That Time I Embarrassed the Whole Human Race

Here’s an embarrassing story,

So this one night, Dan and I were getting ready for bed and both boys were asleep. It was… maybe around midnight? I don’t remember the exact time, but I remember it was late because Dan and I were binging Hoarders and we both agreed that she shouldn’t have watched the last episode and were about to be exhausted the next day.

Anyway, it was late.

So I’m doing the nightly routine, I’m brushing my teeth, taking out my contacts, etc. etc. And I heard a familiar sound coming from the hallway outside of my bedroom. The sound that parents most dread in the middle of the night. The pitter patter of little feet. I was trying to make Dan go check instead of me. But he had ALSO taken his contacts out and is conveniently more blind than me, so it was my turn to do the dirty deed. I crossed my fingers and hoped that no one was sick and that this would be the only waking instance for the night.

I went into the hallway and it was kind of dim… but I could make out the outline of one of the kids. But they look so dang similar I wasn’t sure which one. Plus I had my contacts out, so I had to squint really hard as I inched closer.

And then I realized… this was not actually one of my kids in green pajamas… this was a teeny tiny green man.

I was like Okay… what in the actual H-E-double-hockey-sticks am I looking at here?? I blinked a couple of times. As if that would help. Eyes not working? Have you tried turning them off and on? That wouldn’t have worked for blind-as-a-bat Dan, he would’ve picked up whatever it was and put it in one of our kid’s beds.

So I’m face to face with this… whatever it is. I’m guessing a toy. But I had heard the footsteps. Distinctly childlike footsteps. So I get closer to the green thing, trying to see if my child is hiding behind it or something.

AND THE GREEN THING TALKS.

I jumped so freaking high it’s a wonder why I wasn’t immediately drafted into the WMBA.

“Hello?” Don’t know why I said that, I mean clearly it was a toy.

“Take me to your leader,” it responded.

Okaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaayyyyy so obviously this was a weird ate-cheese-before-bed kind of dream.

“Take me to your leader.”

So after a a failed attempt at slowing my heart rate I was like, “Okay… so that’s gonna be hard to do…”

“Why?” it asked.

“Because, well, first off… there’s not exactly a ‘leader of Earth’. There are hundreds of leaders of different parts of the world.”

The little green man rubbed it’s chin and went, “So it’s compartmentalized? Like a mini-mall?”

“Wut?”

“Take me to the leader of this room.”

I blinked rapidly because OKAY WHAT EXACTLY WAS HAPPENING HERE. Finally I shook my head and was like, “Uh… okay… sorry, I was not prepared to have an encounter with an extra-terrestrial today.”

His jaw dropped and he slapped his hand on his chest. “You can’t say that! That’s an extremely offensive term to my people!”

“Oh sorry, sorry, sorry!! I’m not accustomed with Martian culture.”

“We’re not even FROM Mars! Wow. WOW.”

And then I watched him teleport onto my front lawn where he started recording a rant video about me on his smart phone.

Sooooo… if an intergalactic war starts… That was my bad guys.

That Time at Pandemic Panda Express

Here’s an embarrassing story I just remembered:

Sometimes (and what I really mean is everytime) I will get so flustered that I’m going to do something awkward and embarrassing that I END UP ACTUALLY DOING SOMETHING AWKWARD AND EMBARRASSING. And this story was one of those times…

Once upon a pandemic we wanted Chinese food. So okay what’s the safest thing to do here? We have one Panda Express x miles away with a drive thru… but everyone and their convertible uses the Morris Farms Panda drive thru. So Dan put in a take out order for a different have-to-come-inside Panda establishment.

So we load up THE ENTIRE FAMILY in the minivan because THERE’S LITERALLY NOTHING ELSE TO GO AND DO. So family trip to the Panda Express it is. We drive up and park and then Dan hands me a mask and tells me to run in and get it.

I start PANIC SWEATING.

Not because I’m afraid of catching coronavirus.

But because I’m a giant woman-child who can’t do anything by herself.

