Other than the mountains, and Moab, everything about this state is stupid. The beer is like sex in a canoe - close to water. You can’t order a real cocktail - have you ever tried an extra dirty martini made with only 1 ounce of vodka in it(the limit per drink)?! Furthermore, the Governor’s newest appointee to the 5-person state liquor board is a non-drinker. Huh? Don’t even get me started on the goddamn Mormons.Why am I especially bitter at this moment? Well, I was just shut down by a chick named Arianna who would have, in a normal state, been tickling her tonsils with my water weasel this very second. But nooooooooooooooooo. We’re in Utah, Toto. I just spent an hour talking to this girl… CLOSE talking. Which she initiated. She even SANG for me… and damn she has a sultry, sexy voice. Then, after her shower, she walked over to my campsite so I could look at her flippin sketchbook. Turns out she’s a great artist too.
Okay, sorry. I know I’m throwing a ton of random stuff at you. I'm kicking game at a singing virgin artist in a Utah campground? What? So, to preface:
I’ve been in Provo, UT the past few days to deal with some mechanical issues on the bike, and as the thing is still under warranty from Trek, the shit is replaced/repaired for free. But the only dealer in western Utah is Provo. So here I am. Anyway, it turns out the state park here is right on lake Utah, and is gorgeous, so that’s where I’ve been camping. The second day I’m here, some people my age pull up in a van – turns out they work for this outdoor program called Aspiro. Basically, it’s an Outward Bound/Overland kind of thing. Anyway, it’s mostly dudes, except for a couple girls who, aside from Arianna, are the typical mangy, unshaven, granola types. Arianna and I end up talking right away – I’m charmed by her personality, and immediately attracted to her gorgeous eyes and smile, and that she’s got curves right where they’re supposed to be. Better yet, she seems to be digging me. I also observe that, even though she had woken up on the frosty ground in a sleeping bag 30 minutes prior, she already had mascara and makeup on(only noticeable because the rest of us looked like we had been run over by a tractor). Is this chick for real?
So, over the next couple days, I see her briefly, and we chat a couple times in passing, and she gives me the sexy smile. But this being a campground in Utah where she’s surrounded by dudes, I’m not expecting anything. Then, this morning, I perform the camping equivalent of bringing a girl flowers: Arianna has a small rip in the bottom of her sleeping bag, and I give her my sewing kit to fix it. And not just any sewing kit – this one was from the Four Seasons. She thanks me profusely, and we go our separate ways for the day.
Fast-forward to about an hour and a half ago:
I had just walked out of the shower, and am carrying an armful of shit – the clothes I just changed out of, a soaking wet shirt/socks/cycling shorts(even if you can’t wash em, gotta rinse em), and my bag of toiletries. And suddenly, out of the darkness, there’s Arianna. “Hi!” She says. I want to say, “What’s up girlie? How ‘bout you turn around and get your fine little ass out of those clothes, and into my tent?” But we’re in Utah, so I have been trying to turn down my foul mouth/crass behavior a few notches. Mostly unsuccessfully. So I say hey, and we start talking. Then, because I have an armload of shit, I start dropping things. She says, “Whoa, settle down. I don’t make you nervous, do I?”, and then flashes me that sparkly smile. Now she’s flirting… amazing. I laugh, we go back and forth some more, and end up talking about everything… standing right there in front of the shower building. As we’re laughing, she keeps inching closer, and I’m thinking, “No way… I'm getting a sick makeout with a rando hot outdoorsy chick in a Utah campground… this is AMAZING.” Then, we cover that she is a singer… like, actually gets paid to sing on albums and whatnot. She says, “Want me to sing for you?” Hell YES. So she sings some soul, and my penis begins to tingle. She then offers to sing me a lullaby after her shower. Game, set, point.
