Fighting the Battle

Hello whoever is reading this! Probably still just you mom. I realize that. But I’ve heard rumors that since the creation of this blog some 3 years ago and a grand total of 7 original blog posts over that period of time, my readership has expanded 300% and now includes my mom, my dad, and possibly one of my two sisters.

            Anyway, the purpose of this post is to begin to mend the broken faith that so many people once had in me. The title of my blog is Life: The Guidebook. And as the title insinuates, it was originally meant to be a guidebook for one’s life! And in my original blog post I promised to cover a wide range of topics and included my credentials to cover those topics (see here). And, although it wasn’t easy to type 7 entire blog posts over these last 3 years, thus far I have failed to cover…well, much of anything really.

            What spurred me into action again here today is actually a serious and private battle I’ve been fighting for many years now that I’ve finally decided I need to make public. And this is not a topic that I take lightly, because I know that I’m not the only one suffering from an addiction. And, if you choose to keep reading, I warn you that this is a topic that I’m planning to be completely honest about and it may be a little uncomfortable for some. And it’s not something that I’m proud of admitting to, but at some points in life, you just have to admit defeat and ask for help and support from people who care about you. So all I’m asking for from anyone reading this is understanding and support. Please know as well that this is not easy for me, but here goes:

            I, Karl Kowallis, for about as long as I can remember, have been hopelessly addicted to food.

            There I said it! And it’s true. It’s the first thing I think about when I wake up and the last thing I think about at night. And even in sleep I can’t escape it, for my dreams are haunted by visions of food (mainly anything salty and from a pig). I make 3 and only 3 important decisions each day: What to eat for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. And I don’t waste my time thinking about anything else during the hours between those meals (like, if I should finish school, or choose a career, or get married or something), because I want to be sure and make the best decision possible for myself.

            You might laugh, but this is no joke. It’s a slippery slope and I, my friends, have been to the bottom of that slope. There was a brief time (this is at the bottom of the slope) when I would eat at the Cheesecake Factory every day.  And, this is hard to say but it’s true, some days I would eat at the Cheesecake Factory TWICE a day. And, this is even harder to say, but I would typically order a piece of cheesecake at the restaurant AND order a second piece to take home and eat later! Wanna know the sad part? I don’t even really like cheesecake that much. I’m so ashamed!

            Luckily I’ve bounced back and have begun to climb back up the slippery slope, but it’s not easy. Along the way, pretty much everyone has had some advice for me…my all time favorite being the suggestion of many to simply ‘snack on almonds’ because they will curb your hunger. Really? You know what else curbs my hunger? Cheeseburgers.

            But the problem is not that I’m just really, really hungry all the time. Hunger alone doesn’t drive someone to eat an entire large Dominos pizza AND THEN have a couple more slices of another pizza shortly thereafter (yes it’s sad, but I’ve done it). No, that person is driven by something sick and twisted deep within his soul, a part of him that he is constantly battling for control of his own actions.

            Unfortunately for me, I also come from a family whose get-togethers revolve solely around eating. For example, at a recent family gathering this was our pre-planned morning of activities: breakfast at the hotel, stop by a French bakery for morning buns, visit a gourmet chocolate shop, eat at a restaurant called ‘The Braught Haus,’ and then stop for ice cream. This all happened before 2:00pm at which point we went to my Aunt’s house and ate until it was time for dinner.

            Anyway, this all reached a head about a year and a half ago when I stepped on a scale and realized I was 10lbs short of 300. Let me tell you, as someone who prides himself on having ladies flock to him like ducks in a park to pieces of wonder bread, it was a very humbling spot to be in.

            I’ve since lost over 30lbs and am currently participating in a weight loss contest where the person who loses the highest percentage of body weight by January, 6^th will win a pot of around $400. I’m doing well and I feel like I could definitely win this baby. In fact just the other day I had my biggest victory yet. I went to Texas Roadhouse and had a plate of hot rolls and honey butter set directly in front of me and I didn’t even touch them! Oh I got real close and smelled them and imagined myself eating them, but I didn’t touch them. Hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life.

              But even if I don’t win, I think all of the participants can count themselves winners, right? But seriously though, I want to win real bad. That money could get me out of a few jams (I still have an unpaid tab at the Cheesecake Factory). So help me out.  Maybe grab my phone and smash it if you see me ordering a pizza or slash my tires if you see me in the Wendy’s drive through or something. Anyway, thanks for understanding!

Why I love Sports

So…you wanna know why I love sports?

            Just as a disclaimer, this post is NOT intended to be funny, and is probably more of a rant/explanation than anything. But I get asked all the time (mostly when I’m deep in conversation with someone about who BYU is recruiting or what the Jazz need to do to make the playoffs) why I care so much about sports. And I certainly do love my sports, especially football and basketball. But this question frustrates me to no end! Well, from now on, instead of getting into a fruitless argument with people who ask me this, I’m just going to post this entry to my blog and make up some business cards with the link on printed them, and give them out whenever I get asked.