“Wha-what? You want me to get it? But you usually get it! I don’t even know where to go! So where do you pick it up? Do you pay for it or… okay it’s prepaid… so it’s like just picking up the food and walking out!? Do I need my ID? How are they gonna know I’m your wife?? What if I do it wrong somehow? What if I get in trouble should I call you??”

Dan is getting seriously irritated at me because it’s not like I’m a navy seal securing the area, I’m literally JUST PICKING UP ORANGE CHICKEN AND WALKING OUT. 

So I go inside the Panda with my mask on… okay, I don’t know if you’ve been inside a Panda Express in the past year, but they have this military set up. They use their own tables and chairs to BLOCK YOU into the line. And then they very clearly have where you’re supposed to stand marked out on the floor. So as soon as you walk in through the door you’re ushered into the line.

But… okay… I just want to get my take out.

I can literally see the white plastic bag all tied up on a rack WAY at the other end of the line. Like a cheese at the end of the maze. But how am I supposed to get there? Am I really supposed to CUT THE LINE to pick up the food that’s already been ordered. Get my germs into everyone’s personal bubble as I push past them? The idea of cutting the line is basically spiking my blood pressure. I can’t even ask for extra napkins at most places because I do not want to bother anyone. I mean just the very idea that I could be SLIGHTLY inconveniencing someone. Or NOT OBEYING THESE PANDA SAFETY RULES.

So I wait in line.

I can see the food over there getting cold… Dan’s texting me like “R U SERIOUS WHAT’S TAKING YOU SO LONG YOU JUST HAVE TO PICK IT UP.” So now I’m having double anxiety about slightly inconveniencing the Panda Express patrons or slightly inconveniencing my husband by making him wait five minutes.

ALRIGHT FINE. I slide past people in line with about a thousand apologies, get the take out bag, run out of there as if I’m a Pink Panther robber with a briefcase full of jewelry. And I’m dying in the most dramatic way you can think of. And if you’re super annoyed and confused reading this… what’s it like to not have anxiety? Is it nice? Is it peaceful? Can you just walk into stores and pick up Orange Chicken at your leisure? How is that kind of power? I bet you sleep great.

I’m so flustered that I’m just power walking through the parking lot, having a pre-argument with my husband inside my mind. “Yeah, well, you shoulda SEEN IT. The tables and chairs were BLOCKING US ALL INTO THIS ONE LITTLE LINE.”

I get to the car and pull on the handle. Locked. I’m flustered and irritated by my pretend argument so I tap ferociously on the window and point down at the car lock. THEN HE STARTED TO DRIVE AWAY! And I chased him down so angrily. Tapping harder on the window. HELLO! DON’T BE A BUTTHOLE JUST BECAUSE IT TOOK ME A SOLID MINUTE TO WORK UP THE COURAGE TO CUT THE LINE.

And then a stranger rolled down her window. BOISTERIOUSLY laughing.

“I’VE DONE THAT!” she yelled at me.

I really just tried to get into the wrong car. Um. It didn’t even look like my car. Hardly even in the same color palette. So not only did I just spend X amount of minutes FREAKING OUT over the Panda Express rules. (As if the Seinfeld Soup Nazi works at Panda Express.) BUT I ALSO TRIED TO GET INTO A STRANGER’S CAR AND GOT IRRITATED AT HER AS SHE PULLED AWAY.

I slunk back to my ACTUAL car with my tail in between my legs. Dan is laughing and probably also like… k… I’m married to this hot mess wtf.

And yeah.

So, that’s it. I could hardly function before the pandemic. And now it’s just one weird social distance freak out at a time.

The Parking Meter Dork as told by Alex Ness

What happens when you meet a poet on the internet and he tells you some random guy’s embarrassing story? YOU POST IT ON YOUR BLOG OF COURSE!

 

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THE BIGGEST DORK a Twitter DM composed by Alex Ness

“The biggest dork ever was a guy who refused to believe he was a dork.

