Friday funnies at my expense...

I'm really spent right now. I was up most of the night for various reasons and I am sick with some minor stomach bug that's not bad enough for me to be praying to the porcelain goddess, but not fun either. Our playgroup plans were cancelled because of this bug, my son almost missed the bus this morning and I was really nasty to him, and now I sit here full of tummy-ache, exhaustion, and remorse. So, instead of blogging and whining, I'll give you this repost of embarrassing moments that I wrote when I first started blogging. My apologies to my blogging Cat Pack who probably have already read this!
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My pal over at Jessie's Girl posted a list of her ten "klutziest" moments earlier this year, and so I HAD to jump on this bandwagon since I have had some real doozies. Mine are half klutz and half just pure stupidity and embarrassment. Here goes:

1. The "Old San Francisco Steak House" Slide. It was the 80s, and I was on a state band trip. I had on the lovely white "flats" we all used to wear. The stairs were shag carpeted. I think I literally made a "whoooop" sound as I slipped, one foot flying out in front of me. I landed squarely on my "arse" and then proceeded to bump down the stairs, one-by-one, for two flights landing finally on the floor. At the bottom was the waiting area for the restaurant, which was packed. I heard gasps and "ohhs" as I went down. Even worse, a good guy friend of mine, just HAPPENED to be coming out the the men's' restroom right as I did this. (This guy LOVED to tease me.) He laughed so loudly and hardly that it qualified as a serious "guffaw" and several people from the upstairs dining area (in our group) peeked down the stairs to see what was so funny.

2. The "Right Between the Peepers" Popper. It was my senior year and the day before the big "All Sports' Banquet," where all the athletes get dressed up and are honored for various things by the coaching staff. Big night in our little town, as sports are the be-all/end-all there. I was a baton twirler for my school and was practicing my three-baton routine (yes, I know I'm insane..read number 10 for an even more stupid twirling mishap). I had two batons spinning in each hand and looked up to time catching the third. Only, the third baton was not in the air, it was BLAM...right in between my eyes. For those who aren't baton twirling experts (giggle), it takes some serious force to do a three-baton routine. You are basically juggling and have to throw it very high and very hard. My nose swelled up between the eyes to the same width as at the end and I had two black eyes. Nickname resulting from incident: "Alice the Goon" (from Popeye), given by the same guffawing friend from #1.

3. The "You're Branded for Life" Accident. Another high school incident, my most cherished curling iron broke in mid-curl, sending the outside handle piece flying off into, yes, my face. (Don't ask me how this happened!) Nickname resulting from incident: "Tomahawk" (it looked like Indian war paint!) given by another guy friend, who liked to tease me just as much.

4. The "Oh-My-Mommy" Incident. So, this isn't as embarrassing as there was just one witness who I am sure doesn't remember it, but it sure gave my Austin gal pals a chuckle when I told them about it! I went stair-airborne again going down the flight in our current house. I must have seriously been flying, because my son (then about 3 or 4) shouted, "Oh NO! My MOMMY!" Very cute...a very hard fall on cold tile, and very funny now that I look back on it.

5. The Diploma Debacle. I even embarrassed myself on my graduation day from high school. Walking across the stage to get my diploma in front of practically the entire town, I kept thinking to myself, "don't trip and fall, don't trip and fall, PLEASE don't trip and fall." I didn't trip and fall. My graduation gown sleeve got caught on a huge stack of diplomas on a table I had to pass to get to the diploma issuer, and I almost pulled the entire stack off the table. I heard audience snickers. Crowd snickers are the worst, man...

6. The Damning of Amit Bhatinagle. This happened at my infamous first job where I met all my Austin cronies and suffered through low pay and ridiculous work hours. An email nut even then, I was used to typing in a "Bh" and hitting a key command to get my pal Dipu's last name to pop into my email address field. So, I had something I thought was funny to share (it was probably lame), and typed in the "Bh" only to find a new listing for another "Bh" last name at the company.

This annoyed me. Didn't this person know that Dipu was the only one allowed to have the "Bh" last name in my life, for the sheer sake of my own convenience? So, I chose Dipu's name and then chose the other guy's name too in my "To" field, so I could see how to spell it. My email went something like this.

