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 asseventeen 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.
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
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.