He would go to lectures (this was back in college) and after a guest lecturer would discuss a famous epic movie, he’d get in line to ask questions and he’d drop the “Where do you get your ideas from” bomb. People would groan any time his hand would go up, and tell him, “You dork”.

So, despite his being called a dork he didn’t see it.

We were walking downtown on a Sunday night in late summer (before the new semester was to begin.) The roads are nearly empty and he starts asking why he was a dork. He perceived dork to mean clumsy, which of course, fits but is by no means the complete example. So he looks at the three others of us, and says “Could a dork do this?”

And he starts leapfrogging road parking meters.

Every five feet he’d leap and do it well. He had a rhythm. It didn’t look dorky at all. Until he leaped before he looked and on his way down to his normal landing position he saw a former parking meter shaft, cut off, at about 4 feet tall, and about 2 inches from his crotch. He screams in a child’s most high pitch fear voice, he can only slightly adjust his descent, and he gets hit straight in his family jewels. And for the next two hours his voice was high pitch, and he was crying.

I didn’t laugh, much, because I thought he ruptured his scrotum or individual nuts.

I offered to take him to ER. He cried for two days almost and told everyone how he was so great leaping the meters. Well, he neglected to tell the whole story, and while I avoided laughing at him and others finished the story, he couldn’t see how he slam-dunked the last chance to not be seen as a dork.

He was not only a dork, he was the Dork King.”

 

Alex Ness is a writer of prose, poetry, and sequential fiction (comics). From the state of Minnesota he shivers and writes in the basement of his home, covered in cats, and drinking Diet Mountain Dew. He loves myth, legends, and the power of words to tell epic and universal truths. His work can be found here https://www.amazon.com/Alex-Ness/e/B00TYW7724

A Halloween Themed Embarrassing Story for Actual Halloween

It’s been so dang long since I’ve told an embarrassing story. Too long! And it’s not that I don’t have any. I have MORE THAN FREAKING ENOUGH. So, here you go, here’s a Halloween themed one for you.

So once upon a time, my friends and I decided to go to this “new and upcoming” haunted spot. Well, so okay, it wasn’t new new. When I was a teenager, everyone basically had trespassed at Kay’s Cross at one time or another. It was like this weird stone cross in the middle of this wooded area that no one really knew who built it or why. It was assumed that it was built by this Cult leader in the 20s. And anyway, just a lot of mythos and legend surrounding the place.

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So, a few years ago, the owners of the property decided to give tours of this creepy place. And I had never actually gone to Kay’s Cross as an adventurous teenager so I was like, Hey. What’s a better “quarter-life” crisis than this, huh?

I remember as we were driving there, I was so freaked out for some reason. It was me and another married couple (like my usual life) And even just driving there we were jumping at everything. Wrong turn OOOOOOH. Dark culdesac OOOOOOH. A kid on a moped. OOOOOOOOOOOOH.

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We get there and NOT A SPONSOR. But that place was crazy amazing. It was just some kid taking us on this spooky wooded walk, telling us weird stories about things that had happened there. And I was EATING IT THE FREAK UP. Like I don’t know if it was the atmosphere or what. But I was CREEPED THE HECK OUTTA THERE.

I feel like the traditional haunted house nowadays are built solely on the idea of jumpscares. Which, sure… spending twenty-five dollars to be yelled at for an hour is traumatizing I guess. But this place was entirely different (at least at the time that I went to it. I haven’t been back… probably because of the following story…)

We get to this heavily wooded spot and our tour guide announces to keep our eyes open because this is usually a spot where people “see things”. He said that every single time they walk through this spot at least one person in the group will see a dark figure or like a child or something. Again, I AM BUYING INTO THIS SO HARD. The power of suggestion is NO JOKE! Really!

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Now JUST LIKE I MENTIONED BEFORE… in a traditional haunted house, a guy with a chainsaw is a good jump scare but like the loud sound just kind of melts into the rest of the background. You know what I mean? There’s nothing really that special about it.

BUT THIS TIME it was TOTALLY DIFFERENT!

