you get out of a situation that causes your brain anguish and discomfort.  Usually used when people are experiencing disgust, fear, anxiety, depression, etc.

WELL GUESS FREAKIN' WHAT?!

This is one, right now.  This very second.  This second too.  And this one.  Aaaaaaaaand--ok I'll stop.

You guys know that I'm supposed to be studying for my motivation and emotion test tomorrow so I'm using justification by using vocabulary and actual approaches to emotion while writing this.  See how I earlier explained avoidance with different approaches to emotion?  Gah haha, I'm so sneaky.  I'm secretly making you more learn-ed in the psychology field.  Kind of like how I make baked goods and give them to all my friends to make them fat  really really happy. Golly, I'm the best.

So since I'm avoiding more emotion jargon (and I will be throwing more into here), I obviously have something I'd like to spew out onto my laptop.  No, no more vomit on the laptop tonight, just finger taps.

Just yesterday afternoon, I had the chance to attend a homecoming of one of my good friends as he returned from his LDS mission.  Now, I often find these gatherings (apart from the religious aspect) to basically be big high school reunions.  Which got me thinking about how grown up I am.  Or the complete opposite.  Yeah, that one, definitely that one.

You know, I often look at myself and say, "Damn Ryan, you're lookin' mighty fine in that sweater vest today."

"Why thank you me, but you really need to learn some boundaries and stop stroking my knee."

 "Also, Ryan, look at how mature you are, you're the epitome of maturity with your well organized life and such."

"...Please stop talking to me like that, me."

Sometimes, I find that I put myself on some sort of snobbish pedestal and everything underneath it are the things deemed "too immature."  Things like going streaking in a cemetery, telling poop jokes, eating a whole bag of chips, and laughing at a kid falling down  (Think about it, you know it's a little funny. I heard you do a silent guffah.).

How did I get to this point? Thinking about it, I guess it would be the environment in which I am currently residing in.  Telling a poop joke in class is usually deemed inappropriate by my peers, especially if my mouth is full of a bag of Garden Salsa Sun Chips.  But are they really as distinguished as I think they are?

Which brings us back to Sunday.  Surrounded by my old friends, I found myself giggling at a kid falling on a trampoline and telling dirty jokes.  I FIT GYNECOLOGIST INTO A SENTENCE. Now tell me when that happens without awkward tones and a lot of use of the word "it" and "it's" involved.

I'm adding it to the list of accomplishments I have by my bed. The other two are knit a scarf and not slap a kid in class yet.  Shooting for the stars you guys.

I enjoyed all of this as well.  This wasn't some pained activity like watching a Kristen Stewart movie, but an more along the lines of baking a pan of brownies, waiting approximately three seconds for it to cool, and pouring the entire thing down my esophageal tract.

Ryan, doesn't that hurt?

Well yes, it does.  But here's the thing: As much as I love eating an entire pan of brownies, I can't do it everyday.  Along with the obvious obesity/diabetes problems I would probably incur (along with my burned throat), I would have to have a brownie fund as to not go into serious brownie debt.  Then the brownie mafia would come after me and bake me to a gooey perfection before breaking my legs.

...so I got a little off track there, but I think I understand myself.  Being goofy for a little bit is fun, even beneficial, but I can't do it forever. Where would I get if I didn't take any situation seriously? I would start to have diabetes of the life.

But these guys brought me back to that dirty 15 year old I was.  Or wasn't, I guess I get to be him now, I can't really remember.  We all got to join together and soak up each other's immaturity and realize how grown-up we aren't.  All of us were figuring out how our lives were going to play out and YOU KNOW WHAT? Our slight immaturity helped us to downplay life's oncoming shits.  Grad school applications are less daunting, job choices seem endless, and I can still eat anything I want. We all got to be Peter Pan for a time.

Until we had to return to reality.

I guess I'm just trying to illustrate how moderation is key.  We need to appraise the situation, deem it appropriate for whatever behavior we would like to exhibit, and then exhibit that behavior.  Paraphrasing Magna Arnold, we can appraise the situation or object, and assess what costs and benefits we can personally get from it.*

 Me every Friday night. Victory.

But knowing myself, I have a nasty sweet tooth that I haven't outgrown yet. So you know I'm going to down a pan of social "brownies" whenever I get the chance. Then I'm going to rub my chocolate stained face all over you and laugh like a kid seeing a dog poop on a baby.

Haha. Poop.




*BAM.  Look at me keep sneaking my test material into this post.  Like. A. Psychology. Boss (But-not-licensed-in-any-way-or-affiliated-with-the-APA-kind-of-boss).

Let's Take A Walk

I decided that the small town Cedar bug is starting to get to me.  One strain in particular that tells me that walking around any dark neighborhood at night is decently safe and that I'm not going to get murdered/mugged/________(insert maiming activity here).

Which brings us to our walk last week on Saturday night.

If I ever happen to venture up to Salt Lake, I always find myself generally going to the same place on Saturday night with a good group of people.  This night was no exception.

