Well, here's another episode in my pathetic life, though this one has some Boxster content and is in fact something that really happened to me last summer when my parents were visiting from Norway. As we were standing at Sheraton's check-in counter, waiting for our turn, up walks this hot tall tennis player, Daniela Hantuchova, (she was here for Stanford's Bank of the West Classic tournament). As we were waiting for the keys, she says to me "I like your eyebrow." Since I'm the most brilliant Casanova there ever was, I naturally swept her off her feet with my charm, and the rest is history -- she and I have since been dating, and later in August we'll tie the knot.
Well, perhaps in my dreams. Actually, my not-so articulate respond back to her was more like a gawping "Ugh..?" as my face turned red. It didn't help much that my mom was gesticulating behind us, trying to coach me what to say (luckily in Norwegian), "Tell her that you can take her in your Porsche and show her around and then play some pool with her". (To my mom, pool, tennis, hockey, baseball, etc. are all the same -- she even calls my cues, "clubs" (from the Norwegian word hockey-kølle).
As if that wasn't bad enough, it turned out that my parents room was in the same section of the hotel as hers. So I had to endure a long walk behind this hottie while listening to my parents arguing back & forth whether she was too tall for me since she wouldn't fit in my "Nazi go-cart" -- my mom, who always stands up for me, thought she would be "perfect", while my dad wouldn't approve of her since "she's too tall and also too skinny"... I was just wishing I could somehow replace them with a set of parents that I could take out in public.
At least it was nice that I for once could (sort of) blame someone else for my romanic debacles. More about my biker parents:
http://ccrma.stanford.edu/~peer/parents.html
-- peer
Rejected by my dad:
Linear Mode
