Tuesday, July 30, 2013

My bad Freddie Scott

I am embarrassed, ashamed and quite humbled to say that I had no idea that Biz had sampled from a song in one of my all-time faves. But now I know, and I'm so glad I do because the original is a great, great song.

Thanks Biz. Thanks Freddie.

Monday, July 29, 2013

Was that supposed to be charming?

The website I update periodically as part of my calling wasn't letting me access the calendars yesterday, so I asked the bishopric member who saved said website last year for us for a little help. I felt slightly like a stalker just hanging around as he was chatting with some guys for a minute or two. As soon as he finished up with them, instead of being able to pounce and have all of my questions addressed and allow the YSA masses notified of upcoming events, I was instead chatted up by one of the guys this bishopric member was talking to. Feeling more than slightly disappointed at the prospect of having my task hindered, I still reached out to meet his hand in friendship.

"Hi, I'm Barry."*
"I'm Molly."
"That's an unfortunate name."

At that point I took my hand back. I did not try to conceal any emotion, although given how cluelessly this man had dressed and styled himself,** I should have probably been a bit more patient. I wasn't angry, just very, very confused. This is what you're going with? You turn to leave, look at me, come back to introduce yourself and then immediately insult me? F A S C I N A T I N G.

Probably because of my eyebrows-to-the-hairline expression of pure gobsmackedness, he immediately backpedaled, "I mean because of the whole 'Molly Mormon' thing. That must have sucked."
"It isn't true for me, so it doesn't really bother me."***

[Awkward silence.]

I started to walk away, and he started to follow, so I said, "I have to go talk to Brother Do Not Answer.**** Nice to meet you.*****"

Suffice it to say I immediately word alerted some friends to announce that I had met the man of my dreams.  I can't help but thinking if the website had been letting me do what I wanted to do, I probably would have missed my chance. Kismet!

*Apparently when I speak poorly of people at church I change their names. (And by speak poorly of I mean reporting exactly what happened as objectively as possible).

**Homeboy was wearing a huge burgundy dress shirt, circa 1992 and had a hipster curled at the sides mustache. We all know how much I love both of those things.

***I heard the phrase Molly Mormon for the first time at the age of 17 from a 40+ year old woman who was trying to be funny by making fun of my name. How much of a brat I was I probably deserved being made fun of then and much more, but how was she to know that on our first meeting?

****Not his real name either, but how he is listed in my phone.

*****I lied in a church.

Thursday, July 18, 2013

Molly the hipster

There are a lot of words out there that I would use to describe me -- hipster is not one of them. Sure, you talk to hipsters and they say, "I hate that word." or "I am so not a hipster!" But seriously folks, I am not a hipster.

Why do I bring this up? A few weeks ago, a new team showed up at trivia and sat right next to us. Other than some trivia-related pleasantries, I didn't say much these guys. Come to find out the next day that one member of this team was my friend Shara's co-worker. She relayed to me that I was described as the blonde hipster.* The fact that I was lumped into that particular designation led to a mild existential crisis. Hipster? ME?!?

In order to remedy this head on, I made a chart to determine if I was in fact a hipster.

As expected, the similarities are far out numbered by the dissimilarities. (And really genocide was just a good-faith add. Everyone hates genocide, right?)

So after chart told me that I was more non-hipster than hipster, and with the help of Shara, it was decided that the key indicator to this person that I was a hipster was my glasses. Which I have to say is fair.


 But as a true hipster would point out, I've had thick rimmed glasses since 2000. So really hipsters are copying me. #originalhipster

*If this man knew anything about hipsters, he would know that hipsters aren't blonde--that's an oxymoron in and of itself. Also, he would know I am not one. Unlike my cousin Jill.