Okay, so there are probably hundreds of reasons to love sports like I do. And I fully intend to cover each and every one of them in this post (not really, but I will cover a few). But first and foremost,

 Why does anybody care about anything!!!

            This is the most frustrating thing to me when someone questions me about sports. I love sports for the same reason anyone loves anything. Because I personally enjoy them! That’s it. Why do people listen to music? Why do people watch TV? Why do people go hunting or fishing or whatever? Because they get enjoyment or pleasure or fulfillment from it. Some people like to look at paintings, I like to watch grown men sweat on each other. Big deal. I don’t ask you why you care so much about the Kardashians. No, I don’t get it. But what I do get is that people just care about different things because people themselves are different!!! So don’t ask me why I care about something…just accept me for who I am.

            Now for those that sincerely want to know why I love sports, and aren’t just asking me because they personally don’t see the point and want to make me feel like I’m wasting my time by even checking a score once in a while, feel free to continue reading.

So typically when someone asks me why I like sports I say just what I wrote earlier. I enjoy them. But that’s usually followed by another comment or question to the effect of,

“Yeah, I get that going to a game or watching can be fun, but I don’t get why you care who wins or loses. YOU'RE not the one shooting the ball?”

            Really? Just because I’m not actually the one doing something means I can’t care about it!?! The only people I allow to make this argument are those people who have never watched a movie, TV show, play, concert or any other performance, never read a book, or had someone tell them a story, or looked at anything they didn’t build or create, or had any interaction in which they watched, saw, read about, or heard about something that they weren’t involved in first hand, but still cared about. This rules out, oh, I don’t know, THE ENTIRE HUMAN RACE! 

            It’s like asking someone, ‘Why are you watching this show? It doesn’t matter whether those people live or die, because it’s only a show. Plus YOU’RE not the one actually shooting those zombies.’ Or, ‘Why are you listening to that music? YOU’RE not the one playing it so who cares what it sounds like?’ Or, ‘Did you paint that? No? Then you shouldn’t want to look at it.’ If I can get this point across, I usually hear a rebuttal something like this,

“Well, whether a team wins or loses, I still have to get up and go to work tomorrow soo…I just don’t get why you care.”

            What kind of life are we living when the things we care about and the things we don’t are determined by whether or not we have to go to work the next day? So Fridays and Saturdays I can care about everything, because I don’t have to get up the next day and go to work? BUT I can’t care about anything any other day…unless I have a day off?

            No, I realize the point they’re trying to make is that it’s stupid to let sports affect me. And yeah, I do get disappointed when my teams lose and it definitely puts a smile on my face when they win. But c’mon? I’m only allowed to have things that would cause me to ‘miss work’ affect me? So really just funerals and weddings then I guess?

“Ok, I can understand that, but I don’t get how you can listen to sports talk radio and why you’re always looking at stats, and reading articles.”

            This is where it gets a bit trickier to explain. And to do so, I think I need to first go through some of the reasons I love sports to understand where I’m coming from on this one. So here we go:

-Memories

            Some of my earliest are of going to BYU football and basketball games with my dad. He’d buy me a big soda and taught me how to make straws to drink it with out of licorice. And he’d help me keep track of all the players’ points on a stat sheet. I just fell in love with going to those games. Most kids pretended they were Superman or Luke Skywalker. I had a tennis ball and a laundry basket, which I shot hoops into and pretended I was Marty Haws (former BYU basketball player). I know, I know, this sounds like the beginning of a story where I end up hitting the game winning shot at the buzzer to win the state championship and I owe it all to hard work and my passion for basketball that began at a young age. Let me just say that I now know from firsthand experience that no matter how skilled you become throwing a tennis ball into a laundry basket, that skill will absolutely not translate one bit to actually playing the game of basketball in real life.

            I remember my whole family having party for the Super Bowl when Steve Young and the ‘Niners won it and then again a couple of years later when the Packers won it and even my mom being excited for them.

            I remember sitting on the front row of BYU football games with my friend, Matt Orme, and yelling at the visiting team players until they would make obscene gestures at us.

            I remember rushing the field with my friend Blake Wilding when BYU beat a highly ranked Texas A&M team that they weren’t supposed to even compete with, and taking a chunk of the field home and saving it in my desk drawer for years.

            Late night Jazz playoff games with my sister and dad against Clyde Drexler and the Portland Trailblazers.

            When the Jazz finally beat the Rockets to go to the Finals the first time. I jumped up so fast and hard when Stockton hit that shot that I bloodied my hand on the ceiling. My dad was just as excited.

