How Not to Tan (Alt title: Nekked Church Chat)

(Alternate Alternate Title: A Special Summertime Embarrassing Moment)

Take a look at a white person. If you are white, this will be really easy. Now, look at a part of that white person that the sun doesn't touch. You may want to use the solar eclipse pinhole method so you don't burn your retina. This is the color of my entire body. Plus freckles. 

Folks [who don't know me in "real life"] often assume that I am tan because I live in Florida. These folks are very wrong. My super fair skin was the target of choice for many a mean girl in school. For a long time, it really bothered me. I wore pants. In Florida. During the summer. 

In late teenhood, I got hip to self-tanner. My top 3 issues back then: (1) it stank; (2) it washed off while swimming; (3) no two parts of my body ever matched. Self-tanner has improved a bit over the years. My issue now: it still washes off while swimming. Come on tan scientists. Make it work.

Anywho. Somewhat recently, I was to be a bridesmaid. Always the bridesmaid, never a book contract. The bride had a spray tanning party which I refused to take part in. Until I saw everyone else looking gorgeous and bronze. The party was an in-home, get naked in a tent sort of thing. There were two sprayers - one male and one female. The other bridesmaids did not want to get naked in front of the male sprayer. I figured he was like a gyno - you see enough whosy-whatsits, they stop phasing you. So the bride and I were sprayed (separately) by Mr. Tan. 

As I was standing in all my glory, Mr. Tan said, "Spread your legs a little wider. Oh, by-the-way, you go to church with my brother." Boom. Boom. Pow. He then proceeded to ask questions about church. I had on pasties, y'all. Jesus chat + exposed lady bits = no. Sorry.

To top it all off, the tan started to peel in odd patterns before the wedding. I had to use Sally Hensen spray hose. All over. I may have looked like parts of me were made of plastic. Plastic that was melting on my dress. 

Your turn. Tell us about the weirdest position you've ever been in when questioned by a stranger.

Crotch Shots Are So Last Year (or whatever year that was)

Waaaay back in 2007, ya know - the year Britney Spears came back, I coordinated a conference* that brought 120 top guns from [academic] economic development organizations to my town. And then I showed them my boobs. 

It was the last day of the conference and we were experienceing red tide and tropical storm force winds. These are the trade-offs for living in paradise. I happened to be wearing a new shirt I had bought specifically for that day. It was dressy (shiny) and comfortable (cause I knew I'd be doing a lot of tear-down and pack-up). It also had buttons. Alllll the way down the front. Which is a totally normal thing for a shirt to have. Many, many shirts work this way. I was carting a ton of crap really important stuff to my car when the tropical storm force winds whipped up in just such a fashion to completely unbutton my shirt and flap it around like I was daggum Demi Moore. Two of my coworkers were with me. Countless other colleagues were inside the banquet room next to me. The one made of windows? Yep. That one. 

Just before the incident. Apparently we were all about poor lighting in 2007.

I tell you this so that you will understand why I had not worn a button-down shirt since 2007. Until last Thursday. I found a pretty and professional stripey button-down on clearance for less than $6. I told myself to get over the button incident. It had been five years. Surely button technology had come a long way. I bought the shirt and wore it to meet a VP of an organization I'm interviewing with. And I actually looked like an adult. I think. I usually feel like a child playing dress-up when I bump the business casual up a notch. Anyway, all the buttons flew off during the meeting and I showed the VP my boobs too!

Just kidding. I didn't flash anything but my winning smile during the meeting (and by winning I mean the one where you can tell that I'm wondering if this smile makes my double chin look fat). I thought things had really turned around for me in the button realm. The meeting couldn't have gone any better. I was feeling pretty fly. I stopped in Walmart on my way back to work. Just a quick run for ink and linen paper. I was checking out some sweet binder clips (that totally match my resume and work samples packet, what up) when I noticed that I felt awfully cool in the chest area. 

I shifted the ink and paper into one hand and touched my shirt with the other. Uh-oh. I felt that one of my buttons was undone. I looked down and cried out to my savior. My entire shirt was unbuttoned. In WalMart. I was all bra and bare skin with stripey curtains partying at the sides like it was 2007. I threw my items delicately placed my goods on the nearest shelf and buttoned up as quickly as possible. In case you aren't aware, trying to button fast is the best way to ensure that your buttons will not want to go through their stupid holes. 

And now I wait. Watching peopleofwalmart.com like a hawk.

*This conference was held in Memphis the year prior. Where I fell down the stairs.

A call to the men of America & that one time I fell into breakfast

I thought a lot about embarrassing moments this weekend after becoming embarrassed for the men of America. I tried to go the movie theater but it was more crowded than I had ever seen it. Because of Magic Mike. As I told you Friday, I ain't dead in the loins yet. I get the appeal of a stripping Channing Tatum (still having a little trouble with the appeal of greasy old Matthew McConaughey). 

Men of America, what are you not doing for your ladies? I know what you aren't doing for me. I've dated an odd variety of you over the last 15 years and am currently single. But those theaters weren't filled just with ladies like me. Dudes, strip for your ladies so they don't have to act like 14-year-olds at a Bieber concert thus ruining my single-girl Friday night in the dark with my pretend Hollywood friends. (And you thought this wasn't all about me.)

So instead of seeing a movie, I replayed my most embarrassing moment in my head. It's been six years - I'm over the horror; feel free to laugh. I used to attend an annual national conference for work. I had served as the association's webmaster for several years and was on the Board of Directors during the year of my moment. I tell you these things to illustrate that people knew who I was. Remaining anonymous was not an option. Breakfast was served each morning in one of those weird buildings that you enter thinking you are on the ground floor but you are really on the third floor or so. Of course breakfast was on the real first floor, right off the stairs. As in, you had to descend the stairs into breakfast. You probably know where this is going (especially considering I gave it away in the title of this post).

I struggle a bit with social anxiety (but am also an attention whore - it gets weird up in here; here being me). I had to psyche myself up to walk into a room full of colleagues chowing down on cold eggs and pastries because I knew that everyone would watch me walk down the stairs. That's just what people do - they turn and stare at the person entering the room. You do it too. One morning I lost my footing and rolled/bounced down two flights of stairs, laptop and notepad tumbling after me. The landing between the flights was just a short-lived reprieve. I kept going. I didn't stop until I was flat on my back in front of the breakfast buffet. 

Everyone stopped eating. Everyone stopped talking. All eyes on me. I stared at the ceiling as seventeen hours a few seconds passed until a nice Indian man ran over to pick me up and hug me. Don't give me that "why does he have to be Indian?" crap - he just was. Picking someone up and hugging them after they've fallen down stairs seems like a super nice thing to do but for the love of all that is right in this world, refrain! That person is in pain and your hug will just make it worse. I only suffered some pretty amazing bruises. Nothing broken. Not even the laptop. I got to answer the question "are you okay" at least one billion times and relive the incident for people who didn't see it but certainly heard about it for the remainder of the conference. Pretty sure the conference attendees now find me unforgettable. 

Your turn. Tell me a story...

This is what I hear every time Matty Mac opens his mouth. At least he looks like he showered.