Posts tagged Awkward
Posts tagged Awkward
I wish people could just tell other people when they have food on their face without feeling awkward or uncomfortable about it. If you tell me YES it’s going to be embarrassing, YES my cheeks are going to turn a bright red, YES I will have to suppress the urge to vomit, but I’m not going to freak out about it.
You don’t even have to say anything. You can make the international sign for “You have shit on your face”. Fill your face with pity, point to your mouth, use your finger to show where shit is located and say “You gotta lil something right here”. If more people followed these rules maybe I wouldn’t have wandered around for 20 minutes after lunch looking like this:
The cafeteria at my work gets really loud during lunch time. Couple that with my terrible hearing from years of ipod buds abuse and my love of jackhammering and I’m like Marlee Matlin wandering around in there. In spite of all this, I tried to strike up a friendly conversation with a coworker today.
Me: Hey how was your weekend?
Her: (Complete and utter gibberish. Almost sounds like an owl screeching)
Me: I’m sorry what?
Her: (Repeats the nonsense. I literally have no idea what she’s saying so instead I imagine myself ballroom dancing with Steven Segal.)
Me: (I refuse to ask her to repeat herself again for fear she will to resort to telling me in sign, so instead I smile and nod my head happily) Ooh that sounds like fun!
She gives me a weird look, but I barely notice because I’m next in line to order and all I can think of is “Food! Feed me!”
Me: (Shouting) Turkey burger please!
By the time I turn around she’s on the other side of the cafeteria.
Other Coworker: (Whispers) Stephanie, did you hear what she said about her weekend?
Me: Something about outlet mall shopping or babysitting her grandchildren right?
Other Coworker: (Laughing quietly) No! She just told you her dog died…
I frantically tried to get the other woman’s attention. I almost resorted to throwing my turkey burger at her, but she couldn’t hear me. But how do you say, “I’m really sorry about your dog! I’m sorry I didn’t express those feelings earlier! I’m not a sociopath really!” without coming across like a complete and total sociopath? As she walked out of the cafeteria I wanted to catch her eye and mouth “I’m sorry!” But I’m pretty sure she can’t read lips and she would just think I was saying “I want to murder you!”
This is a really long story about the traumatizing effects of hairy legs in childhood. I apologize if it’s boring.
When I was 15 I was required to take the bus to and from school. Most kids that age had 16 year old friends with driver’s licenses who would take them, but since I was a social outcast I had to take the bus. I always felt like Molly Ringwald in Sixteen Candles except at the end of my day I never had a hot football player waiting to eat cake with me on my dining room table.
I hated taking the bus. I was forced to sit next to kids who either didn’t like me or didn’t know I existed. They’d look at me in a way that suggested, “You go to this school? Are you sure? Why are you trying to sit on my lap?” I always felt uncomfortable and alien, probably how Lindsay Lohan would feel if she were attending a Mensa meeting. I’d desperately try and fit in with the other kids, but I was so socially awkward I could barely function and desperately needed to drink a bottle of vodka to loosen up.
A cluster of girls would be oohing and aahing over how cute Pacey Whitter was or gushing about the intense drama of Ross and Rachel on Friends and I would lean over causally and say something like “Did you know the word dork means whale penis?” They’d turn and look at me like they were slowly coming to terms with the fact that I wasn’t invisible and I was an actual living, breathing, mentally disturbed girl sitting in front of them. After a few seconds of blank staring they’d blink their eyes rapidly, in a way I’m guessing was to go back to believing I never existed so they could forget I had just mentally raped their brains with images of whale penises. They’d go back to their conversations and I would nod and smile self satisfactory to myself like I had just accomplished a major feat by engaging in real human conversation! “Ooh I made some best friends!” I would squeal while giving myself a mental high five. I could already picture us having pillow fights, attending square dances, getting matching back tattoos and doing whatever else teenage girls do together. Of course none of this would ever happen because they’d probably prefer to play hide and seek with Roman Polanski in a closet at a children’s hospital than ever be seen in public with me.
