Posts Tagged 'embarrassing moments'

how my sister and I mistakenly attended an extreme cage fight last Tuesday night

I told you I had the crazy. Well now I am blaming it on my computer. My dead, dead computer that abandoned me and went to computer heaven. I came home to an uh-oh smell one day (computer, were you using my hairdryer?) and the next day my unresponsive computer was being proclaimed deceased by an apathetic Geek Squad dude who added to my disappointment by not even faintly resembling Chuck. (Where were you, Chuck? You could have saved my computer. You are gorgeous and so is your red couch I want it in my apartment and I wouldn’t mind if you were on it too.)

I can’t think without my computer. I’ve been going around every day in a slight fog, not quite sure who I am without customized desktops, iTunes playlists, and bookmarked tabs. What do I even like to do? Computer, you took all my projects with you.  Where is my Google calendar that tells me what to do? Not in front of my face every morning where I need it.

And that is how my sister and I mistakenly attended an extreme cage fight last Tuesday night.

We thought we were seeing these good people. Which is all the better for being a polar opposite brand of strange.

Rasputina

There we were, in line outside the Knitting Factory in Bodo wearing our corsets, poofy skirts, and heavy eye makeup. A cheerful summer sun is baking down on us and everyone in line is staring. The thought going around under my ratted up Helena Bonham Carter pompadour is we would stop looking so crazy if the sun would just fucking set already.

That’s when I notice everyone in line appears to be a twenty-something male wearing Hollister. This is all such an unexpected, uncomfortable conundrum for us until we get up to the door where we see this sign.

“Rasputina is on the 20th.” Sister points out to me.
“Yeah, I know,” I retort. I’d seen the concert was on the 20th back when I’d had a computer. And left to my own devices in the post-computer darkness, I had managed to blunder into a rock-hard certainty that the 20th was a Tuesday. This Tuesday.
“E,” she coaxes. “What’s the date today?”
“Um…” I break into a sweat. Realities are colliding. My mind is ripping apart. “…Not the 20th?”
“Let’s get some dinner.”

And that is how my sister and I ended up at Solid in corsets, poofy skirts, and heavy eye makeup, eating burgers and curly fries to live bluegrass being performed by a dude I went out with a couple of times in 2008.

carpooling 101

the Pants is unfailingly, maddeningly cheerful. anger and irritation are foreign concepts to her, so when you are in the grips of a bad mood, she has a habit of staring at you like a newborn robot trying to grapple with the concept of frail humanity.

this morning as we walked in to work together, Pants was protesting my god-given right to be grumpy two consecutive days in a row. “hey! I’M PMS-ING!” i said reasonably. ok just a little loudly. in the library. in the quiet shhh library. with several members of the public staring at me, mid page-turn. let’s hyperbole this moment.

eh. not terrible for my first try. my boobs at least look fantastic. they should. haven’t you heard? i’m pms-ing.

now that everyone in the children’s department is apprised of my menstrual cycle, i can clip on my name tag and set to work helping them find their books on tortoises and giving them their summer reading prizes. and laughing along when they tell me they saw the shark fall down at their school.

i’m a hot mess.

mommy, why is the shark lying down?

today, i fell on my money-maker in front of 300 elementary students while wearing a shark costume.

we pretty much had them won over, too. they were laughing WITH us, not even AT us, at least as far as you can tell such a thing from inside a big posterboard shark head that keeps you from seeing your feet. Pants and I were waving and making our exit and that’s when i tripped on one of my flippers and gravity handled the rest.

it got really quiet. i tried to make a joke of it and flail my arms like “man overboard!” but since my arms were protruding from the shark’s posterboard mouth, it must have looked more like a struggle for survival, like a cross between National Geographic, Peter Benchley, and Elmo’s World.

because i was on work time and teaching values to children and driving my own vehicle, i will not even mention that i’m not sure i wasn’t still a little drunk from last night.

from the bottom of my basal ganglia, hello and #@!%*$!

recently, i had the opportunity to talk to precisely 232 people on behalf of their local library. what made this exhausting was that i talked to them in groups of 2 or 3 over the course of 6 hours. unfortunately it was precisely that day that i decided to get struck with a case of the awkwards. every interaction became a chance to stammer, mix up my words and completely forget important pieces of information they needed.

like when i told one nice man i could show him how to neuter. i meant renew. as in extend the due date of his books, not remove their testicles. the two words aren’t really even close. why my brain was wandering even in the VICINITY of castration during that conversation is unexplainable. it can’t be explained. we simply had to move on.

By the end of the day, i was so paranoid about my subconscious sabotaging me that every time i greeted a new group, half a dozen of the WORST POSSIBLE THINGS i could say at that moment would immediately crowd my brain. everything from colorful sexual colloquialisms to really offensive racial slurs. is it possible to have tourette’s of the brain? silent tourette’s? is that a thing? do i have something serious i need to see someone about?

it was like that invisible force that tugs at you when you’re standing at the edge of any steep drop looking down. like something in you hates the fear of it happening so badly that it would rather get it over with. it was that same dickish part of my brain that was trying to trip me up with fart jokes when i greeted the next couple with a clear and flawless, “Hi! My name is Tink. I’m from the library!”

YES! take THAT, amygdala you fucker!

“Nice to meet you,” says the woman.

“Thank you,” i say.

#@!%*$!

Let’s just move on.

(P.S. for this post, i googled brain structures until my Wernicke got tired.)