            My first (of many) road trips to see BYU play UNLV in Vegas with some of my best friends from high school.

            Another game at UNLV which some friends and I used as an excuse for a late season Lake Mead boating trip.

            Using BYU football as an excuse to visit my best friend from high school in Oregon.

            Using BYU football as an excuse to visit HAWAII!!!!

            Going to a Jazz game with Brian Park and getting on the jumbotron 3 times. Also, being absolutely certain that Dirk Nowitski could hear us yelling at him and that we got in is head and caused him to have a terrible night. The Jazz won that night because of me and Brian.

            JIMMER.

            Watching BYU basketball/Jimmer with my grandfather and watching him get so excited every time Jimmer took a shot that we honestly thought he might have another heart attack.

            Watching the Las Vegas bowl at my grandparent’s house and my grandmother calmly predicting that BYU would block a UCLA field goal to win the game, and then it actually happening.

            Using Green Bay Super Bowls and University of Wisconsin Rose Bowls as an excuse to have a party at my grandparent’s house.

            Last second BYU victories over Utah and jumping up and down screaming with my father.

            And many, many more.

            You get the point though. These memories become about more than just the games. But the sports facilitate these moments in my life, with family and friends, which I’ll never forget. Sure there’s other ways to accomplish the same thing. But for me, sports have been one of the best ways.

-They are real

            Now, we’ve gone over the fact that I’m not actually playing the sport. I know this. BUT, the one unique thing about sports as opposed to almost any other form of entertainment is that a game is played only once. It will never be played the exact same way twice. You’re watching people do amazing things live right before your eyes. These people are the fastest, most athletic and physically fit humans on the planet and they are creating something new every time they take the field or the court or whatever. (This is also the reason I love live music and especially jazz. I can barely stand to listen to a jazz album in the car or at home, but going to a live jazz concert is fantastic because they are improvising new music that they have never played before and won’t ever play exactly the same way again. Literally, they are composing on the spot. And the energy can be amazing).

            This is also where the listening to talk radio, reading articles and looking at stats comes in to play. We’ve established that sports (even thought ‘it’s just a game’) are, in fact, unique events and are played by real people. I’ve found that the more that I know about the sport and the players playing it, the more incredible it becomes to me to watch them. The things they’ve overcome, the time and effort they’ve put in and the skill that they have. Knowing these things make the sport even more REAL to me and even more entertaining (going back to the live jazz idea from earlier, the first time I listened to jazz, I actually wasn’t crazy about it. But I ended up studying it all throughout high school and even into college. I played the saxophone in jazz band and tried to learn to improvise solos. I studied its history and the artists and all of their backgrounds. So now I have at least somewhat of an understanding of what the great jazz artists are doing. And now, when I hear live jazz, and someone busts out an incredible solo, I know that they are improvising and how much skill and creativity it takes, and I’m blown away).

            Take Jimmer for example. There have been decades of college basketball played in this country. And there have been quite a few players who accomplished much more than Jimmer. People have scored more points, shot better and at a higher percentage, won more games, and won actual national championships. But Jimmer is the only one who grew up as a short, chubby, white kid in a small town in upstate New York, played in prisons, dribbled in darkened church hallways AND THEN went on to a great career. Jimmer’s play on the court was great and very fun to watch, but it’s where he came from that created Jimmermania. People just want someone like that to succeed.

            Knowing these people’s stories makes it even more real to me and, yes, causes me to care more about the outcome of the games they are playing in. I like knowing that Earl Waston (Utah Jazz point guard) grew up terribly poor and in the bad part of Kansas City. The part where if you grow up there you hardly ever leave and do anything with your life, because either the education you receive isn’t adequate or the peer pressure gets to you and you choose a different lifestyle altogether. And I love the fact that he got out, and used basketball as a way to attend UCLA and get an education he otherwise never could have paid for. And I love that now he’s making millions in the NBA and spends a lot of it on foundations and basketball leagues back in Kansas City that are designed to help kids like him get out of a bad situation and in to a good one. It makes it fun to root for him. Yeah, there are some dirt bags too (Kobe), but knowing the dirt makes it more fun to root against them too!

            You think David Cook won American Idol because he was a better vocalist than David Archuleta? Nope. He won because he had the better story (that was for you Mom).

           

            There are 3 things that happen in sports that inspire me more than almost anything else. And they aren’t staged or scripted, but they happen nonetheless.

           

            1. When a team or a player, with the odds stacked against them, overcomes.

Everyone loves an underdog. Think every sports movie you’ve ever seen. Hoosiers, Rudy etc (if you didn’t already know, those movies are actually about real events. The tiny 1A school in Indiana winning the championship in a time when they had to compete with the biggest schools before they were separated into competitive classes by size and the story of a kid who fulfilled his dream to play at Notre Dame, even though nobody believed he could do it). It’s David vs. Goliath. And every year there are stories like that in sports.