One Winter day I was on the bus and just absolutely dreading my impending day at school. It was a couple days before Thanksgiving so the weather outside was cold, icy and dreary. It was the kind of day where you felt like running off to Vegas and eloping with an elderly high school janitor just to get away from it all. Unfortunately, Clarence had repeatedly turned down my marriage proposals so I had no other choice but to go to school.
We arrived at school and as we were unloading from the bus I slipped on an icy step and spiralled out into the cold Cleveland morning. As I flew through the sky I felt like a flightless bird, I think I even flapped my arms a few times. I must have looked like a fat penguin trying to fly away from a hungry polar bear. I hadn’t even hit the ground yet and I was already mortified and embarrassed. A few seconds later I crashed onto the pavement into a crumpled heap of shame and self loathing.
“Oh my God! Are you ok?” the girl behind me asked concerned.
I didn’t know yet, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to let anybody know that. “Oh I’m totally fine!” I said while my cheeks flamed red with embarrassment. The bus could have run me over and dragged me ten blocks while I clung helplessly to the bumper and if somebody would have asked me if I was OK I would have laughed self effacingly and said “This happens to me all the time! Don’t look at me!”
The girl looked at me for a moment like she wasn’t sure if I was lying or not, than shrugged her shoulders and walked off. I think I was in a state of shock over what had happened. I was still on the ground, but I had propped myself up into a sitting position. That way if anybody else asked me if I was OK I could tell them I was fine and simply enjoyed lounging on a sheet of ice in frigid temperatures. I didn’t fall! I’m attempting to get pneumonia silly! I’m just having an impromptu picnic is all!
After the remaining people on the bus unloaded and stepped carefully over my broken body, I tried to get up. I realized almost immediately that something was wrong. My right ankle felt weird. It wasn’t excruciatingly painful, it just felt floppy. If I put any pressure on it it felt like it was a balloon and about to pop. I needed medical attention. A sense of dread overcame me. What the fuck was I going to do now? The nurses station was at least 100 feet from me and the hallways were crowed with students. I limped a few yards into the school and it was unbearable. That wasn’t going to work. So I tried dragging my foot behind me like Tim did in Jurassic Park after he was shocked and flung from the electric fence. That didn’t really work, but I felt as dramatic and looked as disheveled as him. I resorted to my last option. Hopping on one foot. I felt like a complete and utter asshole as I weaved my way between students and hopped myself to the nurses station. A few people looked at me, but I just smiled nervously at them and whispered “It’s an old Nam injury acting up!”
By the time I reached the nurses station I had resorted to crawling on my hands and knees. I was drenched in sweat and my ankle was swollen to the size of a softball. I flung open her door and fell into her office.
“Oh my God! What happened to you?” she asked with concern.
It was than I realized how ridiculous this whole thing was. I had fallen off the bus! Nobody pushed me. I had tripped over my own two feet and fell. Off a school bus. That wasn’t a cool story. I tried to think of something more dramatic I could tell her. “Logging accident! Fell off a skateboard! Hurt myself running away from all the hot guys that were trying to ask me out!” Those didn’t sound plausible so I said, “I’m really not sure! I just woke up this way!”
After looking at my ankle she decided it was sprained and I needed to get x-rays at the hospital. I would need to call my dad to come get me.
“Daaaad!” I wailed into the phone. “I broke my leg!”
“Nope. No you didn’t. You probably just sprained your ankle!” the nurse said in the background.
“Daaaad! I think I might be a paraplegic now!”
“Ok. Give me the phone now!” the nurse said.
After wiping my tears off the receiver she spoke a few hushed words to my dad and than hung up.
“He’ll be here as soon as he can.”
“Thank God! Do you have any morphine or access to some?” I asked her. The pain in my ankle was starting to come in waves and I knew I needed drugs.
Thirty minutes later, after unsuccessfuly trying to make small talk with the nurse (“Did you know dork means whale penis?”) my dad arrived. I got on my hands and knees and prepared to crawl out of school with him when the nurse told me it was school policy that I be carted out in a wheel chair. I would have rather my dad carried me out piggy back style, but after a few objections I relented. The wheelchair wasn’t that bad. I felt classy, like a young Franklin Delano Roosevelt. The nurse helped my dad put me into the car and than ran back into the school, relieved to be rid of me.
