Pajiba

I once corrected the author of a post, and it turns out that I was the one who was wrong!

True story.

You left out your example. I've skimmed through enough of these to know that that is NOT how it goes!

So I'm boycotting this one!

Instead of just, you know, not writing anything, cause I understand what you're asking or don't have a story for it.

When I was first learning to drive, I was stopped at an intersection with the instructor when I heard a loud chirping noise, like from large mechanical bird, coming from the traffic signal.
"What's that?" I asked the instructor.
"It's let's the blind now it's safe to go," he replied.
"The blind can drive?" I asked, in all seriousness.

This is pretty recent, actually, so I can't pretend I'll never be this stupid again.

I was hanging out at a bar with some film friends after seeing Shutter Island, of which they led a post film discussion. After we got our drinks, we were accosted by what was easily the tallest woman I've ever seen in my life. In heels, she was probably 2" taller than me (I'm 6'4"). She was also elegantly beautiful, with very aristocratic features. She came and sat down on the bench with me, addressed all her conversation to me, body language all towards me. Not gonna lie, I was intimidated. Maybe she vibed on that, because she only stayed about 10 minutes.

Flash forward to 10 minutes later as my (by the way, all mid-30s) friends and I were outside animatedly discussing whether or not my admirer acutally a he, I began to give my loud, slightly sauced opinion on the matter; "I think she was actually a woman but I don't know, I mean her hands were" ...at this point my friends are giving me not so subtle "cut it" gestures and wide eyes, because who was strolling out of the bar not 10 feet behind me. She passed with simply a smile. Even though we weren't making fun, or marginalizing, it was not exactly polite conversation. I could have vanished into the ground at that second.

P.S. found out a couple weeks later that she was a post-op transsexual, so, partial credit?

Considering I'm remarkably graceful as well as elegantly tactful, I have nothing to contribute to this endeavor.

Allow me to set the scene: as a kid, I was ridiculously pale. Like, sickly ghostly pale (at one point, people called me Powder).
Summer camp, 1991. Skinner Lake is where this serious foot-in-mouth action took place:
Me (swimming by girl I hadn't met): Hi.
Future Best Friend: Hi.
Me (noticing lots of red skin and bump-type things on FBF): Wow, the mosquitoes must really love you!
FBF: I have psoriasis. It's a skin disease that causes an overproduction of skin cells.
Me: Oh. (uncomfortable pause) Sorry.
FBF: That's OK. (uncomfortable pause) Are you wearing clown make-up?

17 years later, she was the maid of honor in my wedding. So at least we're not grudgy.

Ok, so I'm standing on the platform waiting for my morning train. I pull my blackberry out of my coat pocket and promptly drop it on the platform and watch it bouce off the edge and down onto the train tracks. I ponder my next move for a few moments (knowing that the train is scheduled to arrive any minute) and finally jump down on to the tracks to retrieve the blacberry. Small problem - I can't pull myself back up onto the platform (too fat and out of shape and the platform is just a smidge to high). My fellow commuters are looking down at me in disbelief. And then the train rounds the corner. Now I'm not only emarrassed, but also kind of scared. I finally look up at the nearest commuter and ask him to help me get back up on the platform. He does. I thank him. And he says "That was the stupidest fucking thing I've ever seen." To top it all off, I got to take an hour long train ride with all the witnesses to my dumbass move. Ugh.

Oh, man, I feel you on that "am I really gonna do this" pause. I do this little thing where I kind of scrape my foot forward, then stop and pull it back, then do it again in kind of a jerky motion.

Oh. I got a good one.

So, I'm auditioning for a community theater production of Rent that apparently, everyone in the greater NYC area without an Equity card was auditioning for. I've got my song down perfectly, I am dressed to perfection, and I'm feeling like the best person in the whole damn world. I get called in to audition after a four hour wait. I walk down a perfectly level hallway and land flat on my ass right in front of the director. If that was the worse of it, I probably would have been cast in the show still.

It gets worse. The fall ripped my headshot and resume in half. It's starting to look pretty bad. I'm told it's OK, not to worry, shake it off, etc. (oh, the laughs they must have had after I left the room). But again, there was still a glimmer of hope for me not making a total ass of myself in front of a creative team I've never auditioned for.

