So long and farewell, but not forever.

Hello to all of my lovely people that occasionally glance at this blog ;)

I have missed you all more than you know. As you can tell, it's been a little while since I have written anything. I will be honest, I have tired of the awkward life style. Not that I ever have much of a choice, but it has been exhausting lately trying to live new material so I can write it, and even more exhausting trying to write it in a way that conveys the true awkwardness of it all. So you know what that means: A new writing venture! Eventually I will need to use this again as an outlet so I don't feel like such a freak, and I will need all of you to read it. But until then, much love and awkwardness to all!

-E

Ornithophobia.

I know, I am a freaking failure because I said that my New Years resolution was to write a post every week and it's been a little longer than that. January 15th, so that's...shit. Well whatever. I'm writing one now aren't I? Okay, confession time. I am having a really difficult time (obviously) writing a post every week. It's not that it can't be done because hello, that is very reasonable. Here is my problem, I have a job. And I have a hectic life, which who doesn't but in the amount of time I do have it's kind of hard to produce something weekly that's not just mediocre. So here's my modified New Years Resolution: I will try my very hardest to write a new post twice a month. I know that doesn't sound like much, but I'm thinking that is more realistic, and then the posts won't be complete and utter crap. Hopefully.

The theme is still "Throwback Extravaganza", so of course this post is a throwback. Since it is cold and dreary outside, I was once again reminded of past days spent on the beach...seriously, I think I have a problem. Is seasonal depression a real thing? Anyways, I was reflecting back on my many beach adventures which brought back a startling memory that I must have repressed, and I thought to myself, that definitely needs to be written about. Before I get to the actual story though, we need to play a quick little game of "getting to know Ethel and what makes her such a freak".  

Ornithophobia: An abnormal and persistent fear of birds. Sufferers from ornithophobia experience undue anxiety about encountering and even being attacked by birds although they may realize their fears are quite irrational. That is a legitimate description from medicinenet.com. At least, the website looked very real and doctor-like.

When I was thirteen years old my mother bought chickens. (In case you're wondering, we are still playing the getting to know Ethel game) She purchased them without my consent, which I felt was incredibly rude. When you have never had animals in your household other than the usual domestics like dogs and cats, it's a very fragile balance introducing farm animals into the mix. My mom did not even consider that perhaps that would be an issue for some of us children a.k.a me, so she just brought them home one day. It wasn't too bad at first, as long as I didn't have to touch them or associate with them in any way whatsoever. That was the family rule until a few years later when my mom and siblings decided to go out of town and leave me to take care of the house and all of the other responsibilities. And the chickens. I was pumped to have the house to myself, but I tried to not focus on the birds of which I had just become the caretaker. Yikes. I attempted to be very optimistic, but when I walked into their coop and they laid their greedy, beady little chicken eyes on the bucket of feed I was cradling in my arms, it was game over. They flew at my face and I screamed bloody murder as their nasty wings flapped incessantly and their scary sharp talons were unthinkably close to my face. I couldn't see or move because they were in my face and I was afraid if I opened my eyes they would gouge them out, and if I moved I might crush one of them which wouldn't be so bad, except that it would have been both disturbing and disgusting and I would have been the one cleaning it up. Or worse! Taking it because it was injured to the veterinarian, and then I would have had to hold it. It was terrible and forever ingrained in my memory. I eventually threw the bucket across the coop and ran for my life. After that I devised different plans every day to trick them so I could get the food in their without actually having to go in, and before they would have time to react and attack me. Never again did I take responsibility for them after that or cross the invisible line that was their territory. Or, fence.

Another time when I was a kid, my grandpa took me to the park to feed the ducks. I don't remember if it was a duck or a goose but it grabbed me with its beak and held on for dear life, intent on taking me to the bottom of the pond and drowning me. My grandpa first tried to kick it off, but when that didn't work he hit it with an umbrella repeatedly, screaming expletives at it before it released and turned on him. He then proceeded to punch it in the face and it finally went on its way. I was four at the time. I kind of wish that I embellished that for effect but that is the God honest TRUTH. Those are just a few of the cute anecdotes of my experiences with birds. Needless to say I am very very creeped out by them. One year my dad chose "Birds!" as our family movie to watch on THANKSGIVING. Who does that?! Alfred Hitchcock sent me over the edge with that one and there was no turning back.

So now that you know some of my past, we can move onto the main incident. It was dreadfully cold and dreary on the mainland because it was the dead of winter, and my cousin surprised me with a beach vacation in one of the places in the world that was actually warm at the time. How can I express my pure joy at the thought of basking in the beautiful sun again; it felt like ages since I had even seen it. We arrived in the early afternoon and couldn't be bothered to even go to the hotel to freshen up first because we wanted to see the ocean. So we jumped in the car and stopped at the first beach we could find. Bliss. As I alighted from the the rusty old sedan I stood for a sentimental moment, drinking in all of the beauty before me. We rolled up our jeans and pushed up our sleeves, making our way to the beach. Before the actual sand though, you had to cross through a park, walk down a few wooden steps that led into a tiny little stream of about eight inches of water, and then you could cross over onto the beautiful sandy beach and beyond.

There were six or seven abnormally huge and fat pigeons that looked somewhat...deformed waddling back and forth across the steps blocking the threshold to my much deserved paradise. I stepped onto the first step and after I had adequately shooed the pigeons to the sides I slowly stepped down, careful to avoid any pigeons and was altogether wary of the whole situation. Just as my foot was about to meet with the step a suicidal pigeon abruptly changed its coarse of direction and found its way beneath my new flip flop and the whole of my body weight. "Ohhhh!!!" I collapsed on the sand, trembling and deathly afraid of seeing the fate of the aforementioned bird. It limped away, still very much alive but I'm pretty sure it suffered some serious internal injuries; it was not looking so good. On the landing above the steps there was a group of picnic tables pushed together, families and friends all lounging around eating and enjoying the mild weather. They were all front and center to observe my little animal killing display. There was a noisy and indistinct hubbub coming from the onlookers, and one called, "Did you just step on that pigeon?". Ashamed but defensive I yelled back, "I didn't know! uh, that it was there. I think it's still alive." The pigeons were still in somewhat of an uproar, as uproarious as pigeons can be at least, and the onlookers were a mix of disapproving glances and inappropriate laughter. After a few minutes of further confusion, I brushed the sand off my new clothes and out of my hair and did I always do after a moment like that: lifted my head high and kept on walking.

There's no place like home. Anywhere else, it's a crapshoot.