Everything had lead up to this one moment. Like this slow, eerie, dead-quiet build-up for a half an hour. And then BOOM, this loud chainsaw starts BRRBRRRR-RRRRR! My scream was so loud it tore up my throat on the way out. And also … something else happened…

An uncontrollable stream… no freaking joke… I am not talking about a little piddle. I am telling you that MY BLADDER EMPTIED. COMPLETELY. Down my freaking leg.

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Okay, I had always heard that joke. That someone could be so scared they pee themselves. I DIDN’T REALIZE JUST HOW BAD IT COULD BE IN REAL LIFE.

And don’t forget, I carpooled with someone… so I wrap my coat around my freaking waist so I wouldn’t get pee all over their seat. It was bad.

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So yeah. I’m a baby. I apparently need to start wearing diapers to haunted houses now. It’s cool.

 

Walking In On Someone During a Quick Change

Senior year, there was this new transfer student and he was *flame emojis*. Me and other girls in the drama class would always gossip about how good looking he was, like some Greek statue or something. Some of the girls thought he looked like Zac Effron, Personally, I think he kinda looks like Dacre Montgomery if I’m being honest.

So somewhere between these two actors, except like 6’4”.

He was generally referred to as “Hot Guy”, because of course. Anyways, when Hot Guy made the school play I was really surprised. I honestly hadn’t ever heard him so much as sneeze so I couldn’t imagine him on stage shouting lines with some booming voice. Well nonetheless, Hot Guy was in the cast and I was in the cast.

The play was See How They Run, which if you aren’t familiar, is a “six-door comedy”. In other words there are lots of people running in and out, mistaken identities, twists and all the shenanigans you could ever hope for.

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So because of the loony nature of the play, almost every single actor had at least ONE costume change. And in my high school, all of the non-musical plays were shooed out of the auditorium and crammed into a smaller theater room. Our backstage was not big enough for like separate dressing rooms, so we just had one trifold panel in the corner.

And also because the backstage was a tiny little area, we basically had to find a square inch to sit in and wait for our cues.

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Well, one performance, I was having a problem… an underwear problem. Like I don’t even know what brand or type I was wearing but whatever it was IT SUCKED. I was riding the train into wedgie central every time I so much as BREATHED. I needed to take care of this uncomfortable situation stat. And this kind of situation could only be taken care of in the most discreet way… if you be picking up what I be laying down…

I was like, HEY. Here is a gleamingly, brilliant idea. I’ll just slip behind the trifold and take care of this cotton mess of a thing… I’m sure you’ve already guessed where I’m going with this. I don’t know what I was thinking. Actually, yes I do, I wasn’t thinking at all. There were so many kids going in and out of the changing area, it would have been a miracle to not have caught someone back there.

Well, I did. I straight up WALKED IN ON SOMEBODY. And not just anybody, oh no. It was Hot Guy. HOT GUY. I just waltzed back there while FREAKING HOT GUY was in the middle of a quick change.

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Any second, sooner or later, would have been better. But he was at his most undressed point at the time of the walk in. Yup. Nothin’ but a tight pair of boxer briefs. (I just had to stop typing there to facepalm.) Like effing BURNED into my memory, the jingling sound of his belt as he desperately tried to cover himself back up and whisper-yelling, “Hey, hey, hey!” Ohhhhhhh my gosh. I think I said sorry like a hundred times in thirty seconds. A twenty-one-gun salute of apologizes as I RAN AWAY.

Walking in on anyone would have sucked. But walking in on hot guy was THE FREAKING BLUSHIEST WORST THING EVER. I couldn’t even look him in the face for a long time. People actually believed that I had walked in on him on purpose. !!!

 

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Like as IF I had actually planned out the moment that hot guy was going to be taking his pants off and just whoopsie daisy, lookie there, looks like I’ve accidentally gotten an eye full, oh darn. Even if I was interested in him at the time, like how would that creepy icebreaker even benefit me? “Hey, remember me? I’m the socially-demented girl who walked in on you almost naked. Here’s my number.” AND I COULDN’T even explain or defend myself, because SORRY I actually was just going back there to PICK SOME PANTIES OUT OF MY BUTT, OKAY!