But no, it only gets worse. I get up and realize my bad knee is now acting up. So, I'm limping up to the piano to calm down and set my tempo. That goes fine. The sheet music wasn't destroyed and the accompanist is top notch. Everything is finally coming up Millhouse.

But it gets much worse. I limp over to the X on the floor and start my song. My leg begins to twitch. Not uncommon at an audition, and I can usually cover it up. Not this time. What started as a slight shudder somehow turns my entire body into a thicker, real-life version of Olive Oil screaming for help. Everything is shaking and waving uncontrollably and the more I try to stop it, the worst it gets. At best, the audition staff now thinks I have some degenerative disease and feel sorry for me; at worst, they think I am the single worst actor they have ever encountered, somehow mistaking a Rent open call for Kate Bush's Rubber Band Man: A New Musical. I fight off the urge to burst into tears and piss my pants at the same time, thank them for their time, and leave the room.

But not before falling on my ass again on the way out.

Now I feel embarrassed to even pass through that town anymore, let alone try to do anything connected to that theater. Talk about a bad first impression.

I was really drunk at a frat house while visiting my friend at Hotdrunkenmess State University, and while she was making out with a guy in another room, I was left alone on a couch with a guy everyone called "Steve the Pirate." It was about 4:00 in the morning and he asked me if I wanted to go on a tour of the giant frat mansion of drunken debauchery and I said yes, only to come to my senses while I was being lured down a dark hallway. I escaped, hid in the kitchen, started stealing a box of Pop Tarts and a bottle of Hershey's chocolate syrup. When it was time to go, I fell over a couch, my stolen goods spilling from my bag, right in front of the frat president who was not too drunk to realize I was stealing from him. Then I ran away. And fell down a hill on the way back to her apartment.

Kristobel, I feel your pain. My pinnacle of poise and refinement this past year occurred on Halloween. As Magenta from Rocky Horror I drunkenly proclaimed for all to hear that I was kicking off my heels to tear up the mothafuckin dance floor. I took two steps, tripped and broke my ankle. Flat footed. On solid ground. Pure grace.

Ahem.

Lemme just set the scene. I was in an advanced acting class in High School (Oh yea, I was beyond cool) and was asked to write a skit with my group, which was essentially a PSA, for the Freshman class. It was early in the school year and I was a junior (or sophmore... high school just seems to blend together in a whole mess of awkward moments), so it was basically the drama class's introduction to the newbies.

So we wrote this insanely melodramatic skit and my character was this heroin addicted slut. Literally, she shared smack with someone for something sexual. I have no idea how we got away with this for a school play, but it was about how sharing needles with skeezers in the bathroom can totally give you AIDs if you're not careful.

Anyway, my character gets called a slut by her exboyfriend and a crack head (which, come on, is so not fair- she's a smack head, WAY DIFFERENT), so she's supposed to run off sad and dejected because what else is a Heroin Addicted High Schooler supposed to do? (And don't be smart ass and say "Something realistic," because, kiddies, we're abotu two minutes into this sketch and we've already established that this shit is beyond crazy).

Well, I wore mules for my costume. For those uninitiated into the world of shoe fashion, mules are shoes with no backs, but a slight heel and have a closed-toe front. Why I thought my uncoordinated self would be able to effectively run in backless heels, I'll never know. So I run and then I get to about 3 feet before the curtain and I fall fast and hard, right on my face. But since I was practically at the curtain line, nobody sees me land on my face, all they see is legs and ass dropping like a tree trunk. I crawled myself behind the curtain, but the damage had been done.

All of the freshman class that could fit in the auditorium burst out laughing. At me.

But I guess it turned out ok, because the moral of the story was that being a heroin addict will probably cause you to fall flat on your face in front of hundreds of people. Or don't wear mules. I can't decide which one is more important, so take from it what you will.

My moment was first day of sophomore year in high school. I had decided that I was going to turn over a new leaf, be more confident etc. I was in math class and needed a kleenex, which was at the front of the room (our chairs were kind of arranged in a semi-circle so there was a kind of space in the middle). I'm not sure why walking up there was so intimidating to me, but it was. I tried to be all nonchalant as I just meandered up to the front of the room to get it and walked back to my desk. See, not so bad - no one even noticed, right? The kid next to me, who has turned tomato-red in the face says "uh, you dropped your, uh, napkin". I turn around to see that a feminine hygiene product (wrapped in bright green unmistakeable plastic wrapping) that had been in my front pocket had worked itself out and was now laying in the middle of the semi-circle. I hurriedly scurried back and picked it up and raced back to my seat amongst lots of uncomfortable laughing. The worst part was the class president was sitting next to me too and she was laughing hysterically just repeating over and over, "he called it a napkin".