I realize I have been doing a lot of reminiscent posts as of late, so I've decided to have a throw back extravaganza! One post every week until I either run out, which is not likely, or tire of them and move onto something bigger and better. I have a few in mind, and the one I think I'll start it off with begins now. I hope you'll get a tickle out of my brush with royalty;)

  Crap. Crap of a town. Hellhole. God forsaken crap of a town...hellhole...place. My mom came up with the hellhole part; the more creative names I've thought up for it, well, I would be embarrassed to write it here. But you get the general concept. The hellhole I am referring to, is the town my family and I moved to. When I tell other people where I currently am residing, they are unable to hide their pitying or disgusted expressions. I don't really blame them. It is a small city, therefore its the small town mentality for most. Something unique though about the culture, is that its as if they are in denial or subconsciously resist settling into stereotypes (only speaking for some, there are plenty of camo-wearing toothless folk to be seen). Again I'm only speaking from what I've seen, but most of the younger generation seems to think they're all trendsetting, musical models that are professionals at being cool. These fashionistas are highlighted, lacquered, and fake baked to perfection which was the exact opposite of my expectations, so needless to say I was shocked. I did my best at settling into the new town, or so I told myself. My first order of business was to find a job, so off I went in search of my new career.

Well that was disappointing. After trudging around the mall and around town in my best Anne Taylor Loft suit jacket, Banana Republic jeans and laboriously straightened hair, handing out resumes left and right and being tiresomely polite and professional. I only got one call back! One call back, are you freakin kidding me?! And Victoria's Secret of all places? I don't even fit in their bras and certainly can't afford the panties there, even with the discount. Stupid. My first meeting at Vickies was kind of overwhelming because there were like 60 people that worked there, and everyone was best friends and then there was just...me. I was a little fatter at the time than I really wanted to be (confession: that's all the time, but more so than normal in this particular instance), from a different city and wearing an unflattering orange shirt. Looking back I looked really dumb. When the meeting was finished a couple of girls asked me if I wanted to go to a club with them and a bunch of other people. I will say that's totally not my scene, but anxious to fit in and actually have friends I accepted eagerly. They said my uncomely attire was fine for "going out" so I assumed they were telling me the truth. I didn't know my way around town, so stupidly I decided to ride with them.

WARNING: If you ride with strangers, you're an idiot. Always take your own car or have a back up ride just in case, even if you think you know someone pretty well.

We ended up at Latin Vibe, a gay bar. Hmm. As I previously mentioned I don't really go out much and here I am at this gay club with a bunch of slutty girls from Vickies to see a drag queen show of all things. I just wasn't really prepared for the whole scenario. There were porn pictures on the walls, women hitting on us, and all the girls I knew were completely sloshed. I felt completely out of my element and I knew because I wasn't really interested in anything that was happening, like the mundane topics that they were discussing, the girls I was with thought I was a total boring/prude/freak person. There may be some truth to that but still, no one particularly enjoys being with people that plainly think that about you. When the drag queens came out, lip syncing to Brittany Spears and Liza Minnelli, I was officially over stimulated. I couldn't even enjoy the show because the whole time I was trying to figure out how this guy over there tucked his junk into those tiny shorts, or that guy over there totally has a better woman's body than I do. That's irritating. The worst part was when every one made their way out to the dance floor. I am an absolutely TERRIBLE dancer, and it's painful to watch. I always look obviously self-conscious. The entire time I had gay guys grinding on me and girls of all kinds pushing me to let loose and dance like them, which would be impossible. I couldn't get my ride to leave until 2:30am so by the time I made it home my clothes were beer stained and I was exhausted. Such a disastrous night.

Some call it retail, I call it purgatory.

My New Years resolution, aside from being mistaken for Angelina Jolie (it happened once already, don't be jealous bitches), is to blog every week if I can help it. So here I am, on January 9th, still keeping it. I'd call it a good start to the year. Of course we can't ring in the New Year (my other post was technically written in December just not published then, so I can still say that) without a new post.

I told you I nanny, which is true, but in order to make ends meet, I also work in the fabulous world that is retail. Okay that last statement is false, because it's not fabulous in real life. I love people and customer service, but retail is just stupid. Your manager's act like you are curing cancer instead of selling clothes, if you don't sell credit cards you suck at life, and if you do sell cards then you're the manager's best friend, and your fellow sales associates only look at you as competition to be annihilated. If something isn't on sale, then customers chew you out like YOU are personally trying to ruin their lives AND steal food from their children's hungry stomachs. The guy you saw on America's Most Wanted creeps into the store and undress's you with his eyes, and you still have to help him for an hour. Best of all, some woman demands for your help and you end up being her personal shopper, all the while being patronized and talked down to like she's in a whole 'nother class than you are. All for minimum wage. Goody.

It's not always that bad, but those are the kind of common occurrences that make you hate your job, and in some people's cases, make you bitter. This time of year it's like the plague of every human disease possible to man, being spread around to every person repeatedly. One night, dreading the fact that I would have to work the next morning, a genius idea occurred to me. I would call in sick! Oh my gosh, genius! Why hadn't I thought of it before? I immediately called the store, relating my story about the stomach flu, blah blah, throwing up all evening, blah blah. They seemed to buy it and said they would look for a replacement for my shift and call me back in a bit. I felt kind of jittery, and maybe a little bit guilt ridden, but I tried to shake it off, looking forward to not having to face my dead end job the next day. They didn't call that night, so I assumed they would call me the next morning, before I was actually supposed to be there. I clicked off my bed-side lamp, and turned in for a night of restless sleep and stress dreams.

The next morning, still no call. I had to be in at nine and that time was rapidly approaching. I tried to call, but no one answered and I don't have anyone's person cell numbers. Gosh dammit, what was I going to do?! I couldn't just not go in right? So I went, hoping there had been some misunderstanding, ("Oh my gosh, didn't Frank call you? I totally thought he had! You poor thing, go home and get some rest.") and that I would just be sent home to drink in the freedom. When I did get there the first thing I had found out was that they hadn't planned on me coming in, and the second was that they have zero sympathy for sick workers, so since I had shown up, I was going to have to work. Great. Now I would have to act sick enough that they would believe me, but nice enough that I wouldn't get fired. I did, or at least tried, but acting has never been my strong suit, so the whole day I was paranoid they knew, and miserable with guilt/still hoping I'd get sent home early.

I didn't. I did however, end up having a terrible migraine and some stomach cramps, probably just psychosomatic, but bad all the same. I was blatantly dishonest, said I was sick when I wasn't, and I paid for it by still having to work. My friends got a good laugh out of it, but it had been a terrible day and the bad part was, I totally deserved it. I have since put in my two weeks and am looking forward to the day I walk out and don't look back, knowing I'm rid of the place. I will definitely think twice before trying to lie my way out of a situation. It always comes back to bite you in the rear.

Ciao!

When you neglect kindness to others, sometimes they die.

I'm sorry its been so long since I blogged last, much too long in my opinion. My apologies, but my last month or so has been a constant state of havoc (Future blogging material? I think so.) therefore, I have a) not had the time and b) there were no creative juices flowing. Plus, I've been sleeping a lot so that pretty much takes up my extra time that could and should be spent writing. I'm sorry for being a selfish cow.

My story for you today goes back about a year ago, when I was going to school on a tropical island. That was kind of an amazing sentence, and makes me hate my life all the more as I experience the dreadful time of mourning others refer to as "winter". I'm sorry I'm in such a pissy mood right now, but seeing as I haven't eaten lunch yet...well that is pretty self explanatory. I've been apologizing a lot already in this post and promise to not be such a downer for the remainder. You're welcome.

