Oh uh, mama mia, you still reading? Moving on then.
I did meet Steve Young at a club downtown my freshman year. I had gone with some buddies to hear a band. The venue was split into two parts. One half was stage area for the band and the other was a small bar/cafe. Our group walked in through the cafe portion first and passed Steve. One of the guys was thrilled and took a moment to introduce himself and each of us to Steve. Later on in the evening, I looked over to see what Stevie was up to. He was sitting alone at a table drinking Sprite (probably) and looking around. At women.
I did train at McDonalds for one day and then turned in my uniform. My sophomore year of college I discovered I needed to put income into my bank account instead of just withdrawing against it. I needed a job. One of the guys in the complex was a manager at McDonalds. He told me to come by and I would get a job. I was desperate so I applied and hired on with the morning shift. I went in for my first day of training and was appalled. The food prep area was greasy, the cash register was greasy, the freezer door was greasy, my future coworker's hair was greasy, her face was greasy, and I was grossed out. Plus, although I was issued the longest pair of faded black uniform pants available, the pants were still several inches too short. I could sense greasy nerdiness crawling into my skin. I couldn't handle it. I turned in my uniform and called it a day.
I do not know how to whistle. Now I can breathe with a high pitched hum so it sounds like a soft whistle but that doesn't really count. And the fingers in the mouth...still can't figure that one out.
I did break my arm by falling off a booster chair. Did I mention I was in 8th grade? Booster chair...8th grade...what?! A story like this has to involve a guy. I had a crush on someone. He happened to be tall, dashing, funny, older, and gorgeous. I could stare at him all 6th period. In fact, I did stare at him. So did the rest of the class. He was our history teacher. (insert your "um GROSS!" here) I went home that first day of school and tried to imitate his height by standing on Shelly-Belly's booster chair. As I stepped down, I slipped and broke my arm. The next day at school, everyone wanted to know what had happened. Without thinking I told people I had fallen off a booster chair. If teasing isn't already ridiculous in 8th grade, tell someone you fell off a booster chair and the tauntings reach a whole new level. At the end of the year, I asked Mr. TallDark&Handsome if he had purchased a year book. I planned to reveal all my feelings from the past year and the truth about my arm. I am soooooo lucky he didn't buy a yearbook otherwise you would be reading a blog about my most embarrassing moment in 8th grade instead.
And I did audition to be a model my sophomore year of college. It wasn't the type for a magazine but simply models for BYU's fashion department. The students needed live models to present their final projects. Now that I look back, it was a huge ordeal for 10 seconds. We had to arrive to the audition an hour early. We broke into our assigned groups and took several practice runs down the catwalk. Really, it was a lecture room with a large "T" marked by masking tape. We took turns walking, pausing, turning, smiling, pausing, and walking back. When the actual moment to strut my stuff came, I was smiling big. This was in an attempt to hide silent laughter exploding inside. Am I really here? Do I want to be a model? This is bizarre. I wasn't selected. Part of me was disappointed but most of me was relieved. I wasn't good at walking in heels without looking at the ground.
Plus...I really don't have what you would call a badonkadonk.