Oh, yeah, my BF told me one about his buddy from work the other day. I know this guy and he has this really nice (although somewhat fiery) Japanese wife. Apparently they were at the park yesterday and he accidentally called her "Japan". Like it was her name. He can't explain it. She was PISSED.

While at a high school track meet, some teammates and I were sitting on our bus trying to pass the time. To our delight, there was a bus full of guys from another high school right next to us trying to do the same thing. As we batted our eyelashes at the boys, one of my friends decided to bet me that I wouldn't go over, go into their bus and flash them. I, being a sensible girl, refused. This led to taunts of prudery and cowardice from the whole bus. Unfortunately for me, much like Marty McFly, this is my one true weak spot.

Enraged, I jumped up and flounced out of our bus to show those girls (and subsequently those boys) a thing or two about what I was made of. With many an internal qualm, I pushed the door to the boy's bus open, hopped up the steps and quickly flashed the boys my goodies. Wanting to get out of there as quickly as possible, I whirled, took three running steps and ingnominiously tripped over someone's gym bag.

Yes, after showing a bus full of strangers my dirty pillows, I then proceeded to fall flat on my face while trying to make a quick escape from an already less than graceful situation. Awesome.

In a crowded NYC diner, over my first cup of coffee of the day, my traveling buddy and I were discussing pizza recipes. She told me that her family makes their own dough using their bread machine. I meant to respond that I hadn't had much success making dough with my bread maker, which somehow came out (remarkably loudly and during a brief lull in the diner din) as, "I never had sex with bread machine dough."

I think the distinguished-looking old couple beside us looked distinctly pleased when we left.

Naivehelga, that is adorable!

This one time, back in my budding martial arts days, my sensei had picked a few of us to attend a regional tournament. I had competed a few times previously, and done well, at intra-organizational events, but this one was to be attended by multiple schools, one of which was our so-called rival.
Bigger tournament; bigger building; many more people milling around in the registration area outside the auditorium than I had experienced in times past.
We had come through the front door, heading through the large lobby towards the registration desk, and I was just soaking in the sights and sounds of the assembled mass, paying only the smallest amount of attention to where I was walking.
With internal thoughts echoing off the walls of my brain-pan in the voice of Roscoe P. Coltrane, of how great it was to be in the midst of a throng of martial artists; to actually BE one of the warriors... I became totally fixated on a raven-haired goddess practicing some of her movements... a sudden flash of foreboding and I reluctantly turn away to look where I was go-BAM!!
I walk face-first into a large metal column... which, of course, rang with a dull, hollow *THUUUUD*, bringing to a halt all bustle of activity while announcing that The King of Grace had entered the building. And oh, look... his nose is bleeding...

When I was a ballerina, I was performing at a fancy-schmancy fundraiser for some cause I can't remember. It was a Big Fucking Deal for me and the company.

A pre-gubernatorial Arnold Schwarzenegger was seated near the front of the stage. Well, my partner missed his mark, and I ended up landing a leap right into the Terminator's lap, knocking over his $10,000/plate dinner in the process.

To add insult to injury, when it was his turn to speak, he made a rather sexist a tasteless joke at my expense: "They didn't tell me $10k included a lap dance!"

Thankfully, this was before cameraphones and youtube, even tho' I'd like to think that if it happened today, he'd be taken to task for likening a 15yo Black girl to a stripper.

However, I was not saved in this one.

Second story: After practice, my acrobatics teammates and I (notice how this shit happens while I'm around circus people) decided to hit the student union on Hare Krishna day so we could have some of their awesome vegan food, the absolute best stuff to eat in order regain massive amounts of expended energy. It was cold outside, so I had my jacket with me and had draped it over my bag. I was in line, getting my food like usual, talking to the Hare Krishna guy that knows who I am by now. I kept wondering why he was giving me nasty looks and being very short with me. As I was paying and rooting around for my wallet, I realized why the nice vegan Krishna man was super pissed at me. I had brought my leather jacket. Into a room full of vegans.