So anyways, I was walking through the target parking lot holding my friends new humidifier, when this guy almost hit me with his crappy car and it sent me having flashbacks to the story I am about to tell you. My friend said, "Have you blogged about that one yet?" And I couldn't believe I hadn't! So here it is. I was working weekends at this mom-and-pop Italian restaurant, struggling financially as most all college students do. But I loved working there and did so happily, although my homework may have suffered for it. Actually, that's a lie, the real reason it suffered was because I was going to school ON A TROPICAL ISLAND. People don't actually do school in places like that unless they are idiots, because who wants to write a ten page comparison paper on religion when you could be hiking through the rain forest or basking on a beach with hot guys that only come from tropical islands?! I'll admit, I did much less schlepping around mountains being active and crap, and much more of the latter, but a lot of people enjoy that stuff. Anyone would compared to writing a shitty paper, unless they were an idiot.

I bought this white ancient crown vic from my mechanic, suntanned, surfer, body-of-a-god guy that I was...seeing while I was there. I guess I can't really call him my boyfriend, because he never asked me and, well, he wasn't my boyfriend. But we were going on dates and practically dating. The only screwing that happened between us was when he sold me that crappy car that broke down two weeks later, and he couldn't ever seem to repair after that. Everyone wanted to be my friend for those two weeks; girls because they wanted a ride, and guys because they wanted to borrow it to use for a cop car in their amateur film about skateboarding, that needed a cop car for whatever reason. None of them liked me as much two weeks later when it broke down and I needed a ride to work. They wouldn't give me one. Douches.

One crisp island evening, I walked back to school from work, alone. I had worked the late shift at the restaurant and my so called loser friends that had cars wouldn't come help me out. It was maybe a seven minute drive, but it took anywhere from 30 minutes to an hour depending on the weather, shoes you were wearing, etc. but always took longer on the way back because it was mostly up hill, and those hills were not playing around. Those hills gave birth to the hills from "The Sound of Music",  if that helps you get a feel for how big they were. That's what he said.

I closed out my cash drawer, went to the ladies room to change into clothes more appropriate for the journey I was about to embark on, and saying my goodbyes to co-workers (all hung-over), stepped out into the night. It was a typical evening, desperately warm and humid, frizzing out my curly hair around my face and at the base of my neck and my face perspiring profusely, but there was delightful ocean breeze coming from the west, tugging at my clothes and bringing occasional gentle relief from the aching heat. I didn't feel relieved however, because the anxiety I had been ignoring until then had come back with a vengeance, and standing on the cracked side walk I was faced with the darkness.

So what did I do? I put my head phones in and put on a chipper song by Colbie Caillat to distract me from the fact that I was walking, alone,  through the ghetto of the town...did I mention I was alone and it was really really dark outside?! La La La, happy thoughts.

I was skipping along, trying to focus on my music about rainbows and ponies, all the while keeping to the most populated and well lit streets. I was in the middle of "Fallin' for You", when I stopped at a cross walk to check that it was safe to go. There was a little white car there, stopped because there was a huge onslaught of traffic coming and the car couldn't turn yet. With it obviously being my turn to go, I started to cross. About halfway through the cross walk, I shifted my backpack to the other shoulder and turned the volume up on my ipod. La La La, happy thoughts. With the other side within my reach, my thoughts came to a screeching halt as the little white innocent car bumped me! Dazed and afraid and having absolutely no idea what was happening, I turned to face the car (that was still accelerating toward me) and screamed, "Stop! Stoppppp!!!!!!" with both of my hands on the front of the grimy hood of the car, trying with all my might to stop the vehicle that was slowly but surely pushing me into the oncoming traffic. Just as I was about to meet the traffic the car stopped, with me partially on top of it, breathing fast and close to dying prematurely of a heart attack. I looked up to face my attacker for the first time. Middle aged, snaggle toothed, and (not to fuel stereotypes, it's just the truth in this particular situation) Asian. And laughing hysterically. BASTARD!!!!!! I was even more shocked at the site of the man laughing then the fact that two seconds earlier I had been hit by a car. My paralysis suddenly vanished and half jumping, half falling off the car full of crazy, I bolted down out of the street and onto the sidewalk, still being affronted by the sound of flowers being thrown up in my ears. 

I took a brief break from running to look back (I hadn't gotten very far), and the little white car was still idling there, a small dark form rocking back and forth from laughter. I started running again, at the speed of light. La La La, happy thoughts, happ-oh eff it! Not happy thoughts, Not happy thoughts!!! I'm going to die! 

When the dog bites, when the bee stings. What about when the frickin car hits you in the frickin middle of nowhere and your frickin going to die at the hands of a baneful Asian?! What do you have to say to that Julie Andrews?! Simply remember my favorite things? How predictable of you. 

I ran for what felt like an eternity, and when I couldn't run anymore because I was grossly out of shape, I walked brusquely, panting and looking around accusingly. The long dark walk home was terrifying, with shady miscreants milling about the streets in the darkest corners just to further provoke my fear and impending doom. I made it home alright, although I was in a terrible mental state. The next day, although still stirred up, I kept the story to myself humbly and tried to go about my day. That is, until I saw a little white car parked on campus and the perpetrator tried to stab me!

Gotcha suckers! There was no more grief after the first incident thankfully. And I didn't keep the story to myself the next day; you'd better believe I gave my most theatrical retelling of the story to everyone, but specifically those that refused me a ride home and left me to my fate. They felt horrible and promised if I ever needed a ride again to let them know. They weren't nearly as repentant as I wanted, but it had the effect I was looking for. My title about dieing may have been a tad bit strong, but the moral behind the story is this: don't be a bunch of skanks and refuse others in times of need. Instead, lend a helping hand when you're able. And also, don't walk alone at night without some mace and reflectors on your clothes. Cheers to you all!

Lara, you got nothin' on me.

I despise winter. I would be totally okay with it just being fall and skipping winter all together, aside from maybe a light snow on Christmas day. Snow storms always wreck the one event on my social calendar that I am the most looking forward to, then the snow turns to slush and wrecks my cheap flats and the cold wind blows right through my thirty dollar Old Navy sale coat.

But today is one of nostalgia. Fall is in the air, and I am transfixed by the beautiful landscape as the leaves change their colors. It reminds me of hot chocolate and bonfires, hoodies, stale candy corns left over from Halloween, and gearing up for those terrible holiday visits with certain extended family. Ah, good times. It's just such a wonderful time of year. Since I am in the mood for reminiscing, I decided to have a throwback post to one of my favorite embarrassing moments of all time. Perhaps its a fav because I was in my horrific preteen/puberty stage and I have since had time to heal.

It all took place on a fall day similar to this one, and of course it wouldn't be a wonderful embarrassing moment without, you guessed it, a boy. Those turds always show up for those times where you literally want to smother yourself with a throw pillow and everyone else because it's just too terrible to bear and yet, you still have to. My friend suggested this idea when we were kids that guys should just live in their own society underground, completely set apart from females until the disgusting middle school metamorphosis has run its course. It's both freaky and brilliant.

