Category Archives: Guest Post Series

Written by other people during a time where my brain was totally occupied.

Guest Post: Embarrassing Story #5

And here we are, ladies and gentlemen. It’s our final post (I think…I did get a late entry that may come soon, but not until after I write my embarrassing story down for you!) This comes from “Kath”…and what could be better than boobs and the cops colliding? Ah, yes. When someone WRITES about it! Enjoy!

S.

This is a duplicate of an email conversation I had with my old PhD supervisor last year, following an embarrassing encounter I had with a cop.

Re: A Boob Story

And by “boob,” I mean “breast.”

I was off to the library to return some stuff this morning, at 4am nonetheless, when the police pulled me over for a “random” breath test and license check. I was driving the only car on the road so it really wasn’t all that random. (Also, apparently it is suspicious to be going to the library at 4am, because I was questioned thoroughly about it.) I was busy thanking my lucky stars that I’d had time to slip my seatbelt on properly ($300 fine) when the cop noticed I had a recently expired registration sticker. I was told that it was “technically an offence” but that “no one really cares that much.” (I plan to use that last phrase when I start my career as a litigator.)

I thought I was being let off with a warning because I had a cute dog with me. When I got to McDonald’s drive thru and looked downward to get my purse I realised that a hole in my well-loved pjs had shifted, along with the seatbelt, to leave very little to the imagination.

They can’t really see much when they shine the torch into the car, can they?

K

Greg’s reply:

Do you reckon you could possibly re-enact this for TV? I suspect that driving even in the wee smalls with more than one puppy on show might technically be an offence too, but what the hell. On the other hand, you’re driving your dog in your badly adjusted neo- punk grunge nightwear at 4am — for all the world like you’re Paris Hilton just coming home, or maybe Amy Winehouse — “to the library” [has book in car, thinks quickly but not too well] — he must have thought he was on a winner. And then she’s stone cold sober — who’d have thought. Did they check for other substances, or isn’t the arm of the law that long?

If you’re going to behave like that you have to come back to Townsville; it would be a front page story here. Thanks for sharing.

G

Me:

Why would I need to re-enact it? I caught the whole thing on my mobile phone. I’ll let you know when it is scheduled to air on ‘Funniest Home Videos.’

K

Greg:

You did it on purpose! Go you good thing! Which number Police Academy should I pre- order?

G

Nah, not on purpose. A la Paris Hilton, recording myself on my mobile phone is just habit.

K
And that’s it, all. Thank you so much for sharing these stories with me and my readers. Coming soon: Sugar Snap Me is featured in a High School Pep Rally. Can’t you just picture it? You can’t? Well, don’t worry….I have a picture for you.

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Guest Post: Embarrassing Story #4

First of all, I would like to issue a big heartfelt thank you to all of you who submitted an embarrassing story to me. This is the second to last in the series, and this particular post is from my dear friend Erica, who has share with us before. (If you are new to my blog, please visit these three guest posts, and you can thank me later: #1), #2, #3) I’ve had a busy month transitioning to my new job, and dealing with the kids beginning school. It hasn’t been easy, and one of the things that I LOVE about my life is that I can write this blog, but I knew that it would need to be put on hold while I get my footing in this unsteady sea of change. So, thank you for offering me a respite in the form of debilitating shame. You are too kind, and I love you. Now, on to Headgear, the self esteem killer:

Embarrassing memories are not hard for me to come by. I think I can safely speak for most of us when I say that childhood is rife with embarrassment. We are embarrassed about ourselves in general—how we look, tripping in front of other kids, crying in class, not to mention our parents, our totally un-cool church shoes, and let’s face it, the haircut you so badly wanted but which made you look like a boy so that when you held a door open for a nice old lady at a store she said, “Oh, thank you, young man” and you cried bitterly for a half an hour in JC Penny’s. OK, so those are mostly mine, but am I right?

I feel like I spent my entire childhood embarrassed about something or other. At all times. Like there was never a time when I was fully self-confident. I played the cello for goodness sake. Ever try looking cool while carrying a huge instrument case through the hallways that was bigger than you and you had to kind-of shuffle and lug and NO it’s not subtle. Like a flute case. Or piccolo. Or nothing. Because cool kids didn’t play instruments, right? And then there’s this. I had headgear in 3rd grade. And I had to wear it TO SCHOOL. So let’s not talk about embarrassment. I will WIN. Every time. I just have to say HEADGEAR.

Look, I’ll say it again: HEAD. GEAR. Just the name makes me a little nauseous.

We had a luau in 3rd grade and all the classes participated. We did projects in class, like making those little table-top volcanoes and making them explode with vinegar and baking soda, and we all tie-dyed either shirts (boys) or dresses (girls) in art class to wear to the Big Event. So maybe I wasn’t paying totally the most attention ever in art class (I was probably trying to hide my HEADGEAR) and I totally dyed my dress upside-down. So, while ALL the girls had a dress that went top-to-bottom red then blue then green, mine went green then blue then red. I was mortified. Plus the fact that the tie-dye totally clashed with my HEADGEAR.

Once I didn’t have to wear that insane torture device to school anymore (I’m talking about the HEADGEAR, in case you forgot), I was so self-conscious I would do anything to blend. But…I’m not a blending type of gal. I didn’t know how to do it. I was too impulsive. I was too emotional. I was too….I don’t know, ME. So I impulsively shaved my legs in 5th grade before I really needed to, because I self-consciously thought my legs were too hairy and of course I had NO idea how to do it, and I scraped the front of my calf off completely. I was so embarrassed about it, I didn’t say anything to my mom, or my sister, but bled horribly through the ten band-aids I tried to contain the wound with and went to school in my pastel floral pants, which I completely bled right through and was made fun of mercilessly by a boy who will remain unnamed. I will never forget the utter disdain in his voice when he said to me, “What did you do CUT YOURSELF SHAVING????”. I of course denied it vehemently. But to this day, I am So. Careful. I still hear the tone of his voice and my face burns. Ugh.