Then again… I did end up dating Hot Guy for a couple of years… so I guess the whole thing wasn’t totally scarring.

The Time I Passed Out at Work

Right out of high school I got a job as a seating hostess at an Italian restaurant. It was only my second day so I was trying to make a good impression. So when I got this monster of a stomach ache I didn’t want to tell anyone I was in pain.

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It was only my second day! I didn’t want to ALREADY be like, hi, I think I need to go home… or at least sit down. I couldn’t be a wimp like that when I knew that it could just very well magically resolve itself.

So instead of asking for a bit of a break or taking care of myself in any way, I did this: I stood at still as possible at the podium and locked my knees. I don’t know if anyone else has this kind of logic… but if I’m in pain I just stay as still as Dr. Grant trying to evade a T-Rex then I don’t have to feel my own insides.

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I stood stiffly like that for a couple of hours honestly. But I was not going to give in and tell everyone that I was suffering. That is not what I am about. I could be trapped under a cement roller and choose a squishy death over “bothering” someone with my needy problems.

I guess when you black out the first thing to go is your peripheral vision. That’s what happened to me anyway. It took me all the way to tunnel vision before I was like, hmm, I should probably say something to someone. I turned to my manager Kristin and all I got out was, “Hey, Kristin. I don’t feel very good–”

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It was weird. I could hear my other manager yell, “She’s going to pass out.” And I felt them catch me. But then all of the sudden I was asleep. I actually had a dream when I was passed out. I swear that’s always in the movies but that actually happened to me. I dreamt I was at a theme park with my mom and sister, so when I woke up on my back on a bench in a restaurant waiting area, I was more than a little disoriented. It took a minute to remember oh yeah, wait… wasn’t I at my new job?

Me:          What happened?

A Cook:   You passed out. Here have a coke. *hands me a class of soda*

Me:          Thanks? … What?

There were SO many people around. I don’t know how long I was out, but long enough to gather a small crowd. This one guest was like FRANTIC AF. He shoved past everyone to get to me and was like half-yelling at me.

Guy:      Are you a diabetic?

Me:        What? No.

Guy:      Are you sure?

Me:        Yeah…

Guy:      Do you want me to call your doctor to find out if you’re a diabetic?

Me:        I… I’m not a diabetic.

He shoved a little green mint into my hand (even though I was already holding a full glass of Coke)

Guy:      I grabbed a mint off my table, because you’re diabetic.

Me:        Oh, but I’m not… okay, thanks.

 

I was out long enough for them to have called my mom to come and get me, which if you knew the majestic levels of worry that my mother can achieve then you know how the rest of my day went. It was embarrassing to have to take sick leave not even 48 hours into this new job. But hey, at least I got a Coke and a mint…

The Time I Went to Festival of Colors

Listen… can I tell someone else’s embarrassing story? Like I was involved, but mostly just to enjoy the misfortune of this particular person. I feel like it’s cheating to use my blog to embarrass other people but… I just really REALLY LOVE TELLING THIS STORY.

Okay, so we’ll call this guy… Sam. So Sam was my super close best friend. And we basically did everything together. One of the things we decided to do was go to The Festival of Colors.

If you don’t know, The Festival of Colors or Holi is a Hindu spring festival to celebrate love and life. Everyone gathers together to throw chalk paint on each other and it’s just a ridiculous amount of fun.

fest

We decided to go in the morning because Sam had a date to the Spring Formal later that evening. Why he thought he could do the three-hour drive there and back and still make it to the dance… beats me haha. But here’s the real kicker… they were going to have a day date activity and he actually had white-lied an excuse to get out of it so he could go to Festival of Colors instead. (I want to make it clear that Sam is not a d-bag even a bit and he felt really bad about this the whole time.)

So we get there and immediately decide that we’re going to go ALL IN on this experience. So we pushed through to get as much into the crowd as possible. We had so much chalk thrown on us that we went from lightly sprinkled to a thick layer of brown in like ten minutes.