His name is Payton Radley, the guy that literally every girl and their mom had a crush on, or in my case? An obsession. He had perfect wavy hair, a muscular, tall build, pearly whites and a smile that slayed everyone. I say all of that in the past tense because although he is cute-ish presently, the years haven't exactly done him well; that was when he was in his prime. He has uncanny athletic ability and he was very focused on baseball and nothing else. Girls, especially dumb ones like I wasss...well whatever. We will go with was, were definitely not on his radar.

Ethel Larkin, poop brown hair, cut all the same length, braces, boy/lesbian-esque style, and boobs I had no idea how to properly holster so they were just kind of...there. My athletic ability is limited, but I try to make the most out of it. The part that kills me every time is the pre-game trash talk that I fail to live up to when its time to play the actual game. I get to flirting, which means I tell them I'm going to beat their asses in the game cause I'm awesome, blah blah blah. But like in a hot Lara Croft kind of way, trying to act impressive and tough, and the guys just eat that shit up! The real issue is when you go to play and you can't actually live up to the high expectations you set about yourself for everyone else by being a cocky liar face and making yourself out to be a kick-ass bitch like Lara. But in the end you just look like a bitch. That lives in her own fantasy world where she is good at athletic things. That she sucks at in reality here on earth. Dumb.

Okay, but I'm getting ahead of myself! So I'm at this park with a large co-ed group of awkward middle school kids, which let's be real, was the most exciting thing EVER because a) it meant being free of my parents for a little while, and b) I was ready to step up my game and I was sure I would win Payton's heart. So as it usually goes in sixth grade, the girls went off to the swings to be away from the boys and the boys started picking players for their baseball game. I boldly announced that I was playing, which raised a few eyebrows but no one contested.  I was jovial as I ran to join up with my teammates that were gearing up to bat first. P.S. I don't actually know anything about baseball, so for those of you that may be reading this and are awesome and know all of the correct terrminology, etc. please do not be offended by my crude retelling of the game details. Just a heads up.

Payton was pitching, using those sinewy arms to pitch lightning, Zeus-like..uh, throws at those that were batting. My turn came, and I stepped up to the plate. I was for sure exuding a vibe that said "I am a pro". Payton gave me a quick little side smile before straightening up and getting ready to let the ball loose on me. Man that sounded dirty. You know what I meant. I felt a little thrill as I hit the ball and it actually went where it was supposed to go, which must have been a result of my positive thinking or a pure miracle since I have no idea how to use a bat.

Did I previously mention that I was wearing a dress? Nope, don't think I did. Why? WHY? That's what you're thinking. I know I said my style was butch then so I don't really have much of an explanation for my wardrobe choice that day. I'm sure it was ugly, and I probably was trying to be like a hot tomboy kind of person or something. So I hit the ball and it came crashing down somewhere further out in the field. I took my time running to first, soaking in the pure joy of success. A little premature. As I made my way to second base, I felt my stomach sink. Plunk. I totally just tripped over my feet, and landed flat on the ground, right in front of second base. Like two inches from there actually. But I was so horrified I couldn't even move! Everyone got kind of quiet, aside from the few punks snickering to the person next to them. No. NO. Oh my god, no. My dress was over my head, my bum in my skeevy underwear just out for the world to see. That is worse than wearing bad panties and having a car accident and everyone in the ambulance having to see your wretched drawers. Side note: that is something I literally think of before I put on my underwear almost every morning. Same with shaving my legs.

So there I am in all my glory, bum out for all to see, laying there paralyzed with shame and horror. Payton was just staring at me, with an amused look on his face. Is he laughing? He took his good old time walking towards me with the ball in his hand, drawing out the humiliation and he completely enjoyed it, I could tell. He slowly bent over me, staring at the ground almost as if he couldn't look at me. But then he got right in my face and smiled, and then tagged me with the ball and sauntered off back to the pitchers mound. He didn't even help me up that douche! I still loved him, but come on. He could have helped me out. Anyways, I picked myself up and pulled the skirt of my dress down to its rightful place and made my way back to my team. After a minute or so, I called, as if in response to the girls nearby, "What Lou Ann? Okay, I'm coming!" At least I left with my dignity still in tact.

I am lubberly like it's my job.

The past few weeks haven't really strayed from the norm. As usual I am living my life ungracefully but this week and last have been peppered more with constant, small awkward occurrences than the routine, colossal am I being punked?! moments that are commonplace; this story is about one of the more memorable moments from last week. Lubberly means a big clumsy fellow, in case you were wondering to yourself, "What the hell is lubberly?" Yeah, that's what it means. It also means clumsy seaman which...doesn't really work but whatever.

So this week I went on a road trip with one of my best friends Shea and ironically her boyfriend, Jay, to Virginia. Jay thinks he is a rapper (he's not), which made for a long a trip in the car with him "rapping" to Usher and listening to instrumental tracks throwing down his theme song he wrote about himself. After the two day drive we finally arrived in Virginia, and the relaxing week we had planned was long overdue. Lynchburg, Virginia is a small college town. All three of us have family and friends that attend one of the University's there so we planned to make a good time out of it with our college friends (none of us are in college right now, so we essentially wanted to live vicariously through our friends. That's normal, right?).

So one night the three of us, along with Shea's sisters that live in the area and some of Jay's friends, all went out to see a film at the dollar movie theater. Earlier that day, Shea jokingly told Jay he should hook me up with one of his hot friends since I'm newly single. I agreed but I was being completely serious; I was excited about the possibility of some new guy to at least flirt with and have fun. We got to the theater and were just waiting on Jay's friends before going in and getting our seats. Well, the turn out was disappointing. Two guys came, and one was very cute but of course, had a girlfriend! The good ones always do.

I was socializing with a few of the girls before going in and then abruptly Jay said, a little too loudly, "Jake, Brandon, I didn't introduce you! Ethel! Come over here! Guys, this is Ethel." Shoot me. I turned around, flummoxed, heat seeping into my cheeks. What is he doing?! Horrified I looked around at everyone's faces; yeah, they all seemed pretty embarrassed too, and happy that it was not them. I made my way towards the two guys, trying to keep eye contact and be nonchalant. I don't know why, considering they had no problem completely ignoring my existence. As I crossed the threshold toward their side of the room, I felt a sinking sensation in my stomach, before the reason for it even registered. Delilah, Shea's little sister pushed me right into Jake, the very un-single good looking, crush-worthy man that was currently pretending I wasn't there. Why she pushed me is still a mystery, but I don't even allow myself to ask questions like that anymore. Because small questions like that all add up to one enormous question which is, why is my life the way that it is?! It's better to just accept that I am a magnet for such things and move on.