But don’t get too excited yet… in the course of the conversation after the singing, we cover that she is not a mormon - but she does not drink(more disturbing, she says she thinks champagne is gross, which is an almost immediate deal-breaker for The Ski Patrol), does not watch TV, doesn’t watch movies, and doesn’t own a computer. I then say, “But you’ve seen ‘Wedding Crashers’, right?” No. Has this chick been living on Mars?! I brokenheartedly realize that my typical humor repertoire has suddenly been pretty much diced in half. Damn. The ship hasn’t sunk yet though, and I quip, “So is this about the time when you’re going to tell me you’re a virgin?”
That’s an affirmative, captain. I think I want my sewing kit back.
Being an incurable jackass, I say, “Seriously? You don’t mean, like, you found Jesus and decided to let it grow back?” She didn’t seem to get the sarcasm. I decided not to ask if, like so many Mormon/”religious” broads I’ve heard about, she instead does anal to ensure vaginal integrity. We’ve clearly reached the apex of this conversation – you know that moment when the conversation is a delicately sputtering flame – turn up the wick, or it’s gone in a wisp of smoke. Amid all this, she’s moved to the point where she’s standing 8 inches from me – close. She’s looking up at me with those eyes… we reach that quiet point in the interaction when a kiss, on this gorgeous starry night on this lake surrounded by mountains, is the natural course of events. Anticipating this, I had previously shifted all the junk I’m holding to my left arm. With my right, I place my hand on her waist, not pulling, but simply the gesture of offering that path to step into the inevitable. Nothing. She looks down. God, I fucking hate virgins. This is worse than 8th grade.
But, like the numbered comment so often selected on my 8th grade report cards, I'm known to 'persevere when challenged'. Oddly, she’s not letting the ship go down. Rather than rushing off to her shower, and bidding me goodnight, she keeps talking. By this point, as sexy as she is, I’m losing interest. I’m simply not interested in chaperoning the baby-steps of a 23 year old virgin. Justify it however you want, but anybody who walls off that most basic human pleasure posses a brand of insecurity I find profoundly unattractive.
At this point, I notice how cold it is, and knowing there will certainly be no smashing, or even making out tonight, I’m ready to get into my tent and pass out. So I say, “Listen, I should let you shower, but it was great talking to you…” She won’t let it go though and replies, “Well, I’ll be about 15 minutes – if you’re up, I’ll come show you my sketchbook.” Okay, virgin, I’ll give you one more shot. So I head back to my campsite, and sit down at the picnic table to upload some photos to the laptop. About 20 minutes later, here she comes, and sits down next to me. Turns out the girl is an amazing artist. I’m legitimately impressed, which is sort of cool. But mostly, I’m imagining what it’d be like if she put her mind to the art of intercourse. Whoa.
After the sketchbook, I show her a few of my fantastic photos, but it is midnight, cold, and definitely time for bed. At this point, the most I am anticipating is a goodnight kiss… So we start the ritual of saying goodnight, and she kind of leans towards me(she is sitting directly to my left), and this time, fuck it, I’m diving in. She impresses me once again – but this time, it’s her ability to dodge into a buddy-buddy one-armed hug without a hint of awkwardness. She’s definitely done this before, but she did it so deftly, I almost couldn’t be annoyed. Almost. Stupid virgins. I wanted to say, “Listen sweetheart, it’s cool that you’re a great artist… but it’s cold, I’m tired, and as much as I like talking to you, I think my motives are crystal-fucking-clear.” We’re in Utah though, so I pussy out and don’t say that. She tells me how great it was meeting me. Yeah Arianna, great to meet you too - thanks for reinforcing how unbelievably lame this state is.
Over and out,
The Ski Patrol
*End Note: This morning I’m officially on my way out of Utah, but as I was leaving the campground, Arianna got up from her breakfast, and came over to say goodbye. She also asked for my contact info. Snidely, I asked this teetotaling, non TV watching virgin if she’s familiar with email. Never shying from direct eye contact, she gives me that sexy smile, and says yes. Yeah, I’m a loser and gave her my info. Ugh, virgins.
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