            2. When a team or a player who deserves to win, actually wins.

It’s funny, but in real life good guys don’t always win like in the movies. Sometimes the girl ends up with the rich jerk with no personality who treats her like garbage instead of the nice guy who would do anything for her. Sometimes the good guys don’t stop the terrorist plot or save the day just in the nick of time. The same is true in sports, but sometimes the good guy wins. And when it happens it’s great to be there. Sometimes Jimmer wins the Player of the Year and sometimes Tim Tebow takes a team who’s 1-4 and leads them to the playoffs.

           

            3. When the game becomes about more than what’s happening on the court.

If you haven’t seen the video about the autistic high school student whose dream is to play for his high school team, spends the season as the team’s water boy, and then finally gets to play at the end of one game and the end of the season you have to watch it. He completely air balls his first shot, but then proceeds to hit 6 three pointers in a row, at which point the crowd (his classmates) are sent into a frenzy rushing the court and hoisting him on their shoulders. At the point he comes into the game, it was already decided, the home team up by a wide margin. But this was about more than the game.

            Or maybe you’ve heard the story of the team whose star player died on the court after hitting a game winning shot. The team, deciding it’s what their teammate would have wanted, continued to play through the playoffs, dedicating each win to their fallen friend, until ultimately claiming the championship.

-They eliminate a lot of awkward conversations

            One of the other reasons I love sports and love to consume as much info as I can about them, is that they give me common ground with almost any other dude in the world.

            I served a 2-year mission in the Philippines. I learned their language and studied their culture. But what got me into almost as many doors as anything else was the NBA. They LOVE basketball. I’d say I was from Utah and they’d start talking about the Utah Jazz and Karl Malone and John Stockton. I’d mention Michael Jordan or, unfortunately, Kobe Bryant, and we had an instant conversation.

            My father and I don’t have a ton in common. He’s a brilliant scientist, and professor. I haven’t graduated college. He spends just about all his free time doing genealogy. I watch movies and play video games. But the one thing we can always have a conversation about is sports.

            In the words of one of my favorite sports writers, Bill Simmons, ‘I can get along with anyone on the planet as long as they like basketball. You could dress me up in red, drop me in a Crips neighborhood, tell me that I have 12 minutes to start a high-caliber (basketball) conversation before somebody (shoots me)…and I would live.’

            Anyway, if anyone is still even reading this (I just eclipsed 2800 words), the real point again is that it doesn’t matter why I love sports… I just do. But to me it would be silly to EVER watch or go to a game and not care about the outcome. Caring about something makes it infinitely more interesting and knowing/understanding more about something makes you care about it. As you can probably tell, I could keep writing more and more reasons why I personally love sports, but I don’t know if I’d ever finish.

BONUS READING: KARL KOWALLIS’ GREATEST SPORTS MOMENTS

1. Having tried out for the high school basketball team (4 straight years) and never making it, I was relegated to playing Jr. Jazz Provo City League. My teams were never very good and I was never the best player. But man we had fun out there! There was one team in our league that was from our same high school, and had quite a few of the more popular kids and football players who were enjoying the off-season with some basketball. To put this in perspective, just from an athletic standpoint, well, their team was full of football players, including at least one who ended up playing for BYU. And I was in the marching band...and I read fantasy novels. So yeah, we weren’t expected to win. But this game was more than just a game to us. It was like revenge of the nerds or something. We wanted it pretty bad. These were the people that you had gone to school with forever, some of them since elementary school and yet they wouldn't acknowledge you if you passed them in the hall. Anyway I don’t remember too much about the game, except that we were down by 2 with the clock winding down. My buddy Brian was dribbling down the court and I set-up on the right wing. Brian dribbled the clock almost to zero and then, inexplicably, passed me the ball. I was sure he was going to take the last shot, but surprised as I was, I chucked up the ball just as the buzzer was going off. It was a 3 pointer, and as luck would have it, it banked in (I called it {not really}). 
2. I never win. I don’t have a lot of trophies from when I was a kid. I started losing at a young age, when my dad would challenge us kids to play this trivia game called National Geographic. He beat us. There was no mercy in the Kowallis household when it came to playing games. This really ended up helping me cope with losing from a young age as I would go on suffer a series of bitter spelling bee and geography bee defeats. Even when I would get questions correct, my classmates would accuse me of cheating (I’ll never forgive you Chris Wilson). The trend continued into the sports world as I had a long career as the part-time right fielder/13^th batter in little league. One of my most poignant memories is the day of the little league draft, when my 2 best friends Matt and John came screaming and running to my house. Their dads were the coaches of one of the teams, therefore giving them an automatic spot on that specific team. The rest of us whose dads were geology professors had to wait and see what team we were drafted to. Anyway, so they came running up to me as excited as I had ever seen them with some type of news they were dying to share. My immediate assumption was that they had been able to draft me, and thus the jubilation. Well, they didn’t draft me. But they did draft Kyle Roberts! Man were they excited. I was crushed (in their defense, Kyle Roberts may have been the most feared little league pitcher of all-time). So anyway, that was just kind of the pattern of my life…until one fateful summer when things came together for me and our ward basketball team. There was a  stake-wide tournament and each ward had a team. Well, we happened to have probably the best player in the stake and had breezed through the regular season without a single loss (except for the ones we forfeit) and were pretty confident about our chances in the tournament. This was my chance to get a taste of the glory! We reached the semi-finals easily, but then had a major set back. Our best player wasn’t going to be able to make it to the semi-final game. I was crushed. I think that there’s some saying somewhere that says something like, ‘when one hero falls, another shall rise to take his place.’ (Or I might have just made that up). This time, that hero was me!!! Now, I’m not a terrible basketball player. I play hard and can make a shot here and there. But on that particular day I was in a zone! Without our best player to carry us, I proceeded to make 7 3-pointers, including one at the buzzer of the first half from just beyond half-court (just like Jimmer)! I have never before and will probably never again shoot that well in a game, but for a few minutes I felt like I was king of the world! We won the game (actually, we won pretty easily. Even if I didn’t make one shot we probably would have won. The other team was real bad. But it was still awesome, okay?), and then our best player was back for the championship, which we also won. And, yeah, this only happened like 6 months ago.

