OH NO: Part one

I have never had the urge to send in my Most Embarrassing Moments to Seventeen, or maybe the grown-up versions to Cosmo or Glamour. For one, I think that embarrassment is healthy, it keeps the karmic scales calibrated and teaches you lessons about yourself and others, and half the time, the embarrassments aren't noticed or witnessed by a lot of people. You know? And I like to think that those, especially, are little karmic reminders of how weak, and easy-to-humble or humiliate you really are.

And usually they're small ones, falling on your face (literally or otherwise), being the butt of a joke, realizing you're somehow exposing a part of your body you shouldn't be. Farting loudly, sneezing so hard snot comes out and drapes itself across your cheek and upper lip, in the middle of a lecture or party conversation. Ones that aren't that big a deal, really, except for how you respond to them, usually with blushing and sheepish shame. But sometimes, they are huge reminders, HUGE, and looking back after the whole thing has come and gone, you see the warnings the cosmos were sending your way, and how you denied them because you and your thick head had an idea and it was going to come to fruition and as a result, what happened happens and you can't cry, because it is too big for crying. Crying is an act of indulgence in these situations, and there is no indulgence allowed right now. Brass tacks, friends, let us be real about this. What happened last night is too big and humiliating to be dumb over.

Like I think I shot someone last night, I really do, and now I'm hiding in your basement and you just threw a Capri Sun and a bag of 100 calorie wheat thins down at me, and your eyes are blank. It's cool, the cops are coming anyway, no matter where I go, we'd better just watch some 'Real Housewives of NYC' until they show up.

I would tell you, but I feel like nobody talks about these moments on their sites. You are all classy, dainty, well-bred cultured people, with nicely decorated homes and photography skills, cute clothing and no stories like this. I feel like it would be horrifying, this story between pictures of pancakes and Sesame Street videos. And who would want to? Every person I told the story to, explaining in full detail because no one else was there and the incident happened to me and indirectly affected someone else, and probably our friendship, has said a variation on the following condolences:

"I wish they made a card for this."
"Oh SHIT."
"NO."
"Awesome story. Awesome story. In ten years. When you no longer know him. Awesome story. For your kids. In ten years."
"I am telling _____. Can I tell her? Is that cool? Oh MY GOD."
"He probably didn't even notice."
"Just send out a MySpace Bulletin, apologizing. Just tell everybody at once, before word gets out."
"Oh honey."

So there we go. Last night something really embarrassing happened. A perfect storm brewed itself up, and there was no escaping it once I was sucked in, and I can't tell you about it, but I'm going to, eventually. This is just part one.

Comments

[elbie]

Make with the embarrassment already. Here's hoping it's been tempered by the mellowing effects of time and prescription pain killers.

[melanie]

i want to hear your story...i hope i don't have to wait 10 years! we all have those moments...whether we admit it or not.

[tracy]

you are such a tease! I'll swap you a few of mine if you tell me yours! The suspense is killing me girl!

[rach]

I want to hear your story!

The other night some good, sophisticated, worldly friends of the man I share my house, bed and cat with came over. They were all beautifully dressed and did not have frizzy hair. One made a batch of gingerbread wrapped tastefully in a print of an antique map and tied with string. I made a batch of ANZAC biscuits and served them on a wire rack. I wore a pair of jeans with a prominent hole in the crotch. I was also barefoot, and had wet hair when everyone arrived. Somehow the subject of weddings came up and I loudly shared my opinion about hastily arranged marriages. His friends sweetly and politely told me they'd organised their own weddings in a matter of months.

Trust me, it went down from there.

Once more, I want to hear the story!

[Wende]

Ok, darling girl, you've clearly not been reading my blog "dainty?" Uh...

And this better be part ONE or you'd better be sending private email. Because, Uh, I NEED TO KNOW. You know, so I can be all sympathetic and all.

But you do make a fair point---it's not like we're all going to pony up scandal if you do. Maybe we should. Oh, wait... maybe someone ELSE could post your letter from the Universe on THEIR blog? I'll volunteer. :D

[kickpleat]

details, puhleez!

[meghan]

Um, am I allowed to say fuck them? Seriously. If you have enough of a track record, you are allowed to run over old people/go out without panties/forget Brazil speaks Portugese rather than Spanish. Your blog is solid enough that I believe in you. Burn the evidence, have a beer, and move the fuck on; I will help you destroy DNA if it comes to it. Don't apologise.

[Emily]

Now you have to share all the juicy details.

To trade: here's a very un-dainty story from me. Last night Rob and I were nearly run over in the crosswalk by two metrosexuals in a $90,000 SUV. When we stood up for ourselves, they proceeded to follow us down the street yelling profanities out the window. Being that I am a person propelled by guilt, I felt bad about it for most of the night. Alternatively for sticking up for myself and then for not defending myself more. Yuck.

[Jessica]

I am SO intrigued. You best be believin' I'll be sitting on the edge of my uncle's cracked leather la-z-boy snacking on my 100 calorie pack until you return.

[Kitt]

Oh my.

Embarrassing moments do have a saving grace: They sometimes make for a Good Story, later on.