So this last week I finally did the deed. I bit the bullet and got a Utah State driver's license. It's something I was hoping I would never have to do, but in all reality I knew it had to happen eventually. It's kinda like when your at the park with a dog and it takes a poop right at the bottom of the slide. Sure there aren't any kids around at the moment, so you don't have to scoop it up right away, but somewhere in the back of your mind, you KNOW you can't leave that park until you do the deed and scoop the poop.
So that's what I did this week. I scooped the poop and got a Utah license. When I bought a truck this summer my insurance agent (How do you like that? I, Daniel Nelson have an insurance agent. He is very good at finding me cheap insurance. So whereas before I was paying an arm and a leg, he's managed to cut it back to just a little more than a forearm and an ankle.)
Anyway, my buddy Chris who happens to sell insurance, told me when I opened a policy here that I would need to get a Utah license sooner or later....I was hoping later....as in after I'd moved to Colorado, built a log cabin and grown a beard long enough to put the Honor Code office into shock, and make Brigham himself jealous. That was the plan. Little did I know I'd be getting out the scooper this soon.
So as I was sitting there (at the DMV), waiting for Vern (I am only assuming his name was Vern. He seemed to be able to talk about everything and anything like he was an expert on the subject matter. Really the type of guy I always mentally pictured would hang out with Ernest P. Worrell, so I just assumed his name was Vern) to get the camera ready to take my glamor shot picture for the license, I noticed a gorgeous red head.
Red heads, as many of you know, are polar. They are either extremely attractive, or extremely...not. No middle ground on this one. Anyway, this one was gorgeous. (If by some strange coincidence, you are that red head, now reading this, I must first admit I am extremely embarrassed to be writing all this about you. Please stop now, as the rest of this will only embarrass me more. Second I must admit I should very much like to have your phone number)
So there she sat. Red hair and all. As she moved to a counter, a beautiful blonde made her way over and started chatting with the red hed. Here is where the insecure thought process all starts up. (and no, I am not prejudice against dark haired girls. They are equally attractive. One just didn't happen to be at the DMV this particular morning)
For some reason, as soon as these two started chatting, my poor little insecure mind ran wildly along, creating what MUST have been their conversation:
Gorgeous Red Head: Hey, you're good looking, just like me! We should start chatting here in line
Beautiful Blonde: Totally. And look, we're both too good for that boy over there with the white socks and highwater slacks.
Gorgeous Red Head: Like, for sure. He looks like he got his hair cut at Petco. Must have been a buy one get one free dog grooming day.
Beautiful Blonde: He he! Totally. He keeps looking over at us. What, does he think he could ever even hope to posses the level of intelect necessary to converse with us? He probably just failed his Endocrinology test at BYU last Tuesday night.
Gorgeous Red Head: Like, for sure. My rear looks totally good in these jeans right now, doesn't it?
Beautiful Blonde: Totally.
Gorgeous Red Head: I'm so glad we're friends. BFF!!
Beautiful Blonde: Totally. Let's go be friends somewhere else, where that boy will stop staring at us.
And so it goes. I am sure they were actually having a conversation about something serious like the economy, politics, or Paris Hilton's newest shnanigans, but being the ultra self conscious boy that I am, I always just figure everyone is out to judge me for the worst.
I like to think I've come a long way in maturity since the 7th grade. Like how I used to pull girl's hair when I liked them. Now I've moved on to poking them on Facebook. I used to hide my insecurities and self consciousness behind a No Fear, Mossimo, or Gecko brand T-shirt. Now I just put on spandex, very dark sunglasses and ride around on a bike. Definitely made some strides in the maturity department :)
Either way, the point is, mentally, I am still in Jr. High. Maybe that's why I am not married. Maybe that's why I can't seem to pass Endocrinology tests. Maybe that's why I stare at my feet when I am, by some unnatural force, found actually making conversation with a female. Who knows. Maybe its just a phase I'll grow out of sometime in the next 25 year segment of my life. Maybe someday I'll learn "social skills". Maybe someday I'll start communicating with real people instead of writing on a blog....who knows....who knows...