Feelings of Loneliness

So one of my very best friends just got married…actually one of my LAST very best friends to get married.  Over the years, I’ve been to dozens of weddings and what seems like hundreds of receptions. I’ve been the Best Man or a Groomsman on more than one occasion. And never once has it more than slightly affected me. My stance has remained the same: I am NOT ready to get married, and am, in fact, a bit dis-interested and a little confused about the whole concept. One day you meet a new person, someone who means nothing to you, and then, in a few short months, you decide ‘Yup, this is it…this is the person I’d like to spend the rest of my life with (and, depending on your religious beliefs, time and ALL ETERNITY) and see every single day, and share everything with, and run all my decisions by, and, most likely, give up video game football for.’ I just can’t really fathom making a decision like that. I literally cannot decide where I would like to eat most days…and I only have to live with that decision for maybe an hour or so (unless it’s a Beto’s burrito. That’ll usually come back to haunt you later). 

            But for some reason, my friend’s recent wedding has caused some sort of reaction that I can’t control. It started when I had to hold back tears during the actual wedding ceremony. My usual M.O. at these things is to be a little disgusted and annoyed by all the people crying, and then, when it’s over, give my buddy a hug and say something to get him to chuckle. But all I could muster this time was a weak “Congratulations” without bursting into tears.

            The weird part is, that, although this friend is a close one, I wouldn’t consider him my very closest (sorry Nate, I really have tried to get into motorcycles!). I’m sure he’d agree. So why was I so emotional!? This hadn’t happened at any of the other weddings I’ve been to so why now?

            Since then other strange feelings have come bubbling up. My usual routine of coming home from work with a paper bag full of fast food, plopping down in front of the TV and hanging out with myself for a few hours seemed less and less appealing (normally, I look forward to this time like it’s Christmas morning). I started having dreams about old crushes I had in high school and I began uncontrollably texting girls from my past just to see what they were doing.  I went through Netflix entire database of Romantic Comedies and added most of them to my Instant Queue and have been systematically watching them (this is true). I videoed myself asking Emma Watson if she wanted to hang out sometime/marry me and posted it to Youtube (not true, but still seriously contemplating it).  But the moment of enlightenment only came when I actually consented to going on a blind date *gasp* (those who know me know that I absolutely loathe blind dates and avoid them like the plague…no…like something worse than the plague…or like the plague AND a flock of spiders if they were both in the same place at the same time [ps if anyone knows what a big group of spiders is called let me know please. Somehow flock doesn’t seem right, but it sounded better than herd]).

             My conclusion: I must be lonely. The fact that every one of my closest friends from high school have now moved on with their lives finally put me over the edge. So THIS is the feeling that drives people to leave their comfort zone and put their heart on the line…and to spend money and time on someone who will most likely be someone else’s wife.  I don’t like it.

            The sad part is, that all of my years of being content with not dating have left me very ill-prepared to deal with these feelings.

