Monday, January 27, 2014

Most embarrassing moments...

I have a video of my son Jack titled: How to kill a mocking turd. You can watch that little ruby by clicking here. Without getting into the gory details, he was having a hard time pushing it out. His running commentary on how to get it out was filmed for posterity. Some commented that my son will kill me one day when he's older for sharing this video, however let me assure you, he'll die of embarrassment first, right after reading the following story about his Mommy. Should we both survive the shame of full disclosure (Oh, the horror of being honest with fellow participants on this planet…), surely he’ll always have the upper hand; after all, at least he was sitting on a toilet.

I've shared this story before, and I share it again for one (or all) of the following reasons:
  1. It makes me out to be classy and sophisticated.
  2. In case you happen to be having a crappy day (pun intended), my hopes are that this will make you laugh.
  3. When I asked some very close friends if I should share this story, they unanimously agreed and said: "Find me one person who has never shit their pants, and we'll call them a liar." Does it bear mentioning that my friends are wonderfully awful human beings? And for that, I love them.
  4. In the off chance that you've soiled yourself today, and you're unbearably humiliated, may this give you hope that there is life beyond this disastrous moment. I promise.
Pick your poison; they all work for me.

Now where were we? Oh, right. The chairlift incident…it still gives me the shivers when I think about it. It's like a truth or dare combo pack - I dare you to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the true so help you God. I don’t even feel safe writing this, however in the spirit of full disclosure when it comes to one of my several thousand most embarrassing stories, here goes. It happened during my third year at university, when about ten of us decided to head down to Whitefish, Montana for spring break. I don’t ski all that often (or well) but the thought of a vacation at a mountain resort sounded appealing.

Once there, we promptly agreed that it was far too cold to actually ski, not to mention the effort required, so we buckled down in our rental chalet and started to play a drinking game. The game itself was easy. Or so I thought. There was a deck of cards and you had to guess whether the card being flipped over would be a black suit or a red suit. Not exactly a mind bender. (Hey, we were Aggies, not biochemical engineers.) If you guessed wrong, you had to take a sip from your beverage. Active listening not being one of my core strengths, I was downing my entire drink each time, rather than taking just one sip. For the record, I don’t recall anyone mentioning the “one-sip” point during the initial reading of the rules. Regardless, in a disastrously short period of time, I ingested copious amounts of alcohol and retired from the game rather early, finding comfort and solace face down in an empty pizza box. A mercy kill, really.

The next day, disastrously weary but determined, we got up and hit the slopes, ready to exercise and sweat out the alcohol and vanilla-cherry cigar impurities. Truthfully, I felt like death warmed up, however I put on a brave face for the crew. I even attempted to hit a few jumps on the way down to see if I looked anywhere near as cool as the Olympians on television. (Scattered reports gathered much later indicated that a three-legged mule strapped to plywood would have appeared more graceful.)

I’m guessing that all the bumping about on the ski jumps led to the serious loosening of my guts. As I was lining up for the chairlift afterwards to head back up, my stomach started making some very strange sounds. It felt like something was kicking me from the inside – something large. With a violent temper. My friend (who shall remain anonymous) was with me when I heaved myself back onto the chairlift. I was desperately trying to pay attention to her endless chattering, while all my focus was on not crapping in my ski-pants. I was in a full state of alarm. Have you ever tried to cross your legs in an awkward attempt to squeeze your butt cheeks together really hard, while wearing skis that are six feet long, whilst desperately clinging to a chairlift? No? Then, I dare you. Double-dog that bad boy.

The panic that overtook me can hardly be described. Here I was, hundreds of feet in the air stuck on a chairlift, in minus God-knows-what temperature, about to ruin my brand new ski-pants. (Actually, they were my sister’s ski-pants. Oops.)  Really, can it get any worse than that? Noticing my discomfort, my friend asked me what was wrong and I told her that I didn’t know exactly, but I didn’t feel too good. I told her I had to go to the bathroom really badly, and that I didn’t know if I would be able to make it. I vaguely remember her asking what I meant exactly by not being able to make it. My answer came loud and clear; the sound that sliced through the crisp morning air, and ricocheted down through the valley, confirmed our worst fears. It was meant to be a tiny harmless fart to let some of the pressure escape, but it ended up being just a little bit more. A shart would perhaps not be the most apt descriptor for what befell my ski pants that fine day. Yes. This cat shat.