“OK lets get you to the hospital,” my dad said.
“Nope!” I replied. “We need to go home first!”
“I need to shave my legs!” I shouted insanely. It was winter time and since I was lazy and didn’t have a boyfriend (shockingly!) my legs were as hairy as hell. It was like Chewbacca on Rogaine down there. My legs were a complete disaster and no hot doctor was going to be looking at my hairy ankle. Seriously my leg looked like this:
“I really think we should just go to the hospital” my Dad tried again.
I turned to him Exorcist style full of rage and embarrassment. “I am not going to the hospital with hairy legs,” I said calmly. “If it comes down to it I’d rather amputate myself at home!” Sensing I was losing my mind he relented and took me home.
After I dragged my exhausted body into the house my dad looked at me expectantly.
“Sooo…” he started while looking at my ankle which was slowly turning the same color as Michael Jordan’s elbow. “How are you going to shave your legs? Do you need my help?”
The thought of my dad helping me place my fat, naked body into a tub full of bubble bath so I could shave my legs made me gag. I would sooner drown than let that happen.
“Nope! I think I got things under control!” I said. I didn’t.
“OK! I’m going to go watch TV than!” he said and let out a long sigh of relief. This day was already so traumatizing for the both of us.
I knew with my ankle being the way it was I couldn’t possibly fanagle my body into the shower. Luckily I came up with a genius idea. I had my dad get me a bucket of water, I rolled my jeans up to my knees and happily shaved my legs in the garage next to an old oil spill. Thirty minutes later it looked like a drunken sailor had attacked me with a razor blade. My legs were covered in cuts, but I was proud with what I achieved.
After some x-rays it was discovered I did indeed sprain my ankle. Unfortunately there were no hot doctors waiting for me at the hospital, but after all my hard work I was desperate for some reassurance. I turned to my x-ray technician and asked her, “Would you like to feel how smooth my legs are?”
Have you ever been eating a shitty Lean Cuisine chicken carbonara meal for lunch and the chicken is so hot you think about blowing on it, but you’re so fucking hungry you think “Fuck it! My mouth don’t know fear!” so you just shovel it in like a stray dog eating out of a dumpster and it just tastes like hot, liquid fire burning your gums and your tongue is so scorched you know it will feel numb and scratchy for days like you just gave head to a burlap sack full of mosquitoes and your mouth is in such an intense state of shock and fear that no matter how much hand waving and Lamaze type breathing you do nothing cools it so you resort to spitting the aforementioned chicken out into the palm of your head and blow hot steam onto it out of your burned throat to cool it and than plop it happily back into your mouth only to look up and see your boss staring open mouthed at you from your doorway?
When I was a junior in high school my mom and I stumbled upon this amazing Chinese restaurant. They had egg foo young to die for and their crab rangoon literally gave me orgasms. The place was that good. So we would make an effort to go in there every few weeks because I obviously was on a mission to gain as much weight as possible so I could become completely unattractive to the opposite sex.
One day while my mom and I were waiting for our food the owner’s five year old son came running up to me with his arms outstretched. Because I’m an asshole and have a lot of faith in the human race I reached down with a big smile plastered on my face ready to reward him with a hug. Much to my surprise, instead of trying to hug me he instead started awkwardly grabbing my boobs. He wasn’t really grabbing them, it was more like kneading. Almost like he was playing with a ball of dough that had nipples. “Is this how the Chinese perfect their crab rangoon making skills?” I wondered.
I was immediately filled with shock and confusion. I was sad and almost wished my boobs would fall off so I could leave them there for him to play with and not have to be witness to this. I looked towards my mom hoping she would be able to tell me what to do. She had her hands cupped over her vagina in an effort to prevent herself from peeing. She has a weak bladder and was laughing so hard she was obviously worried about soiling herself. I thought about punching her, but was worried my boob would swing into the Chinese boy’s face and knock him unconscious. Knowing my mom would be no help to me I turned to the boy’s father who was standing at the counter. He was witnessing the whole scene and I assumed he would immediately put a stop to it. Instead he stood there smiling and nodding his head like this was an every day occurrence. Maybe he was even cupping his crotch like my mother, but for an entirely different reason. ”What the fuck is going on here?” I thought.