            First of all, I do not pick up on hints, signals, non-verbal cues, or sometimes even very verbal cues that someone is interested in me. Example: I was asked to go to a movie by a girl recently. She said she had an extra ticket so I said I’d go. We drove together, and sat together and everything and then I dropped her off. And sure, looking back on this I can definitely tell that this was meant to be a date. But no joke, at the time I had NO idea! In my defense, I LIVE in what is commonly referred to as the ‘Friend-Zone.’ And I don’t just live there, I have a freaking mansion…with a pool and a full-sized basketball court…and some hounds that can be released to ward off trespassers and people trying to get me to leave.  I’m also currently in my second term as the President, Vice-President, AND Secretary of the ‘Friend-Zone.’ So yeah…I have a hard time picking up on things. Most people just wanna be friends with me.

            And as bad as I am at picking up these signals, I’m even worse at sending them. Yeah, surprisingly, not calling, talking to, or making direct eye contact with someone you might be interested in is “sending the wrong signal.” It’s a strange world we live in…very strange.

            Next, even when I do decide I’m interested in someone I have no clue how to get from point A to point B. I have no ‘game’ as they say. Example: I went to a party the other day at the house of a girl that I may or may not have been infatuated with to varying degrees for like the last 3 years or so. Was I ever going to do anything? No way! Not until these stupid feelings of loneliness hit. So I’m at the party and it’s winding down and I’m panicking because I know if I leave this party without saying something to this girl I’m never going to do anything. So I bust out my best move…I intentionally leave one of my possessions at her house and pretend that I left it there accidentally so I’ll have a chance to go back and talk to her again. Yes Seinfeld fans, George Castanza does this same thing. I pulled a Costanza. Well, anyway, I go back and retrieve this item and still don’t say anything or ask her out, which was originally part of my master plan. So then I bust out my next best move…I confess everything through text message. Yup, those are my best two moves Mom! Still shocked that I’m not married yet? Needles to say, my efforts were ineffective.

            But the real root of my problems is the simple fact that I have a hard time being in the presence of a pretty girl and forming intelligible words, let alone whole sentences and phrases! Some guys are just smooth with the ladies. I am the opposite of that. Rough. I am very rough with the ladies…I guess? Anyway, example: The other day at church a real pretty girl started talking to me. Asked me a question or something. It’s all just a blur really. All I remember is that I wanted to continue to have a conversation with her. So I said, “So…(what followed was what felt like a 30 sec. pause while my mind went completely blank. Literally, no thoughts whatsoever going through my brain. And to make matters worse she’s looking directly at me, so now all I can focus on his her stupid pretty girl features…you know, eyes, lips, long shiny hair, all of it! I have to look away to regain a bit of my focus and I blurt out the first conversational words that enter my mind)…you going to go to…(what followed was yet another discernable pause when I accidentally look at her again, go blank, look away and scramble to come up with some social event only to realize I don’t go to social events and, therefore, have no stockpile of them to ask people about hidden somewhere in my brain! So then I blurt out the last thing we talked about in ward council because it’s the only thing I can think of)…stake choir?”

            ‘So…you going to go to…STAKE CHOIR?!’ That’s the one sentence I can muster up?! Side note: I have never gone to or had any intention of participating in the stake choir.

            I think we talked for another minute or so, but like I said, it’s all just a blur really and all I could think about while we were talking was how dumb that question was and how white her teeth were.

            Anyway, it’s a predicament. For the time being I’m going to try and wait it out and hopefully the feelings will just pass. And I’m going to avoid weddings.

             

My 10-Year High School Reunion

 Let me start off by saying that I did not want to go to my high school reunion, but while I was there almost everyone I talked to commented on my blog or a group on Facebook that I created entitled ‘Karl Kowallis isn’t getting married and doesn’t need your address.’  And surprisingly, no one told me that they absolutely hated my writing. So, to all my friends from high school, whether or not you were just telling me you liked my blog to be nice, thanks for getting me posting again!

            So anyway, yeah, I really didn’t want to go to my reunion Friday night. Why? Let me count the ways. First of all, I wasn’t exactly popular in high school. I really got of to a bad start in Middle School and it kind of just carried over.

           

            I was on the lightweight football team in 7^th grade, but quit just before the season ended for a variety of reasons. But mainly I just thought my coach was a psychopath, a thought later reinforced to me when he played a tape of me and a friend leaving him a voice message for the rest of the team. We were calling him to tell him we were quitting the team, but for whatever reason we couldn’t stop laughing on his answering machine!  Probably because we were ONLY IN 7^th GRADE! I think we ended up leaving about 10 messages in all. And yes he played them all for an entire team of 7^th and 8^th grade boys. And yes, I spent the rest of the year hiding at lunch and in between classes so I wouldn’t get beaten up or thrown in a trashcan. (By the way, this coach later spent 10 years in prison…I feel pretty justified at this point for quitting when I did). Needless to say, I didn’t really burst onto the scene the way I had imagined myself doing. I actually remember taking a class with a couple of the more ‘popular’ kids that year and one of them started talking to me. We were having a good conversation until one of my former teammates leaned over and said to the kid ‘Hey, we don’t talk to him, he quit the football team.’ The kid never said another word to me all throughout middle school and high school. That literally happened! It’s not just something I made up or took from the movie ‘She’s All That’ or something!