Luckily I recovered my balance right before I could make matters worse and take everyone out in my path. Blushing and shaky I tried to laugh it off and extended my hand in greeting to Jake, trying to be a proper adult. Both guys reluctantly shook my hand, muttering their acknowledgment of me in hushed tones while avoiding my gaze. I slunk back to my corner of the room and hid behind Shea. At that moment I was ready for the trip to be over already.

There is a good reason for the phrase, "Don't kiss and tell."

Whirlwind romance. The word "whirlwind" is actually quite romantic sounding in itself. When you hear it you think passion, love at first sight, destiny. That time is no obstacle for love.

My whirlwind romance went something like this: a friendship that led to a few pseudo-dates, a date, and then a committed relationship all in about a months time. To me I thought of it as all of the words listed above and more. He confessed his deep poetic feelings to me like, "When I am married someday I want a wife that, when she walks into the room, my breath is taken away and I am overwhelmed, wondering how I ever got so blessed with someone I am so unworthy of. I feel like I have that with you. I think we are going to last." Did I feel pure ecstasy as those beautiful words rolled gently off his tongue? You better believe it. He swept me off my feet before I even knew he was coming, and then continued to run off with me at a breakneck speed like the devil himself was chasing us down. Then after exactly two weeks, he broke up with me. Now the word whirlwind simply means stupidity in my book, and I have a bad case of whiplash.

A few days after Jeremy asked me to be his girlfriend we had our first kiss, a.k.a. makeout session. And it was perfect. The whole night I couldn't sleep because I was completely caught up in the "whirlwind" that I had constantly been a part of since the second I met him. Every day I was falling harder and harder for him and after that night, I was completely enraptured by him and his charm. Sadly, the next day he left to go visit his family a few states away, so my obsession had to be fed by mere text and phone conversations. When he finally got back in town I was so excited to see him! And kiss him of course. He was coming over to watch a movie with me so before hand I groomed myself to perfection, or at least as close as I could get to it. I mouth washed four times after brushing my teeth, flossed, perfumed, and the list goes on. We watched our movie and had a good time. No kiss yet. He got ready to go and still no kiss. So I decided I was going to take things into my own hands. I am not an experienced kisser whatsoever, so initiating was not something I was comfortable with. But he aggravated me into making a move. I walked him out to his car while we held hands and talked. It was such a beautiful night; starry and cool and it was drizzling a little bit but just enough to feel refreshing and make noise so there wasn't awkward silence. He hugged me and when he let go I could tell he still wasn't going to kiss me!

Needless to say I was seriously annoyed at that point. I decided I was just going to give him a peck on the lips and that was it. Just the cutesy kind of kiss, not breathy and passionate. I went for it, and as I was pulling away he started doing things with his mouth and tongue. That should be good news right? Well because I was unprepared for his response, I pulled back. I totally could have recovered from that and smiled and just gone back at it, but there was one small problem. It was the sound that accompanied the kiss that I initiated, and it came from my body. You've heard people talk about out of body experiences? This was definitely one of those. The noise I emitted (it was not voluntary), was an eardrum-breaking "muah!" sound that I had never made before in my life. It's like what grandma's do when they're creepy and gross and its in a movie. Only I had just done that to my new, hot boyfriend. His face was incredulous and I could feel the heat instantly rush to my cheeks. In retrospect the best thing for both of us probably would have been if we had laughed it off and said goodbye and pretended like it never happened so that hopefully the next day, his feelings of repulsion would have subsided. But the expression of horror on my face was firmly planted there and before I knew what had happened I ran away from him into the safety of my home. Literally, I just broke away from him and booked it into my house without a word but "Bye!". That is not normal behavior, and most of you are probably thinking to yourselves, "No wonder he broke up with her after two seconds". You're supposed to be on my side. Anyways, that evening blew up in my face and even though he was kind about it that night when I called him to apologize, he never kissed me again while we were together.

Jeremy was technically my first boyfriend. Even though this is an anonymous blog that I do not advertise, I know there are people out there that read this. Yes, you. And despite the fact you will never meet me (at least not knowingly), at times it is difficult to be so transparent about the things that I do every day that are so embarrassing. Just like when I tried being vulnerable with Jeremy, it was hard! Being open in that way is not something that any of us come by naturally in my opinion. But the things that make us vulnerable are a huge part of who we are! Jeremy never really saw this side of me when we were dating: the awkward fumbling side of me and the sense of humor that I acquired to be able to deal with it. But looking back on our whirlwind romance I realize that there is a lot of light to be shed on that short moment we shared. Awkward, embarrassing acts such as these are a big part of what makes me, me. And the fact that he couldn't handle that and I wasn't comfortable enough with him to be that version of myself, the real version, must mean that it wasn't destiny after all.

I'm glad I was able to share my story with you. Goodnight to all. Muah!

Smurfs and Feelin' Blue.

Wow, it has been an eternity since an awkward moment has been posted! I have had a serious case of writers block these past months and not because they have been uneventful. Let me tell you, I am about to completely unload my best ones that have been happening while I was away. My awkward curse has an overactive imagination and has really been on a role as of late. I'll start off with my most recent event in this post.

I just began a new venture called, 'being a nanny'. The family seems wonderful thus far and it really has been an easy transition for the most part.  Because I am new I want to make a good impression. I wear clothes that are obviously not the most ideal for chasing kids around but I still haven't found the balance between being a professional, and dressing for a job which a lot of the time comes with some wear and tear. I also have struggled with not cussing by accident, etc. I'm sure there will be a time when that slips and then I will have a really juicy story to tell you.

 Anyways, I want to impress, you get the idea. I decided it was time to wax the old mustache (quit judging me), so I pulled out my handy waxing kit and went to work. I've only done it one other time, so I had no idea that the seemingly innocent looking tub of wax was actually past the point of boiling and had turned to straight lava. Result: a majorly burned mustache.

My medical knowledge is limited, but I figured aloe was probably the best way to treat it. I lathered it on all through out the day and it seemed like it was helping. I made sure to reapply before bed and then hit the hay hoping for better things to come in the morning.

Bloody hell. As I gazed at the face that I only recently came to terms with, my stomach turned. I stared disbelievingly at the site of what my mustache had since morphed into. My face was marred by...a...a...

Blue mustache. Blue?! Blue. Bblluueee. Not like baby blue, but a bright, smurf-y kind of blue. The aloe I used to "treat" it had stained it that not so neutral hue. The burn had really come into its own at that point; it was huge and cracked and very very visible. Did I mention it was blue? Sadly, when you're an adult life must go on even when you're facing certain humiliation, i.e. death. Well maybe not death, but it definitely felt like it! I went about my day, first getting stared at by every member of the family I work for. Luckily they are very polite and didn't bother me with stupid questions about it. I went to the gym and tried to avoid eye contact with everyone there. Soon after I just up and left because I couldn't handle the stares. I mean there really is no normal reason for anyone to ever have a blue mustache. I made matters worse and accentuated it by wearing a bright blue shirt to match. Looking back I think that may have been a mistake.

This new diet is...effecting me.