In elementary school (grades 4-7), I was in the choir. I probably shouldn't have been, but I was. The choir teacher/conductor was much beloved, generally considered to be nice and fun and cool. So the students raised some money to buy her a new music stand - we were to present it to her, wrapped, at the end of our last performance for the year. So we're in the gym, whole school assembled, songs sung, and the gift gets trotted out. Now, I am terrible with secrets, highly excitable, and I love giving people presents. So when the teacher clapped her hands in delight and exclaimed, "What is it?", I shouted "IT'S A MUSIC STAND!!"

Cue waves of simmering hatred from every girl standing on the risers with me. I shrank. When they cornered me later, I made up some pitiful excuse about how I thought everyone was going to yell it out. I thought I was going to die of embarrassment.

One night in college I decided it would be fun to leave an ass-print on my friend's windshield. I climbed up in front of 10 other guys, dropped trou, sat down... and my butt went straight through the glass, destroying half of the windshield. I was picking glass out of my asscrack for a week, but luckily there were no embarrassing trips to the ER.

I was not drunk.

To this day stories are told of this night, and I still maintain that there was already a crack in the glass.

When I was in Bootcamp, we had an RDC (Navy speak for drill Sargent) named Quackenbush. The motherfucker was psycho. Well all recruits had something called a recruit notebook. Basically we had to carry it on us at all times, filling it with writing out bullshit like the sailor's creed and shit like that over and over again. The thing had to be perfect. It was also used by other RDC as sort of a punishment thing were they could write shit in it and our own RDC would know to punish us.

I don't remember what caused the ruckus but one day we were stood at attention in our barracks and we had to show the RDC, as he moved down the line our notebooks. As soon as one person had an error, we all had to tear them up completely and we got beat for about an hour or two (meaning we got to do 8 count body builders, push ups, whatever until we puked). It sucked cause these notebooks took a couple of hours to fill out correctly and we had to do it on the 4 to six hours we got to sleep at night, trying to fill the damn things out in the dark.

Next day, same shit happened. Basically are RDC was barely getting past the first four of us before we were getting the shit kicked out of us.

And it happened the next day...

By the forth day, I figured "Fuck this noise...If I get dropped, its for my own doing"

Since I was the second guy in the front of the barrack room, I was certain that my shenanigans would get noticed before Quack would be able to find issue with another notebook.

So I am standing at attention, struggling to keep a straight face, starring directly ahead, when the Quack demanded to inspect my Ricky notebook.

"DIABLO!!! WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS SHIT!!"

"PETTY OFFICER! MY RECRUIT NOTEBOOK PETTY OFFICER!!' (We had to sound off...just like the movies)

"WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU WRITE IN THIS!!!"

"PETTY OFFICER!! THOSE ARE HEARTS PETTY OFFICER!!"

With that, a bit of chucking escaped from the guys standing at attention.

"WHAT?!?!"

"PETTY OFFICER!!! I PUT HEARTS OVER MY EYES AND JAYS!!! PETTY OFFICER!!!"

Now he put his face within an inch of mine, daring me to make eye contact and he hiss
"and why the fuck did you do that?!?"

Yelling at the top of my lungs "PETTY OFFICER!!! EVERYONE LIKES HEARTS PETTY OFFICER!!!"

And with that, I got dropped along with the rest of the division. Within about five minutes, the entire division was on the floor laughing their asses off, unable to respond to Quacks threats.

About two days later, Quack asked me if I was a fag, which was a huge no-no. Almost immediately he realized he fucked up royally. I still got beat, but Quack never again dropped me or anyone else unless another RDC was present. This was a huge bonus because the fucker was a pathetic drunk and would often show up an hour so early so he would take his hangover out on us.

i gave a full report on the atomic bomb and nuclear warfare on 9 11 just as the planes hit the trade center. really smooth osama interupt my report with a live demonstration of terrorisim will you oh one time at scout camp my brother let out a really loud fart during the pledge of Alliegience.

My husband has some charming English relatives. The first time we went to visit his lovely old grandad (in the Yorkshire dales, he knew James Herriot back in the day, blah blah), they bought us fish and chips. Now fish and chips are tasty and all, but do you know what they cook them in there? It's called Beef Tallow. It makes for tasty fish and chips. Followed, in my case, by explosive diarrhea the next day. They had just taken us to tea and we were walking around beautiful Bolton Abbey. it was winter, so thankfully I was wearing long johns. They sped that car back to the visitor's center and I scrambled to the bathroom. I had to throw away the long johns. What a nice visit.