           

            I believe I wore sweat pants everyday in 8^th grade. Was I cool? Heck yes I was! But I don’t think anyone could really see past the sweat pants, and thus I kept slowly moving down the social ladder. That’s what I get for wanting to be comfortable!!!

           

            By 9^th grade I had starting dressing in a more socially acceptable way (but boy, did I miss the sweats!).  I even at one point ‘frosted my tips’ so to speak.  But I again committed social suicide by joining the band.  In our high school, B-A-N-D was a foul four-letter word that would get you ostracized faster than showing up to school with no trousers on!  Never mind the fact that I played the saxophone (what I thought was a pretty cool instrument. It’s not like I played the French horn or something! {no offense French horn players}) and that I was actually halfway decent (I was an outstanding soloist at state and won multiple awards at jazz festivals). Never mind the fact that I was pretty much a normal high school male with raging hormones and a love for sports, red meat, and video games! I was in the band, and so I carved out a permanent home for myself on the bottom rung of the social ladder.

            Well, I was lucky enough to find good friends who were willing to look past all of my social faux pas, and accept me as one of their own. And I ended up having a pretty great time my last few years in high school. But I don’t know if I ever completely got over the social anxiety that comes with the territory when you wore sweats all throughout middle school and were in the band in high school.  And that’s what I imagined the reunion to be. A place where I was going to go and be judged and reminded of all the anxiety I had back then.

            So all of that combined with the fact that I’m not married, have yet to graduate college, and have literally gained 100lbs since high school, (I swear it’s mostly muscle mass) really had me questioning whether or not to attend the reunion.  But a good friend convinced me that none of that mattered and I should just go.

            Well, right off the bat I get nominated for the award ‘Who Has the Least Hair’ (thanks a lot Josh Bushnell!!!) You can imagine that that was just what I needed to feel comfortable being in front of my high school peers for the first time in 10 years. (Side note: Ironically, 10 years ago I won the award for ‘Best Hair’ in the Mr. Timpview pageant). The really maddening part is that I’m not even really bald, but have just begun buzzing my hair out of laziness!

            But anyway, all in all I had a good time and am really glad I went.  It was really fun to see everyone again and I’m now eagerly awaiting the 20-year reunion. Just don’t be surprised if I show up wearing sweats…

Mormon Times Dating Blog Contest #5 (Previously Unreleased!!!!)

 When people ask me what’s wrong with me I usually say ‘Well, my back hurts and one of my nostrils is bigger than the other.’  But that’s not what they want to hear.  When people ask me what’s wrong with me, they want to know why I’m not married/dating someone exclusively/going on a lot of dates/going on some dates/talking to girls/making direct eye contact with members of the opposite sex.

            Okay, okay, so that’s a bit of an exaggeration (just today I looked probably three girls right in the eye!). But let me just shed some light on my situation. 

            First of all, why are people all up in my business about my dating life anyway?  Come on guys.  Just because you’ve found your soul mate and have a perfect life, and just because I may or may not have found my soul mate (I haven’t, but Kiera Knightley, if by some crazy chance you’re reading this, I just wanted to let you know that I think you might be the one), and may or may not have a perfect life (I’m 27, still working on my undergraduate degree, I have cankles and I’m delusional enough to think Kiera Knightley is my soul mate. You tell me if you think I have a perfect life), doesn’t mean there’s something inherently wrong with me.  Or maybe there is something wrong with me, but you don’t have to constantly remind me of it.

            Second, all men have known this fact since the dawn of time: to a guy, the mind of a female is absolutely incomprehensible.  Because of this fact, dating is not only extremely difficult; it’s also potentially very painful and awkward.  And I know what you’re thinking right now.  You’re thinking, ‘Karl, you’re normal interactions with people are already painful and awkward. How can dating be any worse?’  Well, imagine me interacting with you on a normal day, and then multiply that pain and awkwardness by about a hundred.  That’s how dating is for me.

            And what’s with all the emotions girls?  One minute you’re crying and the next you’re laughing.  How am I supposed to react to something like that?

            Next, I’m poor.  I’m not afraid to admit it either.  I’m poor and dating is expensive.  Hold on girls before you jump all over me with the whole ‘Oh that doesn’t matter and there’s a lot of cheap date ideas’ speech.  There are only so many times you can take someone on a hike and a picnic.  Plus, even picnics cost some money.  So, instead of spending money to take out a girl who is most likely another mans wife, I choose to spend it on my self.  And you’re probably saying, “Karl, that’s selfish.”  Well to me, it’s logic.