I'm still on the island and loving the island lifestyle. You might think me to be crazy, but I've been staying in a tent. Yes, a tent. But I love it, and it's totally an acceptable way of living here.

The diet change has been pretty drastic. Now all I ever get to eat here is whole wheat crap, fruits and veggies. Healthy stuff. Which is good; I needed a diet change anyway. And I am constantly aware as I don my swimsuit every day. 

Anyways, when I first got here I decided to go into town with some friends to a coffee shop and use the internet. It was so great to be back in touch with the rest of the world. I went over to a different coffee shop in the next shopping center over, and told my friends to call me when they were ready to go. A few hours later I had responded to all my emails, checked facebook, finished some homework and was ready to go, so I walked back over to starbucks. 

And they were gone. I called, and nobody answered. So it was pitch dark and that meant I got to make the hour long walk home, in the dark, without a flashlight and all of my most expensive belongings on me. It was hell. 

So when I was finally done, all I wanted to do was take a shower. I was grabbing my stuff for the shower house and throwing things around (I was in a very pissy mood) when all of the sudden, it hit. I tried not to panic; the porta-jon was only a little ways away, I could make it. But the creeping sense of urgency in my bowels was not convincing. I  dropped all of my shower stuff and began walking brisquely, legs together trying to talk myself through it. "Everything will be ok. You can totally make it." Then I started running. I swung open the door and just as I went to drop my pants, well...you can probably figure out the rest. Oh Joy.  

Palm Trees, Blue Skies.

Sorry I haven't been on in a while. I've definitely missed it, but with my new class schedule and everything life has been hectic. Have you missed my awkward life? I've missed telling you about it.

So you know how I said I was going to a tropical island? Well I went, and its amazing. In fact, I think I'm going to stay around for a while. But as always there is an awkward story to relate to you.  

When I first arrived on the island, I was completely overwhelmed by the beauty. Especially when coming from the currently arctic mainland, it was such a breath of fresh air. Everyone here is so laid back its fantastic.

One of my friends that lives here on the island came to pick me up from the airport, and I hadn't seen him in forever. So of course I wanted to look good, act cool, and just make a good impression all around. He had all kinds of great plans for us to explore the island and eat some great food. But first, we needed to stop by his bungalow and pick up a few things. 

We pulled up and parked up against some bushes that were blocking the passenger door. So naturally I had to crawl over the seat and the stick to get out while he's watching me. 

Fail. I tried to crawl over the stick, all the while laughing awkwardly and taking forever. I got my shirt caught on the stick and my hand slipped off of whatever I was holding. So I fell half way out of the car, with my shirt stuck, my boobs falling out of my shirt, my hair in my face, stuck to my chapstick, and he was attempting all the while to help me by grabbing me in awkward places. He managed to catch me right before my head hit the ground. After a few more attempts to get out I finally made it, face flushed and hair unkempt. I wanted to make a good impression, but instead I fell all over him.

Bikini or Brazillian?

Next week I am taking a vacation to a tropical beach. That sounds so nice I think I'll say it again: I'm going to a tropical beach. Bitch. As I'm sure you gathered, I am incredibly excited about it. It is long overdue. 

Fabulous bikini: Check. Lose a lot of weight to look equally as fabulous in bikini: uh...onto the next one. New make up: Check. Cute sun dress: Check. 
What am I forgetting?

Crap. 

As I'm sure any woman can relate, the bikini line is a never-ending source of frustration. So I decided to get it taken care of the hard way: bikini wax.

I made the appointment without hesitation but I would be lying to you if I said I wasn't freaking out on the inside as I breezed through the spa doors. Even as she was slapping on the wax I was panicking, trying to think of a way that I could get that wax off later if I just walked out right then. 

And ladies, it was great! A little uncomfortable yes, but not nearly as painful as other women have made it out to be. You hear all of the crazy stories about weeping and gnashing of teeth and only getting one side done. Well they must have had some shitty waxers or a low pain tolerance because it wasn't even close to being that bad!

I was over joyed as I walked out of there. "This could really change my life!" I ran errands before meeting up with some girlfriends for dinner. None of them have ever had one so I was excited to fill them in on how great it actually is. We talked and ate our dinner, and then rushed out of there to make it in time for our movie. As I stood up I immediately thought "Owa..." probably followed by a confused/tortured look on my face. Trying to ignore it I caught up with the girls and we made our way to the theatre. 

But the pain got progressively worse from the box office to the concession, and the concession to the theatre. Half way through Sherlock Holmes my nahnah was in some serious pain. 

So word to the wise: if you're going to get a wax, make sure and buy yourself some aspircream. 

Taking Other People's Advice Can Seriously Screw You Over.

I went to a movie recently with a buddy of mine named Carl. I'm honestly not sure why we ever go see movies together, because we have extremely different taste. We usually agree on what movie to see but if I love it he loathes it, and visa versa, except for the occasional movie that we both hate.

Of course the theatre was packed because of the holidays, and he was all stressed about getting good seats and beating the crowd. Me? I typically could care less. Unless its a very significant film I've been anxiously awaiting, then that's all part of the fun. Flying by the seat of your pants; 'will they have tickets?  Will there be an obnoxious group of teenagers in front that I have to throw popcorn at? If we get kicked out, what will we do tonight?' You know, stuff like that. Carl on the other hand acts like a grumpy old man the majority of the time.

So I had already been out that night hanging with friends and he asked if he could tag along to the movie. "Of course! The more the merrier". Well I'll back up for a second and fill you in on some history: 99% of the time Carl acts like he is in love with me. He's sweet, polite, and kind of shy and we always have the best time together. Whenever we watch movies he observes my face to see how I'll react instead of paying attention to the movie. Same with tv. Or he'll poke me and try and distract me, which never works because I get so into it. Well this movie wasn't much different. Only he started out that way, and then just quit all together. I never go to movies with friends and just sit there the whole time, quiet. I like to know what they're thinking! Discuss the plot, characters, etc. So I started bugging him as much as I could, the whole time trying to be cute and flirty, which rarely works well for me.

The movie ended and surprise, surprise, he hated it and I loved it. So a few days went by without hearing from him so I texted him when I got off work and asked him if he wanted to hang out, chill at his house and watch a movie or something. So I met up with him and we drove around town aimlessly. It was fun though; just talking and listening to the radio. He said he wanted to look around Best Buy so that was the first stop. After that he asked if we could just walk around the shopping center. It was arctic but I agreed, and after some time had passed we made our way into Borders: one of my absolute favorite stores on earth. I perused the cooking section, history, poetry, and of course-the classics, while he stepped away to make a phone call.

"So," Carl said, "I left my electric toothbrush at my parents house. Do you mind going on a little adventure with me to pick it up?" "Sure."
His parents live an hour away. And I later found out that several of his closest guy friends have never even met them before. So you can imagine that I would be a) very confused b) nervous, and c) trying very hard not to read into it. And electric toothbrush? Really? Lame excuse.