My husband still recalls his grandmother yelling at him to "go save her!" but has yet to figure out what he was supposed to do. And to this day whenever my stomach is bothering me he will inevitably ask if I am going to"pull a Bolton Abbbey" again.

Later the same visit his 85-year old grandad walked in on me showering. I fully maintain he did it on purpose as he congratulated my husband afterward.

One of my high schools surrounded a big concrete courtyard. I didn't have many friends, so I was wandering around it during lunch with some girl from one of my classes. I'm feeling cool, because hey, I'm not alone and hiding in the bathroom during lunch! Then I slip on an effing banana peel and fall on my ass, in full view of half the people in my school who had the B lunch schedule.

An effing banana peel. It was like an old-timey slapstick comedy.

Also, the second half of this post. Actually, most of what is written on that site. I had forgotten about the time, for example, when I met my new boss at an old company. He walked up to me and said, "Hi, Sabrina? I'm Mr. Boss." I was so awkward and blinded by his hotness (seriously, hottest boss I've ever seen, including some fictional ones) that I just looked at him and went, "Sabrina." Yes, he knows. Well done.

If you put "Military" and "flirting" together. You will get a place to meet military singles and admirers in the world! Are you a civilian looking to meet someone in the military? Are you serving in the military? You've come to the right place! We bring together single members of the Army, Navy, Marines, Air Force, Coast Guard, Police Force, and Firefighters -- as well as civilians, veterans. Over the years, we have achieved tremendous success in bringing military singles and admirers together.

The first date I had with the future Mrs. , I drove into the ditch in front of her house (it was snowy and I didn't see the ditch, I wasn't high or drunk no matter what anyone says). Her dad came out and tried to push me out and couldn't do it and I would have had to live there forever (in the canning cupboard, I'm pretty sure) except miraculously a guy on a tractor came up the road and he had a chain and he pulled me out.

Married 28 years in July.

So, i'm driving a rental car from Florida to New Orleans, and about an hour in, I'm starting to feel a little queasy. I roll the window down to get a little air, which doesn't help. Suddenly I have to throw up NOW. No windup, no prep just gagging. So, I'm attempting to drive while I throw up out the window. I got about half in the car door, and half out the window. Onto the car behind me. In stop and go traffic. I got to be embarrassed twice, once when the car passed me, and once when I turned in the rental car, which just did not smell good, even after I cleaned it out at a rest stop.

this isn't my story, but i know the person:

a friend of mine met a dude at a bar in college and took him home for the sexitimes. in the middle of the night she hears a weird noise and wakes up to find the dude sitting on her trash can, pants around his ankles, taking a crap. she yells "what are you doing?" he says "ssssh. i'm in the bathroom!"

they are married now.

"And lily managed to be the most embarrassing."

However, I notice that her grammar, spelling, etc. is much, much better than usual. Apparently the spambots have figured out that we actually CARE about that stuff on this site, and they're genuinely trying to blend in.

First full-time job, 1985, working in a (small) bank (branch). The accountant (and therefore 2ndIC) had a pronounced limp. He opened the door for me one day as we went on our (separate) lunch breaks. Smart-mouthed me was used to quips like "No, shit before the shovel", or the more-refined "swine before the pearls". What came out of my mouth ? (Obvious brain bypass, and then........) "Handicapped first". Still the words I'd most like to retract, even higher than my "I do" to my first husband.

Me, to one of my favorite staff members at work: Did you catch a whiff of [client]? She has the worst b.o. I've ever smelled.

Staff member: I think that's from the chemo she's going through.

Hi, asshole!

This isn't my story but one that happened to an idiot former coworker:
We worked in a call center for a credit card company. A customer was calling in and reached this guy Jeff, asking for a specific extension. Jeff tried to transfer the call but was getting really frustrated b/c at the same time, someone was trying to call through to his own line, and for some reason, he wasn't getting an answer every time he picked up his line.
This happened 3 or 4 times before he finally realized...wait for it...he was dialing his own extension. The customer has been on hold all this time, so he clicks back over to him and says "I'm sorry, you're trying to reach me, I was dialing my own extension, how can I help you?"
My friend Jason and I still talk about this and every single time we say "he's so pretty".