So, I found myself hanging out with some good friends and we decided to go to the club we usually attend on Saturdays.  Weird thing was, there was something not terribly fun about the flashing lights and loud music that night though.  You see, right before this, I had attended the film, The Master.  I had never heard of this movie and I only saw it because in line at the movies with my friend, we talked to the strangers in front of us who had just bought tickets for the next showing of that movie and they raved about how great it was.  Thus, we bought tickets, entered the theater, and took our seats.

Let's just say the next two hours and fifteen minutes were...existential.

That became the word of the night: existential.  Of all the movies (which this one I'd recommend to see) to see that night, it had to be the one that made me think. THINK.  About. My. Damn. Life. Come on world, the weekends are for turning off those thoughts that make me worry about what I'm going to do with my life.  I always just end up at death.  I skip everything else good that happens in your life and I'm just dead.

So here I am at a raucous place of sin, sitting on a chair on the patio thinking about my ultimate demise, so you can imagine why I wasn't having a spectacularly peachy time.  As the night wore on, one of my friends decided to head home so I volunteered to walk them to their car. You know, in case they broke their femur on the way or something.

With the quiet hum of an engine, my friend headed off into the night and I was left outside, hearing the steady beat of the bass from the music inside.  As I began to walk back towards the club, I stopped and started thinking. When the thinking starts, we all know it's going to downhill from there.

I continued to walk.  Past the club, down the street, and I just kept going. A few blocks later, I walked into a 7 Eleven, cursed that they didn't have the pina colada slurpee flavor, and settled for the largest size with a cherry flavor. I then took the opportunity to do a city smart thing to prevent me from losing my valuables.

Take note: Put your valuables such as phones, credit cards, and cash, into your underwear.  Most muggers won't check there since they'll ask you to empty your pocket and/or purse/bag.  Hence, why you wear tighter underwear to become mugger-proof.  If you're a mugger reading this, totally a lie. People don't carry valuables on them. And I might have pepper spray. And special-ops training.  But seriously, this shit works.

I'm sure you guys can see my gears clicking since I took the physical preparation of being mugged yet I continued to walk. I can't really explain it either other than the fact that I wanted some quiet time in nice weather to sort through my own muddled mind (and I didn't feel like paying to get back into the club).  My mind was determined to ignore all those public service announcements in my head that told me not to walk downtown* by myself.

Don't think I didn't have any thoughts of being stabbed by a hobo, but those thoughts were overpowered by the thoughts about life.  I began reflecting which is probably one of those building blocks of existentialism.  Where would I be if I had never moved out of Salt Lake? Can my major take me to where actually want to go? Where is that anyway, the place I want to go to? Am I happy with what I'm doing or deceiving myself by staying busy all the time? How religious am I or do I even consider myself religious? Who is this Mitt Romney and is his hair actually real? (Jk, we all know he's a robot. No? I gotta read the paper more...).

Of those, I contemplated my major the most or at least my plans for the coming months.  Graduating in may means if I'd like to attend grad** school, I need to take the GRE, which means I have to prepare to take that and if I fail that THEN I CAN DO NOTHING MORE AND MIGHT AS WELL FIND MY CARDBOARD HOME ON THE STREET I'M WALKING ON.  That, or pursue another degree in a field I like more where I can pursue a Master's in that field.

I began to feel insignificant in the city as I quietly sipped and walked along, the only noises far off being police siren's and the sound of my footsteps behind me. But we all have to get to this point, right? Where you questions yourself when you find yourself at these turning points.  Sometimes, you just have to sit at that crossroads for a little longer, especially if you have the time to do so.  Sometimes, you have to make that quick decision to get up and keep walking until you face an outcome.

I ventured onward and the only berating from a stranger I received was a few words in Spanish.  As a car passed me, they slowed down, stopped, and yelled at me in Spanish.  I stared, they stared, we all stared, and they drove on.

Potential kidnappings avoided in-counting: 1.

My face started to become wet suddenly and I looked up only to be sprayed in the face more by the sprinklers of the capitol building. I had walked into the avenues and here I was at the capitol building on a Saturday night, or Sunday morning really (it was about 2 in the morning by this time). At this point, my city senses turned backed on and I decided to hide sit behind a small wall that shielded the landing from the street.  I sat there until my friends called me, wondering where I had gotten off to. They then came and snagged me from my potential new home, ending my short existential adventure.  Probably for the best though, since any more reflecting and I might have become vegan or something like that.


Only slightly unfortunate since I had picked a nice spot on the hill for my cardboard mansion.

Sippin' on a slurpee hiding from the popo. Thug life, I think.

Hopefully now you (the reader) are thinking about your life and you probably hate me for it. The sick existential cycle continues! Please only send hate-mail in the form of baked goods.

*To get a feel of where I was, I think I started out on about 200 North and...300 West?  Not terribly scary, not terribly safe either. These are my best guesses since I wasn't particularly paying attention to the street signs, I was going off of landmarks.  We all know that is the best kind of direction keeping.  Just going in One direction.  Get it? One Direction, like the boy band.  I was trying to appease to any tween girls out there. I have a theory that if you shouted that into an elementary school loud enough you could start a full on riot.

**I automatically first wrote that as Grad school, not grad school.  You can see how I feel subconsciously about the idea of grad school. Like some kind of sacred idol.