"Damn that Amit Bhatinagle! How DARE he start working here! Doesn't he know that
you are the only BH allowed at this place of employment! Damn him! Damn him TO
HELL!"

And, yep, you guessed it...after seeing how to spell his name for my snarky little email, I failed to delete it off of the address list before I hit send. I didn't even realize it until I got back a message from Dipu that said, "Uh, did you MEAN to include that guy on this message?" I had to email the guy back and apologize profusely, telling him no, I really didn't want him to go to hell. Thank GOODNESS, he worked in a completely different department, had no authority or rank over me, and I never had to meet him!

7. The "Do-Your-Shoes-Match?" Mishap. I haven't shared this with many, because it is REALLY embarrassing and happened only a few years ago. I was helping with the arrangements on our first ever block party here in our neighborhood. I was stressed, meeting a lot of neighbors for the first time and trying to get some tables and supplies out there before everyone arrive. Everyone got there, and we all drank and ate and had a grand old time. It wasn't until I made a quick walk home to use the bathroom, when I looked down at my feet. I had put on two blue tennis shoes. Only, they weren't the SAME two blue tennis shoes...they were two DIFFERENT blue shoes! Not glaringly different, but it took one look you could definitely tell they were not the same. And we were out in the summer sun. I just know I have been branded by this around this block forever now..."that crazy woman who wears mismatched sneakers!"

8. The Second "Branded-for-Life" Accident. There was a point in my life, where I told my future husband that I was certain that when I died it would be in some sort of freak fire or burning incident. That's because I had a serious of strange mishaps involving fire or heated items. This one involved ironing some pants in college on a very small dorm-room ironing board on the floor. I kept ironing, the board wasn't there, my upper thigh was. It was a second-degree burn, I had a scar for many, many years, and my new boyfriend (now hubby) just LOVED to tease me about how in the world I could have IRONED my own leg! I've taken a no-ironing stance ever since...

9. The "If Your Pinky Spells L, You are the Big Loser" Story. I have mentioned this before, but I'll go ahead and link the old blog entry here. It's recent, it's gross, and its a shining example that with age may come wisdom, but not dexterity!

10. The "Last Samurai" Slicer. This is another twirling disaster. I mentioned the three-baton thing, but this one was worse. Another thing I liked to twirl, as weird as this may sound, was knives. No, not steak knives you silly birds, but these twirling knives that have hooks on the end so you can swing them around by their wooden handles. They sort of look like an imitation samurai sword. They're massively heavy, but aren't so sharp they'd chop off a limb (or you'd probably know me as old one-armed Crazy MomCat right now). However, they are sharp enough to leave a mark on you that you won't soon forget.

How do I know? Well, at one of the last out-of-town football games my senior year, I was performing on the sidelines while the band played. My grandparents were there on a rare visit from Florida, braving these insanely cold temperatures all to see me perform. (This didn't happen often, and they were visibly miserable and bored, so I felt I needed to impress.)

I pulled out the knives and started do to my thing. It was really, really cold this night and my hands felt like they'd fall off, but it actually felt better swinging large sharp metal objects versus having to catch spinning metal batons with my brittle/frozen hands. Only, during one big trick, where I swing around 4 knives from side to side, I clipped my head. I kept my "performance smile" on for the audience (this is akin to "jazz hands!"), trying to not wince in pain and hoping that no one noticed it.

Near the end of the song, the bell player who was down on the sidelines with us screamed out at the top of her lungs, "Oh MY GOD, Stephanie, YOUR HEAD!" Well, I guess I clipped my head harder than I realized and with my adrenaline going, I just blocked it out. I had a huge red mark, but an even bigger goose-egg on my head by the end of that song. I mean, we're talking like on the silly cartoons where it sticks out a few inches! The band director rushed down to put ice on it. (Yes, ice and it's like freezing temperatures outside and I was in a skimpy twirling suit. Please!) I died of embarrassment at this one.
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Tell me blogger friends who know me all too well, have I forgotten one? Comment back if you have a good one that I've missed. And, for the rest of you who haven't read this before, enjoy the laugh at my sad expense! HA!