I had to fly out to a job interview. I went to the airport a week early. I did not tell them that.

At the interview for the same job, the night editor and my future boss, was showing me around the area. We met for lunch and I must have eaten something that didn't agree with me because my stomach is churning. We got along well, but I talked less and less as time went on because I knew that I'd spray my lunch all over her car if I opened my mouth. Eventually she stops at a light and leap from the car. I'm full-on projectile vomiting in some poor bastard's front yard. I sounded like a Dethlok record. In front of the woman who will decide whether or not I should get my first job at a daily paper.

I got the job. I should have taken all the mishaps as a hint.

Oh Lindsay,, that reminds me of THE MOST awkward thing I ever did in front of an ex's family. Holy crap, I must have blocked it out...

So, I go with my college boyfriend to meet his folks, for basically the first time. We drive across states to get to their house, and the first thing I have to do after introductions is use the restroom.

Hmm, maybe I should warn that, in addition to humiliating, this story is gross.

I run in to use the restroom. I just so happen to have my friend visiting (for the squeamish), and I'm also having gastro-intestinal issues. As a result, this particular restroom visit is unpleasant to begin with.

Then the toilet won't flush.

So after about five minutes of crying and trying to solve the issue, I have to ask the boyfriend for help. Fast forward ten minutes to him AND HIS DAD working on the toilet, with me, his mom and sister in the hallway. God bless them, they were great, and didn't make things worse (as if they could).

Then I spent all of Thanksgiving day in the guest room with crippling cramps.

The moral of this story: Satan made the uterus as a torture device.

It won’t top anything that’s been posted here already, but here you go... I did figure skating throughout my school years. Was never extremely good, but neither was I completely dreadful at it, but that’s beside the point.

I was 13 when we moved to a different town, and my mother found a figure skating club that agreed to take me in. She drove me to the ice rink for my first practice with these new people, and we arrived way too early with an expectation that there would be paperwork for us to do, and then I would proceed to a skating practice with the new group of girls. I should mention the local junior hockey team had their training practices and home games at the same rink, and on Wednesdays their practice was right before girls’ figure skating practice. The person who was supposed to handle my paperwork was off sick that day, and the young bloke standing in couldn’t find the forms and wasn’t sure what was needed, so he suggested I go ahead to the practice as the instructor was expecting me, and we would do the paperwork later (smallish town, and they were more chilled about those things back then). The office was a bit of a mess on that day actually, the phone was ringing, and that bloke was clearly struggling, to cut it short, he gave directions on how to get to the locker room area, and I promised him and my mother that I was going to be absolutely fine finding my way. My mother left, which was absolutely perfect as far as I was concerned: when one is 14 the last thing one wants is for ones parents to be hanging around during the friend-finding and impression-making exercise, which it was going to be.

So I get to the locker room (it’s empty, naturally, because I’m way early), and I take my time changing and primping.... Phew, I do take a while to get to the point... I’m almost there, promise! I was dancing around the empty locker room in my training bra and panties singing Salt-n-Pepa (yeah, I do that sometimes) when a boy in hockey gear enters the room. He sees me, registers my state of undress, blushes, looks down ... Me? Embarrassed? No way! I am instantly filled with indignation (I mean, PLEASE!), stop singing and demand to know who he is, what the hell he’s doing in my locker room. The conversation would be difficult to reproduce due to its brevity and the fact that he was mostly mumbling while staring at the floor; the only things I could make out from what he said was something about a “... ah ... sorry” and “ah ... girls’ locker room ...” at that point a second boy opens the door sees us, gets shocked then quickly disappears closing the door. I assume the poor bloke who’s still standing in front of me shifting his weight has made an honest mistake barging into a wrong locker room, and proceed to request him to leave. He – very happily – complies. I get dressed for my practice, but then it’s only a quarter hour left until the start of the lesson, and there still is nobody showing up even though there should be several other girls in my group ... looks all too suspicious, so I grab my skates and set out to investigate. I step out of the locker room, and behind the second door is the entire junior ice hockey team, standing there staring at me. I stare at them, then turn around to stare at the door, and YES. It says very clearly on the door that it’s a boys’ changeroom. I’m an utter idiot. Those boys must have just all stood there for good 5 minutes, scared of the batty semi-naked bird in their locker room, all too embarrassed to go and kick me out of there; and I have no idea where their coach was. I ran (skates still in my hand) away, found a loo on the first floor, and sat in a cubicle for 2 hours waiting for my father to pick me up on his way from work. Going downstairs to try and retrieve my clothes was out of the question. So dad shows up (I almost died of mortification on my way to the parking lot, was so scared somebody would see me and recognise me), he asks me how it went and I – like any normal teen would do – burst into tears and tell him I don’t want to skate anymore because I don’t like my new team and the trainer.