            Lastly, I’m honestly just terrified of good-looking, intelligent, and fun women.  Unfortunately, those are the ones I’m usually attracted to.

Mormon Times Dating Blog Contest #4

Ladies, be honest with me. Would you rather hug a pillow or a statue? I’d say pillow, wouldn’t you? Well, you’d be wrong!

            I literally had this argument on my mission with a delightful fellow named Elder Guymon. It was sparked by the fact that Elder Guymon’s body was a bit more statuesque, and my body was...well, pillowesque (made up word). I felt there was no argument. It’s like asking someone to choose between sleeping on a brick wall or on…like, a brick wall covered in feathers or something else really, really soft and comfortable. But Elder Guymon insisted that having a body like a statue would make me more huggable.

            I thought the matter was important enough to bring before a council of zone leaders, AP’s, the mission president and his wife, and the Philippino woman who worked at the mission home. A survey was taken, and the results were in favor of hugging a pillow rather than a statue.

            Due to the results of that very survey, I have dedicated myself to maintaining my pillow like form. For example, I usually try to hit the gym at least once every five or six months. And I almost always make sure to eat dessert after every meal. Now, some of you might be thinking, ‘Dessert after every meal? How is that possible, especially after breakfast?’ Well, let me answer that by having you imagine this: a maple glazed donut with bacon crumbled on top (I’ve actually eaten these…and yes my heart still works).  It’s delicious AND goes really well with breakfast.

            Anyway, I recently found out that I’ve been wasting a lot of time and energy maintaining my cuddly-soft bod, because women actually PREFER hugging a statue to a pillow. How do I know this? For one I can’t even tell you how many times I’ve been replaced by some dude who is a little more shapely than me. Also, don’t try and hide it. I’ve seen you girls with your Edward Cullen t-shirts on! Really though!? The guy is undead, cold and hard as a rock, and can’t go anywhere there’s sun (Important side note: I’m going to tell you what I’ve told all my close family and friends. I am begging you in the strongest language possible… ladies, if you ever find out that you are dating an actual vampire, please, please, please just break up with him. Why? Because he will suck your blood and eat you. There’s no easy way to put it. Seriously, I’m guessing there’s less than a 1% chance that he’s some good vampire living off of only animal blood. The relationship only ends when he kills you). I on the other hand, am alive, always warm, and I love the sunshine (also the odds of me killing you are very small). 

            Well women, I’ve got news for you. I’ve been to the gym twice in the last six months, and I only ate half of my cheesecake at lunch today. Here I come statue body!

Mormon Times Dating Blog Contest #3

 Well, I just turned 27 this past month, which in Utah County years (kind of like dog years), is about 56. When people ask me how old I am, I’m actually obligated while here in Utah to tell them my age in Utah County years. I say I’m 54 though (I feel like I can shave off a couple of years because of my baby face).

            Seriously though, I think it was Brigham Young who said that any man who is 26 and single is a menace to society. I’ve found this statement to be true (especially on BYU campus).  So to live up to the expectations set by Brigham Young, I’ve tried to be extra menacing this past year. To give you and idea of just how menacing I’ve been, this one time, I stayed up WAY past midnight!

            Also, sometimes I’ll be driving and I’ll just change lanes a few times for no reason. This really throws people off. I can’t hear what people in other cars are saying to me when I do this, but I feel like they might be saying, “Man, that guy sure is a menace!” 

            Occasionally I’ll even down a 6 pack of cream soda (Henry Weinart’s usually). There’s no telling what I’ll do on a cream soda sugar rush!

 But mostly I’ll just walk around giving people a real menacing look. 

             At first, I was pretty excited to turn 27 so I could quit being a menace…but that was until I happened upon another quote by Brigham Young that said any man who is 27 and STILL not married not only continues to be a menace, but also becomes a danger to himself and those around him. No kidding, back in pioneer times when a single guy turned 27 they would just lock him up. They’d leave him in prison for about 8 or 10 years and then let him out hoping everyone had forgotten about him. The only problem was it was super easy to escape from pioneer prisons, so they had to stop doing it (side note: this paragraph is completely made up). 

               I’m really just happy to still be alive at my age…and to not be in a pioneer prison.  But honestly, it is much harder to date the older I get. Not only do girls start looking at you funny when you tell them how old you are (at least here in Utah), but the older you get the more content you are to be single. The other day I went to the movie “Valentine’s Day” BY MYSELF (this is true). Just me and two other couples in the entire theater. Could I have taken a girl? Maybe. But how was I supposed to enjoy the comedy and wit of Ashton Kutcher and Jennifer Garner while at the same time trying to impress a girl? Sure the other people in the theater were weirded out by my being alone, but hey, it’s my job to be a menace!