As Sigmund Freud so cleverly discovered when treating patients who experienced puzzling losses of normal functioning, the shame was merciless. I believe our friend Sigmund used the term hysteria to describe the aftermath of such an event, and suggested an associated unconscious conflict. I can’t comment on the unconscious conflict, but the conscious conflict I was having at that exact moment was not to faint with embarrassment, for fear of plunging to my death. My friend was laughing so hard she almost knocked the both of us off the chairlift with her incessantly shaking. As my good luck continued to run its course, she managed to catch her breath long enough to scream to our friends on the lift behind us, eloquently informing them of what had just happened. A voice like hers really travels through a mountain range; I’m certain only four hundred fellow skiers, give or take, heard about my accident. At least it was contained to that. When you're ready to die, four hundred people isn't that many. Did I mention I was suffering from hysteria? I made my friend ski right behind me all the way back to the chalet, just in case it was visible through my ski pants. Children don’t need to see these sorts of things.

In the end, it sounded worse than it was, with minor skid marks being the extent of the damage. I’ve clocked it as a small miracle. Although I did lose a few barrels of dignity that day, the ski-pants were salvageable, and have since been returned to my sister (with a packet of Lysol wipes tucked nicely into the pocket). I’ve since heard of this vodka phenomenon being referred to as The Russian River. It was rushin', alright. Furthermore, let's be clear that the vodka company that produces Silent Sam should seriously rethink the name of their beverage. There’s nothing even remotely quiet about it.

Here's a photo of me shortly after the incident:

Here forthwith, are some of the most embarrassing things you've ever done.

Hmm…puking in a restaurant in front of my new boss, and him trying to catch it all in a wine glass. That, or falling down a flight of stairs in my gown at the reception for my university graduation. Good times, proud moments. Did I mention booze was involved on both counts? That's likely stating the obvious...

Grade 7 Social Studies class. I asked my teacher during class how dinosaurs had sex. He was literally speechless. I wanted to die.

I have to leave this one out for safety reasons...the statute of limitations isn’t my friend just yet.

Farted loud enough to propel a small rocket in front of my entire high school gym class. Seriously.

Getting into the wrong vehicle at the end of the day to go home. My husband was picking me up, I saw a blue van just like ours and walked right from the office building into that van and sat down, only to realize it wasn’t my van! The guy driving was pretty shocked too. I just got out and ran in the other direction.

I had a girlfriend from out of town once when I was 20, and brought her home on a weekend my parents were away. She was there when they got home on Sunday and I thought it would be a good time for them to meet one another. Big mistake. To them, I was sneaking around behind their back. It was a very humiliating and stupid judgement on my part. It coloured their relationship with her from that point onward.
In high school I had an enormous crush on a boy in a grade above me and (for whatever reason) he put my winter coat on and then proceeded to put his hands in the pocket, only to pull out a maxi pad. He screamed like a girl and threw it halfway across the school. Maybe I shouldn’t have been the one that was embarrassed, but I was. Something about boys, high school and having your period was pretty damn embarrassing.
Oh, good Lord…I try not to remember the embarrassing stuff. Kind of like it didn’t happen then, right?
Doing something too inappropriate when I was drunk. I could probably make that plural.

Where would I even begin?! When backpacking around Europe, my friend and I had our belongings stolen while we were sun-tanning on the beach in Barcelona (ahem, topless) Luckily, I was using my (very) mini daypack as a pillow at the time, which at least helped with a tiny little bit of coverage as I walked all the way up La Rambla wearing nothing but my bikini bottoms, and doing my best to cover the critical part of my ta-tas with my hands!
Drinking an upside down margarita in a bar, trying to pick up the boys, and having it drain out of my nose. Can you spell S-E-X-Y?
Ha, I never get embarrassed.
This is one of those things I can’t bring myself to talk about.
Got really intoxicated at a concert we drove 7 hours to get to.

Climbing up the tree faster than everyone, being suddenly overcome with the urge to urinate from above, then being caught doing so by my father.
When my kid wanted to leave church and I kept whispering to him, “Not yet, honey. Father isn’t finished.” He kept asking if it was time to go, and I kept repeating the same thing to him over and over, until finally he turned to the front of the church and shouted out, “Just shut up, Father!” In his defense, it was a rather long sermon.

Running errands around town with an old mop hanging off the back bumper…a four foot wooden handle dragging down every time I slowed down or turned. Very entertaining for everyone on the sidewalks. Got to love a spouse who thought that the back bumper of your Citation was the ideal place to let the mop dry off after cleaning the garage floor!

Got caught talking smack about a girl while in the bathroom stall at a social, and she was in the other bathroom stall. I was eyeing up her boyfriend and made a few crude comments – she heard it all. Argh!

Oh where do I begin! I have numerous small embarrassing moments. The time in Grade 5 when those velour volleyball shorts were in and I was late for gym class and changed in a flash, and in that flash I also flashed the janitor my tight whities as I fled up the stairs. And then proceeded to flash the entire Grade 5 and 6 class with my cute undies, which had a picture of a boy and girl under an umbrella! Devastation! A boy in my classed looked at me, pointed and yelled “YOU FORGOT TO PUT YOUR SHORTS ON!”, then he physically collapsed to the floor in laughter. I ran BACK down the stairs and flashed the janitor again (for good measure) and changed into those damned short shorts. I was “lucky” enough to have the class with my brother, so he made sure it was the first topic of conversation at the dinner table that night. From that day on I was called “Gitch” up until about Grade 12.