Then Sam asks a couple of guys to hoist him up so he can crowd surf. Now I’ve been to more than a handful of concerts by then so I know that he’s A) about to be groped and B) about to have his shoes stolen. So I yell to him, “Quick! Give me your shoes! Give me your shoes!” But it was too late. As he desperately tried to untie his shoes, someone else beat him to it. They took his shoes off and threw them on the roof of the pavilion outside of the temple. So those were gone forever.

bye

Anyways. We finish out the rest of the event, Sam in his socks the whole time. And then suddenly we realize Woooooah. He is going to be late for the dance

We are FLYING home at the most dangerous speeds I’ve probably ever experienced in a car. We calculate that we would arrive home at the exact moment that his date was supposed to be showing up at his house. Now keep in mind that Sam was trying to keep his attendance at Festival of Colors a secret from her. Also, we were layered in two inches thick of chalk paint.

It’s also important to note that the only way I could convince my mom to give me permission to get that dirty was on the condition that I was not to come home that dirty. So I had planned to take a shower at Sam’s house… which is fine, except for now Sam is like asking me to hide until he leaves with his date so she doesn’t see another girl in a towel and misinterpret what’s going on. Does this sound like a rom-com yet?

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Somehow we miraculously beat her to the house. We rush inside and he yells at me before he hops in the shower, “Run into my room and pick out something for me to wear and lay it out on my bed!” Wait, what? Me??

I don’t even know what I grabbed for him. I think it was a black button-up shirt and a mustard yellow blazer… which I probably dusted with all the crap that was on my hands. The outfit was picked out but then we had another problem… Sam did not have an extra pair of shoes to wear. So he grabbed a pair of his brother’s which were honestly chewed up to hell and I think he would have been better off with socks.

Anyways, despite ALL OF THIS. He somehow gets showered and dressed JUST in time for the date to ring the doorbell. Now I’m hiding out in his room as per his wishes so I did not see the final product Sam that walked out the door…

But about four weeks later the dance pictures come back…

And OH. MY. GOOD. GRACIOUS.

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It was obviously a quick shower. Because he was still a bright pink hue. Not only that but he hadn’t gotten the mixes of chalk out from in between his eyelashes, so homeboy straight looked like was wearing liquid eyeliner. He looked like he was trying to go to the dance as the evil genie version of Jafaar.

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And with the bee outfit I picked out and the deformed shoes. Holy smokes.

The best part is that this poor girl had no idea about Festival of Colors… so I can only imagine what she thinks of the way her date showed up to this dance.

Ah. I love that story.

The Time I Explained the Facts of Life to a Grown Woman

Alright, so if you didn’t already know I served an LDS mission in Peru for eighteen months. That’s where this *delightful* story takes place.

This one day the girl I lived with and I started talking about our future babies… as one does when you’re single and not at all in a position to have any. We were just kind of talking about our predictions and everything and what we thought pregnancy would be like (which, oh HELLO. Writing this at 34 weeks. Pregnancy is only the craziest thing I could never imagine)

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Anyways, we were talking about all that when this girl says, “I wonder how you get pregnant”.
Yo.

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Pffftlol. Whaaaaat? I was like, “Oh uh… do you really not know how people get pregnant?”
“No.”

Mind was blown out my butt. How could this grown twenty-something woman not know this? Like how could she have been so failed by the school system, her parents AND every single form of mainstream media ever?

So in my mind, I was like alright look. I obviously have no problem talking about this kind of thing. And she straight up asked me. And wouldn’t it be better for me to give her a solid educational response rather than hearing some raunchy joke and being really confused as a freaking ADULT?

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So in my crappy half Spanish… I explained the birds and the bees to her. Literally. I used “the birds” and “the bees”. Because I couldn’t really think of a better way to go about it? Like IDK folks, birds have eggs and bees pollinate, okay!

It was honestly probably a ten-minute spiel. Eight at best. And then after all that, she just gives me the blankest look and says, “No. I meant like I wonder how you time things so you get pregnant. Like how do you track when you’re ready to ovulate and everything?”