I hate that when my proud parents asked me to “play a little something” on my cello for visitors I would just DIE of embarrassment and refuse. They were so proud. I was good, too. But I just couldn’t do it. I didn’t even like them to hear me practicing as quietly as I could in my room with the door closed tightly. I couldn’t bear that anyone would hear me. It’s so sad thinking about embarrassment and WHY. Sometimes embarrassment sticks with you. It’s life. It’s what makes us who we are, doesn’t it? If only we had the wisdom of experience. Have courage! Be brave! LIVE! It’s way more fun.

But seriously, the headgear you guys? It’s exactly as bad as you think. Exactly.

Coming up next in the finale of embarrassing story submissions: Aptly titled, “A Boob Story”.

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Guest Post: Embarassing Story #3

I love this story. It makes me feel much, much better about Rowan spending all year in preschool being a dinosaur. Take it away Kira:

In third grade I was painfully dorky and I would always sit and read by myself before the bell rang. I also stayed inside during one of the recesses to  read in the library or write stories about these two kids named Derrick and Marsha who time-traveled. Who DOES that? Obviously the other kids made fun of me for being such a gigantic nerd, so I came up with a brilliant solution: I…made cat noises at them. Like, hissed and stuff. And I didn’t break character, not even if they told me to seriously stop because I was freaking them out. Yep. That’s what 8-year-old me came up with. It did wonders for my popularity.

Coming Up Next: The Horrors of Headgear. For more thoughts regarding cats, please click here.

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Guest Post: Embarrassing Story #2

So this story is one to be savored. And I don’t mean that literally. Thank you anonymous person whose identity only I know and will relish knowing for the rest of my life…thank you.

I don’t embarrass easily. In order to make this story work, I need to do this thing in two parts.

Before we begin, I should say that my significant other is embarrassed by this story and therefore I wish to remain anonymous. For his or her sake.

Part I

 

We once moved from one place to another. We stayed with some friends on our way out of town, and the day happened to be a holiday where Americans typically drink. So we drank. And as it turned out, the people that I was with were much less interested in drinking the HUGE bottle of wine we had than I was. So I drank it all.

Then I went to bed. In the middle of the night I got up to go to the bathroom. It was weird because I was in the bathroom before I had any idea why I was going there.

It soon became apparent that I was there in order to vomit profusely. Having never experienced food poisoning or the flu, I was unfamiliar with some of the side effects of violent chunk-blowing. As it turns out, a bowel release is a somewhat common occurrence, and one that I was in no way prepared for.

Yep, my pants were still on.

To make a long story short, there was some extensive clean up and we didn’t leave until 5 PM the next day.

Part II

 

Some time later, we visited some friends in a different city. We went out to a bar where they knew a bartender. Also, our friends were very good at drinking and very encouraging with regards to the drinking of others.

We sat at the bar and drank way too much. I also had such a variety of drinks that I still get nauseous when I think about it. I drank wine, beer, something with milk in it, shots, mixed drinks, etc. Disgusting.

The extravaganza was finished off by me doing three double shots of Jaegermeister in a row. (How am I still alive?)

I immediately went to the bathroom because I wanted to prepare for the inevitable. I went in and forced out as much poop as I could, because I knew vomiting was in my not-too-distant future.

As I left the bathroom area, I had to do an immediate U-turn around a partition to head back toward the bar and my people. This bathroom was in the now-closed restaurant section. I rounded the partition and the resulting spin was enough to send me reeling backward. I tried to catch myself, but all I did was send barstools – that were previously on top of tables – to the floor with me.

Since the alcohol affected my body before it affected my mind, I was fully aware of what had just happened, and all too aware that trying to get up by myself would be futile. So I just lay there and watched the horror on the faces of my other and my friends, as they knew they were about to take responsibility for me.

*PROUD MOMENT ALERT* I did not vomit on the ride home, which was especially important since it wasn’t my vehicle.

I made it into our hotel room somehow. I went to the bathroom to let the vomit out.

And somehow, some way, I still had feces in my bowels. Well, at least before the puking.

I may be the only non-elderly adult in history to poop his or her pants twice. And it’s not fair. I took precaution.

P.S. I do not get drunk anymore. But I have vomited since that day. Rest assured that I did so while sitting on the toilet. If I forget in the future, at least I’ll have another story to submit to this blog.

Coming Soon: An embarrassing story that hits close to home and features…um….meowing.

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Guest Post: Embarrasing Story #1.

Ladies and gentlemen! I am thrilled to share with you the first embarrassing story to land in my inbox. Thrilled because, well, somebody did what I asked them to do…AND because it takes a load off of me. And let’s face it. It’s ALL about me. Take it away, Jennifer!

Let me preface this by saying, Thank SIPNEL I was not on a date!

I was out to dinner with 2 friends when the waiter came to take our order. I went first and after I’d placed my order the waiter reached out his hand to take my menu. I, however, interpreted this as “I’d like to hold your hand.” I have absolutely no explanation whatsoever as to why I thought this. So, feeling a little awkward, I reached up and held his hand while placing my drink order.
Both my friends burst out laughing, and the waiter, clearly perplexed, said “O.K. Can I have your menu please.” At this point I realized…what? that I was an idiot? that I had forgotten I’d ever been in a restaurant before? that my brain had completely failed me? that this was the most embarrassed I’d ever been?

The waiter could not approach our table without laughing for the rest of the dinner. And I still get embarrassed when I tell this story. But it’s so damn funny that I have to tell it, at my own expense.

Coming up next: a saga involving poop.

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