I'm interesting! (Or crazy.)

Recently, a ward activity required girls to list three interesting facts about themselves. I never planned on attending this activity for various reasons, but that's not the point. The point is, I did spend time considering what approach I would take with my interesting facts if I had gone. Weird? Maybe. But, if I'm understanding correctly, these three facts would greatly impact future dating prospects. A girl has to think these things through -- self-preservation, you know?


My initial reaction -- go with somewhat truthful sarcasm. So maybe this was motivated by my opinion of the activity, but that's neither here nor there.


1) I value my independence.
2) I'm not ready to have children.
3) I think budgeting is over-rated.


I liked this approach, but feared I would be taken too seriously. I switched to a more safe, generic list.


1) My favorite color is green.
2) I'm the oldest of four daughters.
3) I like to cook!


Then I decided those facts were lame. And also, not really about me. I mean, they are about me, but they could be about any other girl at this activity. Clearly full-disclosure was my only option. Might as well reveal the weird stuff early, right?


1) I escape awkward situations at church by pretending I need a tithing slip. It's a great way to get out of an uncomfortable conversation. People will rarely follow you to the bishop's office. Consequently, I have stacks of tithing slips and envelopes in my scriptures, church books, and journals. Apparently I have a lot of awkward moments.

2) When I pump gas, I hold the pump the entire time. I know you can push (or pull?) that little lever and the pump will stay in place, but it makes me nervous. I never do it. There is really no way even I can logically explain this.

3) I listen to songs on repeat. It's a real problem, as well as a source of contention during road trips with my sister. Here's the thing, though -- I can't stop and I don't want to. There, I said it.


Now that could lead to an interesting picnic lunch conversation.


Maybe.

A second open letter.

These are becoming quite the trend...

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To people who call me and don't leave a voicemail:

If you didn't value your own call enough to leave me a message, I definitely don't see the point in calling you back.

No hard feelings,
Nikki

I probably seem illiterate.

My cell phone doesn't have an apostrophe. What I mean is, when I'm texting and scan through my punctuation choices, an apostrophe is not one of them.

This is really frustrating for me.

I end up sending texts that look like I don't know the difference between "its" and "it's." I totally know the difference. Or, I have to include things like "dont" and "yall." It's embarrassing.

I believe correct grammar and punctuation does not change for texting, e-mails, or whatever other form of digital communication. My phone (or its manufacturer) seems to disagree. Who thought to leave out the apostrophe? It really is essential. I have like 36 different smiley face options, but not an apostrophe. It's sad, really.

The good news? I get to upgrade my phone next month. I'm basing my decision on apostrophe inclusion.

Waiting

I waited tables for five years. My sister still claims it's my only marketable skill. There may be some truth to this statement. I really miss waitressing -- like when I spend all day at work staring at a computer screen. I also really do not miss waitressing -- like when I remember I have health insurance. Currently, I'm seriously considering waitressing a few nights each week. I haven't filled out any applications yet, but it could happen.



A few things to know if I wait on you:



Calling me "baby" will not motivate me to speed up your service.



If you talk to me like I'm dumb, I will respond with sarcasm. For example:

Diner: I don't want bacon on my salad.

Me: Okay, no problem.

Diner: I really can't have bacon on my salad.

Me: Okay, I'll have them leave it off.

Diner: Did you get no bacon for my salad?

Me: (Pause) Ohhh, so you don't want bacon?

I did this to people all the time. The offensive guest usually never caught on, but someone at the table always did. I think it helped with my tips. Also, if you ask me "do you need to write that down?" I will nod and write something like "crazy lady" on my notepad, not "extra dressing." Please note: I really was a very pleasant and helpful server. Seriously.



I can't leave for the night until you do. If no one else is in the restaurant, you should probably go home so I can.



If you remember my name, I will like you.



If you look at me when I talk to you, I will like you.



If I like you, you will have everything you need.

Why I miss December.

I've never handled winters well. I'm always cold and it's always dark. How can a season where the days are so short last so long? For me, winter's redeeming quality is the month of December. Well, that and the many opportunities to wear all my scarves...

In no particular order, why I miss December (I realize it's February and I should be over this. I"m not):

White Christmas lights. I'm convinced white Christmas lights make any setting or situation romantic and dream-like. Even sitting in traffic to and from work is bearable when stand after strand of white lights twinkle around me. Watching a movie alone on a Friday night? Instantly magical with a Christmas tree covered in white lights in the corner.

Constant anticipation. I love to be excited about things. Anything, really. Now that I'm (sort of) an adult, excitement doesn't come as frequently, or at least not with the same childlike intensity as when I was younger. I think December brings out the little-kid wonder in all of us. It does in me, at least. I can always look forward to the next Christmas party, or my little sisters' faces when they open my gifts for them. Or my grandmother's cooking. Even after Christmas, there's an entire extra week to anticipate New Year's. December is so generous.

Shopping and eating. I like both, and December allows me to justify both, because, after all "it's the holidays!" Now it's back to budgeting and calorie-tracking. Gross.

George Michael. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate and enjoy the musical genius of George Michael all year long. I realize this puts in a very small minority. But, for one month of the year, George Michael is suddenly cool -- because honestly, everyone secretly loves "Last Christmas" by Wham!

So...my point? Tonight I'm putting up white lights in my room while I listen to George Michael.

An open letter

This is the first of what will probably be a series of open letters.

Why do I write open letters? Several reasons. I may not actually know the recepient. The letter may be addressed to a group so large that the Internet is clearly the only way to reach them. Or, most likely, I didn't say what I thought when I thought it.

This letter falls into the first category.

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To the man I (eventually) marry:

My name is Nicole Ann Godwin. My initials spell nag. I hope that isn't a deal-breaker.

Love,
Nikki

Call me Grace? Yes, please.

Well, I'm starting a blog.

When my parents were newly married, they went to dinner at a very nice restaurant. ("I had to wear my suit jacket the entire time," my father always inserts here. A testament to the nice-ness of the establishment). As they were walking to their table, my mother tripped and fell. Everyone noticed. My dad said, probably louder than necessary, "Grace! Are you okay?"

My mother's name is Gail.

I don't consider myself a particularly graceful person (blame genetics). But I do like to pretend that I am -- and imagine I could become one. Writing is my favorite way to do this. When I write, I can plan. I can execute a response exactly the way I want -- and maybe -- appear graceful.

I may be the girl that trips, but at least I'm at the fancy restaurant.

And that is the reason behind my blog name.