My kids wanted me to barrel-race at the fair. I didn’t want to disappoint them, but wasn’t dressed for the occasion. On that last barrel, the horse picked up steam, eliminating the final piece of friction between my polyester slacks and the saddle, and off the horse I flew. My kids were laughing, although I couldn’t hear them that well for the concussion. I’m quite certain it wasn’t just my kids laughing, either.

To be 18-years-old and not be able to talk to a girl!

Sitting my butt on the kitchen table only to realize the warmth I was feeling came from the smushed pile of mashed potatoes that now had the grooved imprint of my cord pants.
Starting a new school with a boy’s haircut in my brother’s hand-me-downs, and getting redirected to the boy’s bathroom accordingly!

When I was 16-years-old, I received a DUI and that was embarrassing…overdrinking in general in my younger years. You think you’re cool, but in the end you look like an asshole. At that age, I was trying to be the life of the party, but looking back now upon that period of my life, I needed to grow up. I have never had addictions issues, it was more about acquiring as many friends as possible. This may have been a result of my dysfunctional relationship with my father. You’re making me think about this.

I sprayed my hair so it would lighten in the sun and it went yellow. I looked in the mirror and thought, who the hell is that? My friends and I had a good laugh about it because two of them had shocking results trying to dye their hair as well.

This one time I drank too much and…

Tried to say something “right” instead of just being authentic at someone’s retirement celebration. It was very uncomfortable.

Peeing my pants in Grade 7.

When my new silk sundress FELL OFF while I was dancing at a wedding…just slithered down my body. What did I have on? Nothing but the skimpiest of bra. Yikes! Clearly the stupidest spaghetti straps everrrrrrrrrr. I tell you, silk moves fast. Learning how to tie a good double-knot is the lesson here, my friend.

In Grade 12 we were playing volleyball, and there was another game going on and the gym was full of people. We were warming up in the corner and another girl was stretching out my legs.  I told her not to stretch too far because I had to fart. Well, she took that as an invite to “pump” it out, and moved my leg slightly too far and of course, I let it rip and it was LOUD!!! It stopped the play…everyone in the gym turned and looked at us. My coach was fuming red on the other side of the gym, and the entire team was laughing.

Singing karaoke to “When I Touch Myself” at my sister’s wedding. It was special request from a lovely family member of mine! Nice.

Countless hangover phone call apologies.

I was about 14, out with my friends on a very cool winter day…I had to go to the bathroom very badly and y friends were making me laugh. I ran into a local restaurant but didn’t quite make it to the bathroom in time. When I came out my pants were wet and my friends were gone. I took my jacket off and wrapped it around my waist as I walked home, alone, in the cold, with wet marks down my leg. I can’t believe I am telling you this!

I called one of my husband’s colleague’s 10-year-old girl a little boy…six people were trying to stop me and I couldn’t understand what they were saying over the noise of the crowd. OUCH. She did have a GI Jane haircut. Not fair, really.

My gosh, where to begin! First farts in front of a new girlfriend?

I have many to choose from, but this one comes to mind because it’s recent. Stop me if you’ve heard this one…I was at a wedding and I fell ass-backwards into a coat rack at the end of the evening. The bride and groom, of all people, had to pull me out while my husband stood by laughing hysterically.

How about the time I stayed overnight at my friends (on the next farm) and wet the bed? I was about 8…highly embarrassed!

When I was a lonely, single Mom, I asked the pizza guy out to a movie. He said yes…then called back 10 minutes later and said no. Not my finest moment…I was just sick of going to movies along. Ugh. Insert cringe here.

I was once at a wedding, and had gone to nurse my baby. When I came back, I was sitting at our dinner table for a good 20 minutes before anyone bothered to tell me that the top of my dress was still wide open.

Definitely my multiple public tirades before I learned how to get my shit together and keep the crazy under wraps. It’s ironic that people don’t remember every time I was pleasant and lovely, but I’ll be damned if they don’t remember EVERY TIME I had a bout with the crazy!

Hard for me to pick my most embarrassing…puking up my dinner at a local pub after downing too many paralyzers. Or getting trapped in the outside lobby of an apartment building when going to get a pizza and being locked out, and having people seeing me lying there in my pajamas (eating pizza, mercifully) as they head to work in the morning.

Nothing I can think of…I was too shy to step out and do something stupid. I thought about doing wild and crazy things, but never did them.

I’m pretty sure it’s something I should be embarrassed about, but was too drunk to remember. I am grateful every time I am on Facebook that it was not around during my University days.


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