My mother didn’t buy it, she also wanted to know where my clothes and house keys were, in short, I had to tell the truth.... The worst thing? Having to go back there. Yes. They made me. It did get better after a while, but man, was it embarrassing when my trainer handed me a plastic bag with my clothes and my toiletries bag, which she had collected on my behalf. It was even more embarrassing when junior hockey players (who knew me WELL from our brief but memorable encounter) would say hello to me when I’d sometimes bump into some of them on Wednesdays. It took me years to live this one down.

I wish I could somehow have read about Diablo's hearts years ago because instead of yammering like I do, I could just pull out some paper hearts when the awkwardness hits. Becuase he's righ, everyone likes hearts.

We were visiting some friends living in the UK. Our friend played on the rugby team at his local pub and we went to go support the team (and the pub!)

A girl I had just met whose bf was playing on the team kept running after the ball whenenver it went out of bounds on our side of the field. After about 10 times of her running up the field I said loudly "Kim's the official ball shagger!"

As soon as it came out of my mouth, I KNEW it wasn't going to translate well. Heads turned, people gasped, my friend laughed her ass off, the ball shagger stopped dead in her tracks. Luckily there was another American there who could explain "shagging balls" to the Brits.

Freshman year of High school, in Honors World History. My teacher is talking about black slaves on the Ivory Coast, and me, being the pretentious know-it-all I thought I was stopped her mid-sentence and said "Ms. Lavoie, don't you mean African Americans?" I objected to her calling black people black (I was young and stupid). She looked and me like I had three heads and said "They're not Americans Ryan..." and then the whole class laughed. My friends STILL make fun of me about it (I'm 24).

My tale comes from early on in college.
My natural disasters exam (that the actual name of the class) took place in a lecture hall known for its utter lack of leg room. We're talking airplane-level scrunching here. This was one of my last finals of the semester, for a blow-off gen ed class, and I just wanted to finish the thing and escape.

As I reach the last page of the exam, I look up to evaluate my exit route. To my right, four or five people remain seated, looking nowhere near done. To my left there's only one person, but she's what I like to call an "aisle dammer". She seems to have half her personal possessions flung into the aisle around her. It's winter in the Midwest, so we're talking multiple layers of outerwear in addition to her backpack, stray notebook, and purse.

As I finish my exam and weigh my options for leaving, one of the guys to my right gets up, leaps onto his chair and back into the row behind us, which offers a clear path to the nearest proctor. He makes it look sooo easy.

So I finish, and attempt to replicate his ultra-suave, gazelle-like maneuver. What I didn't take into account was the fact that he was probably a foot taller than me, with a much longer stride length, and he wasn't carrying a backpack to inhibit his forward momentum. So I step onto my chair and it promptly closes on my foot. I am now trapped standing in the middle of a 500 person lecture hall. The guy sitting a seat over in the row behind me just gives me this exasperated glare and keeps working. I keep pulling, increasingly harder, trying to free my brown clog adorned foot, but the chair won't re-open, and the shoe's too bulky to wedge back through the gap. Visions of emergency personnel dance through my head. The proctor at the end of the row is trying very hard to stifle his laughter.

A few agonizing minutes of no one helping later, I realize I'm basically on par with a raccoon who won't let go of a fistful of food to free its paw from a trap and kick off my clog toward the guy behind me, finally freeing my foot. This leaves me stuck in the middle of the same row. Rather than shamefully edge my way down the row, I climb on all fours over the seat holding it open with as many flailing appendages as possible at any given time. I didn't even bother putting the shoe back on before leaving. I just handed in my test and hobbled away as fast as I could and never looked back.

I just really want to know who gets to crown...cause this whole thread is epic!

My spouse started using a this type diet and it is working really good for her.

What is she really talking about in here? Aritotle words of wisdom suggests that we as humans must always accept what is the reality of the situation and appreciate life.

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