We started the long drive and once we made it into his hometown he said he wanted to take the back way so he could show it to me. "It's my favorite drive." Not reading into it.
He pointed out his elementary school, childhood best friends house, etc on the way there. I'll admit, I like Carl, and I was quite enjoying this little peek into his life. Like I said, he's shy, so getting any personal information out of him is typically near impossible.

Pulling up to his folks beautiful country home, my nerves were out of control, but I tried not to let it show. The house was beautiful and quaint, and his mother was absolutely lovely. Friendly, kind, and probably one of the funniest people ever. As I was looking at her I kept thinking, "She looks so familiar. Who does she look like?" It hit me all at once: Me. Still......not...reading into it.

After we had watched tv and chatted for a while Carl gave me a tour of the house, told me the stories behind the pictures on the walls, and introduced his family pets to me. His mom kept telling me stories about him growing up, showing me baby pictures, mentioning what a great man he is...OK, so I was reading into it. But come on! I'm a woman! It was all just too much to sweep under the rug and say "None of this is significant. We're just friends. He really was in desperate need of that electric toothbrush."

So when we were getting ready to head out, his mom gave me a big hug telling me to come back any time, and waved at us as we pulled out of the drive way. Another moment of honesty: I totally felt like the fiance or something, meeting the mom for the first time. It was so weird! I mean, I liked it, but Carl and I had never talked about liking each other. So we finished the ride home, listening to big band music with him sharing personal life experiences about his family, and childhood and so on. What a great night.

A week went by without a word from him. I had texted him once without a response, so needless to say, I was very confused. But whenever I would talk to any of my girlfriends about it they would say "Oh he's so in love with you. He's just shy. He's putting himself out there waiting for you to make the move." Or, "He took you to me his mother?!" And other similar responses, that only confirmed what I ultimately believed.

After taking polls and asking peoples advice, everyone said to just ask him. In these kinds of situations my fear of rejection runs deep, not that it's an easy task for anyone. But with all my friends backing me up, I felt confident that this time would be different.

I waited for the right opportunity to ask him in person, but it never came (and no that was not just me wimping out) so I finally decided a text would be the best way to ask. I hate the idea of having that conversation over texting, but I thought it might take the most pressure off of him since he is so shy.

His answer: No.

I was thoroughly disappointed and embarrassed. How could that be?! All the signs were there. All my girlfriends agreed.

So now, things are sufficiently awkward I would say. I haven't heard from him since and when I ran it by a mutual guy friend of ours he said "Well I could have told you that." Ouch.

I know that I shouldn't let that keep me down, and discourage me from trying again if the opportunity presents itself with someone else. But I'm not going to lie, I have zero desire to EVER put myself out there again. Am I the only one?

Don't Fall.

For Christmas this year my mom gave me three gift certificates for personal training sessions. What a great gift! I'm always trying to get in shape and lets face it, it's difficult (and all of you buff or tiny athletes can just shut up. I'm talking about my fellow carb-lovers). I've tried everything; I think its just hard for me to stay consistent and I don't typically choose very good accountability partners-they usually binge with me. So I was psyched out of my mind (and a little nervous) in anticipation of my first session.

My trainers name is Sanya: a cool bleach blond 40-something that's crazy ripped. She's very nice and personable and I was feeling great about our upcoming session together. We started out with a little warm up that was no big deal, but quickly moved into some intense cardio. I immediately went from feeling good to feeling...dead. I was thinking, "I've got to get out of here." She had me jumping on and off of this high stool, alternating feet and going at a seriously fast pace. I'm not incredibly coordinated when it comes to...I don't know, things like that. Or perhaps just exercising in general. But I generally think of myself as an athletic person (or at least average) and let me tell you, I wasn't feelin it just then. She was probably working me so hard because I'm young and let's face it, I should be in better shape.

I am out of shape.

So as I'm jumping on and off of this giant pain-in-my-ass stool, Sanya's chatting with a passer-by that had a fitness question. Before we began our session Sanya had asked me if I ever pass out. "Uh, no" I said, a little bit cocky. "Well you'd be surprised; I've had a lot of clients black out on me". I was thinking that there was nothing for her to worry about. No way I would pass out. Never have, and probably never will.

Well as I was jumping I missed the step and fell. Bugger. She rushed over to me, and I was attempting to laugh it off because it was humiliating and I felt like a big fat retard. "Let's...uh, try something else, shall we?" 'Can we try like, sitting?' I wanted to say.

We started another routine but I was having trouble focusing as Sanya tried to explain the steps to me. Everything was getting fuzzy. I was feeling a little bit queezy, and...dizzy. Apparently my face was showing it because with a concerned look she asked if I was doing alright. My response: tripping my way into the bathroom. I sat for a few minutes over the toilet ready to puke. Soon it would pass and I would try and stand up but to no avail-that stupid puke monster always came back, so I would sit back down again. I had begun to feel bad for the trainer who's time I was wasting. So I got up and unlocked the stall door. Sanya was looking at me funny. "Do you feel like you're going to pass out honey?" I tried to explain to her that I have no idea what that feels like, because I never have passed out before. But that was soon to change. She ran up and grabbed my arm, dragging me to the fitness room. She laid me down on a yoga mat and put my feet up on an exercise ball. IN THE MIDDLE OF A ROOM FULL OF PEOPLE. With my hands over my head she fanned me and put cold cloths on my head.

I had started to pass out. She kept reassuring me that it happens all the time, blah blah blah, but who cares if it happens all the time?! Here I am laying down, the weeny that almost passed out after working out for fifteen minutes. The room was also filled with hot, buff guys, so that was a plus. All in all, it turned out to be quite a first experience. I will say that my sessions since have been great, because I don't want to discourage any of you from trying it. Just make sure you eat breakfast at least an hour ahead of time, don't drink too much water, and don't think that you are invincible. I did and I was dead wrong.

Rockchalk/Jayhawk.

Recently I went on a road trip with some girlfriends to visit their family, hang out, and most importantly, go see a college football rivalry game. If I'm being completely honest, I don't care in the least bit for football. I don't like to play it, watch it, understand it, and I can't pay attention to whats going on for more than a minute. And while I'm being honest, the only reason I enjoy going is to say I went, and partake of the incredibly over priced artery-clogging food they have to offer there. Sad? Yes. Un-American? Probably.

My friends and I were making small talk trying to kill time until the game started, getting comfortable, snapping a few pictures-being girls. We had joked about hoping some hot guys would sit next to us and laughed about it. Well right as the game was starting, a college age guy came and stood next to me, and smiled real big. Another honest confession-meeting guys in situations like that is my least favorite thing in the world. I'm shy, uncomfortable, and am in no way able to act like my usual self. I get embarrassed. So I was horrified when he started screaming and slapping me high fives every time anything exciting happened, which was apparently all the time. The crowds were noisy, so when he repeatedly tried to talk to me, I had absolutely no idea what he was saying. Which made things more awkward. Little did I know that the noise had nothing to do with his incoherent ramblings-he was drunk as a dog and slurring so badly that he didn't even know what he was saying. All the sudden I heard yelling and looked to my left where he had been standing right beside me. He had fallen down to the next level on the guy in front of him, laying in the mans seat while the victim was trying to peel himself off the guy in front of him. Ridiculous. So, we found different seats.