My arms remained wooden at my sides as this child grabbed awkwardly at my boobs like a sixteen year old boy in the back seat of a station wagon. What is the protocal in this situation? Could I slap him? Kick him in his balls? Pick up his sixty pound body and throw him through a plate glass window? I wasn’t really sure. I’m not sure what he was thinking either. Did he want me to be his girlfriend? Did he do this to every woman who walked through the door? Or did he think he was just giving me a mammogram? My boobs were becoming numb and I knew action needed to be taken before I possibly became pregnant. I pushed the boy away and ran screaming out of the restaurant. My mom came out a few minutes later with our food and found me curled up in the backseat.
“Looks like somebody made it to second base today!” she said still laughing hysterically.
“Why are you laughing?” I screamed. “I was just violated!”
“Oh get over yourself! He didn’t know what he was doing!” she replied.
About a month past and I was slowly starting to forget what had happened. My mom was right he didn’t know what he was doing. He was only five. It was an accident and probably wouldn’t happen again. That’s what I tried telling myself because I badly needed crab rangoon and was starting to go through withdrawal. So I called in an order a few days later and went to pick it up. As I was waiting nervously for my food the little boy appeared out of the mist like some kind of take out ninja. I gasped and grabbed my boobs in self defense. Again he came running up to me with his arms outstretched and AGAIN I naively thought “Oh, he just wants a hug!” So I leaned down and he immediately started honking my boobs like they were rubber ducks and it was bath time. “Ah the tit rape,” I thought. “I had almost forgotten!” I stood there dumbstruck for a moment as he tried to grope me until finally my food was ready. Than I pushed the boy to the ground, grabbed my food and fled.
This would happen every time I went in there for almost the next year. I would be waiting there for me food and he would come running up to me practically foaming at the mouth at the sight of my boobs. You’re probably asking yourself, “Stephanie why would you keep going there if this kept happening to you?” My answer: you don’t know my life! The food was that fucking good! I had also become wary of the five year old and knew he no longer was seeking just hugs from me. So whenever he would run up to me I would hiss like a wild animal than do a cartwheel in order to avoid his advances. “You want a piece of me bitch?” I would scream. “Well come and get it!” This tactic worked, if he couldn’t catch me he couldn’t grab my delicate boobs. Also I think I had started to frighten him.
One day I came in to pick up an order and the little Chinese boy didn’t come running up to me. He stared at me warily while perched on a stool behind the counter. I wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was because I was holding a shotgun and giving him the middle finder or maybe I had become unappealing to him after gaining 200 pounds from all that Chinese food. But whatever the reason I knew I had won the battle.
Today at work I got my flu shot because I will take any and all preventative measures to keep from getting sick. To my nurse’s complete and absolute shock when he went to stop the bleeding coming out of the tiny prick where the needle went in, my blood had already coagulated.
Cute Male Nurse: Wow your blood coagulates really fast!
Me: (Tries to smile sexily but I just end up looking like I have downs syndrome)
Cute Male Nurse: Like that was crazy fast! I’m impressed!
Me: (More goofy smiling) Why thank you! (Pause) I eat a lot of bran.
I was simply giddy after he said this to me. It was like I had discovered my super hero power of fast blood coagulation and this ability would give boys erections everywhere. I don’t know why I respond this way when people compliment me on things I have no control over.
It reminds me of another time when I lived in New York City. I was riding the subway home drunk at two in the morning on a basically deserted car:
Guy Sitting Across From Me: (After looking at me creepily for five minutes) You know….. you have really nicely shaped nostrils.
Me: (You would think I had just won a fucking Oscar in the way I excitedly responded) Oh my God, really?! I don’t know what to say! I guess I should thank my mom for not engaging in drugs or alcohol while pregnant with me and my dad for providing strong, healthy sperm. Without them I don’t think my nostrils would have turned out the way they are today.
Guy: (Licks lips) They’re just really beautiful.
Me: Wow, that is just so sweet of you to say! Do you have a pit or murder dungeon somewhere you would like to hold me captive in? Because I am so turned on right now I might even go with you willingly.