Of course our luck would be that pretty much the entire stadium was completely plastered, so no seats were safe. The guys sitting in front of us were interesting enough. Once again it was high fives all around whenever anything good happened. Apparently my reactions were not satisfactory to one of the guys so he made it into a little game that he would give all the other girls high fives and then look at me and turn away. Well good. I was completely high fived out, and was actually looking forward to just watching the game uninterrupted. 

But that wasn't going to happen. The guy sitting in front of me said he would give me a sticker if I would act more excited. "Anything to shut you up" was what I was thinking; besides, the sticker he had was pretty hilarious so I actually did want it. "Ok, I will". So he peeled the sticker from his shirt and as I reached for it, he put it right on my boobs and started rubbing his hands all over it to "get it to stick". So I pushed his hands off and said "that's OK, I can do it", but it took him a while to get the point. In the meantime he just kept putting his hands all over me until I pushed him hard enough that it threw him off balance and he desisted. Annoying.

The game was almost over and we were all kind of tired and discouraged because "our" (their) team wasn't doing so hot. One of my girlfriends Eva was sitting next to a guy she knew through a mutual friend (who seemed very nice and chatty) and they were talking on and off throughout the game. For the second time that day I heard yelling, only I looked to my left this time. A man sitting behind Eva had fallen onto our level, knocking the nice sober guy sitting next to her into the man in front of him. I was completely paranoid for the rest of the game that that same situation would happen to me, only I'd fall far enough to meet my death, landing in some guys keg of beer.

  Amazingly enough there were a few other awkward moments, but I won't bore you with those for now. But the good news is, the game finally ended and our team won. What a weekend.

"Nice Panties."

When I was a kid, (okay, it wasn't all that long ago, but we'll go with that) I used to Civil War Reenact. Yes, you heard correctly. It was actually a lot of fun if you enjoy rugged camping with your closest friends.

Most reenactments consisted of a weekend of hard labor and battle's. But the main thing all the young people looked forward to, was the ball on Saturday nights. Big canvas tents, food, friends, dancing, hot guys, etc. So even though the majority of us girls that had been working all day were sweaty and disgusting (there were no showers), we would usually spend quite a bit of time cleaning ourselves up, at least trying to look cute.

At this one particular event, the ball was exceptional, and my overall favorite to attend.
My best friends and I started the long walk to the tents, but first the girls wanted to stop at the porta potties, which were always delightful. I made a short time of it and was waiting on them to come out. Impatient but very excited, my mood was soaring. While standing there thinking to myself how nice I must look, a cute little old man was walking down the path toward me. I smiled my most winning smile in his direction; he stopped and looked me up and down. "Girlie-(I smiled wider knowing a complement must be on its way) "your dress." "Yes?" (still smiling smugly to myself) "It's tucked up in your underpants". My face fell. And with that he was on his way and I was left standing there agape, and completely mortified.

Sure enough my dress was tucked in the entire back and side of my underwear. Karma's a bitch.

"Chinese and a fist pound, please."

One night I was hanging with my buddy Bobby and some of his football friends. As usual, I was the only girl amongst many farting guys, watching sports and stupid guy shows or playing xbox. When it was time to start the game playing, we made our way back to Bobby's friends room where the xbox was located. The only place to sit on other than the floor, was the bed; the only place more questionable than the bed was the floor, so I chose the bed. I've sat on many college guys creepy and crusty beds, but this was by far the worst yet. A full size frame-less bed with little kid sheets, and who knows what else was on there. So I took the safest looking outer corner where I could make an easy escape, if necessary. The worst part about the crusty bed was the piece of foam under the fitted sheet. It was cut haphazardly, starting at the top left hand corner and ending near the bottom right hand corner. Awesome. Lumpy and crusty.

After the guys grew tired of game playing and taking turns mooning each other, Bobby and I made our way back to his place. First he stopped and picked up some chinese for dinner (I wasn't hungry). After we pulled up and got out of the car I told Bobby I was going to head out. After all, the whole night had been an ambush. What started as a casual invite to hang with him and some of our mutual friends at his place, turned into just the two of us sitting alone on his crusty awkward bed, and when that went nowhere, making our way to his friends crusty bed where all of his friends referred to me as "Bobby's girl" all night, which I ignored.

"Already? It's only 11:00." "I know but I'm beat, and I have to work early." "Alright". Bobby made his way toward me. Let me first preface this by saying him and I never are very good at goodbyes. They're always just...weird. We never hug, or really even look at each other, we just split. So as he leaned toward me I figured it was time to bring out the old fist pound. As I went in to pound it, he attempted to give me a side hug which went horribly wrong, and ended in us facing away from each other, my hand still in a tight fist thrust upward, and Bobby's mushu chicken was right in my face, further clouding the whole confusing ordeal. As soon as I could break away I did and we both mumbled our goodbyes while staring at the ground. As I made my way to my car I thought to myself "What the hell just happened?" Needless to say, it was another sufficiently awkward evening.

"You're so fly."

I threw down my leather jacket and purse in the office after clocking in, and begrudgingly made my way towards the back room to get ready for when the shipment arrived. The delivery guy came and went, and I was left with a crap load of boxes that would only get processed completely that day by a miracle. After an hour of ripping open the boxes, dumping their contents on the wobbly counter, and breaking down the boxes (repeat), the new guy came in, looking for some guidance on where he should start.

I gave him the exciting task of "de-bagging" everything I hadn't gotten to yet. The door to the back room slammed shut and I heard the familiar sound of the She Devils shoes, click clacking down the hall. "How's it goin back room team?" I heard the shrill loathsome voice before she appeared in the room. She stood before me, frizzy curly hair, tattoo peeking out of her sleeve, and her crazy eyes to kill that could literally set you on fire if she willed them to. "It's going pretty well", I said in the rehearsed way I always do, considering she asks five different versions of the same question every 20 minutes or so. The new guy didn't turn around when she came in, just continued taking each parcel out of the plastic mechanically. 'Smart move' I thought to myself. Staying out of the way is usually the best defense. I had begun to go over my plan in my head of how we were going to get everything finished by two o'clock, since I knew that's what she'd ask next. There was no way in hell we would of course, but I'd bull crap my way through it and tell her, "I don't see any reason why we can't finish it all today" like I always do. But I'd say whatever I had to to satisfy her enough that she would go away for five seconds. She was leaning on a hanging wrack slouching, one hooker boot extended in front of her. Seemingly innocent, but so evil. She looked at me with a vacant stare, and paused for a moment. "Ethel, your fly is down."

She eased into that one gracefully. Horrified I looked over at the new guy; he was still de-bagging. His expression was one of great amusement, but his gaze was still fixed on the work in front of him, thank god. I looked back at her; she was grimacing and silent. As I reached to pull my zipper up, the sound echoed uncomfortably in the dead, silent room. Great. Another day in the life.