Ohhhhhhhhh kay.

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I don’t know why TF she let me just teach her grown a$$ about sex for ten minutes. Like I WENT THROUGH THE ENTIRE THING. I explained it ALL. She told me that once I started she didn’t stop me because she was curious about how I was going to explain it.

Face. Palm.

Knowing her, she probably didn’t stop me because she thought it was freaking funny to watch me embarrass myself thinking I was doing some self-decided good deed.

I should’ve just said, “I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

Welcome To My Home… I Guess?

Is it cheating if I was a major player in the embarrassing story, but not the embarrassee? Because this hilarious thing happened to me a couple of days ago and I thought it was worth sharing…

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So, let me set the scene for you. It’s a random morning. Toys are littered all across the carpet. Sesame Street is on full blast. Jack is in his high chair eating a waffle and I’m doing the dishes. Pretty standard.

Suddenly, I hear a key unlock the front door. I’m like… Dan has JUST left to work. He must have forgotten something or maybe he has the day off (like in my wildest dreams).

The door wooshes open. Immediately followed by this unsure pause. At this point, I think Dan’s being funny or something. Maybe he’s trying to prank me. I poke my head around the corner to see…

Not Dan. Not anyone I’ve ever met before. There was this total stranger. A girl about my age staring at me in COMPLETE BEWILDERMENT.

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Me: Okay, uh… Hello?

Her: … I think the leasing office gave me the wrong key.

So apparently, she was going to check on a “vacant” apartment to give a tour later that day, but instead checked in on mine. I can only imagine what she must have thought when she opened the door. “SQUATTERS! With Sesame Street … and family pictures hanging on the wall… ummm…”

I’m just glad that I was actually wearing pants that morning.

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Being Too Dumb to Function in Arizona

K I wasn’t going to tell this story, because the wound is still fresh. But, asdlfksldghvlksrjgaslkdfj* FINE! I’ll make a post about this stupid, stupid mistake I made.

*asdlfksldghvlksrjgaslkdfj – (pronounced like slamming keys) exclamation, Keyboard Pound for I did not want to do the thing, but frustratingly so, I will do the thing. Ex. “I wasn’t going to comment on your outlandish political statement on Facebook, but asdlfksldghvlksrjgaslkdfj.”

Well, first off, pregnancy brain is strong with this one, okay. AND I WANT YOU TO KEEP THAT IN MIND… because I have no problem throwing my children under the bus in order to save face. No, listen, that’s not it. But if that’s not it, then it must be something because I feel like what I did could have been the punch line of a dumb-blonde joke.

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Obviously, Arizona is a third degree blister of burning heat. Like really. It reaches temperatures that are actual settings on ovens. So for the sake of our baby boys in the back seat we decided to have our Honda Civic windows tinted so that they, you know, could actually sit there.

It’s always a pain to get your cars worked on because you have to do the awkward second-car-shuffle. So my husband was driving Jack in the Honda and I took the Nissan. Ummmm K. I really hardly ever drive that car. It’s my husband’s commuter car and we always take the Honda for outings because it fits our car seat better. This might just be totally my anxiety but I feel like, driving a car you are not familiar with is trying to navigate a Chinese shuttle to the moon.

Well, whatever. So as I’m driving I immediately notice that something is wrong. The AC  is blowing hot air…

If you haven’t already read about our bad-luck-move-from-hell… this exact thing had happened to our other car on the way down. PLUS all the other mechanical issues we had already been through, not including trying to get tint on the windows.

And we’re driving to the whole other side of town. Well, maybe that SEEMS like not very far, but Mesa might as well be an effing East Coast state it’s so huge. It has 17 freeway exits alone. So here is the worst half an hour of my LIFE, sweat dripping into my eyes, cursing for … just being a human with functioning nerve endings. I’m five months pregnant, it’s over 110 degrees OUTSIDE of the car, okay. I’m rolling down the windows and sticking my head out like a Labrador.

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We get to the place and I immediately tell Dan, “THE AC IN THIS CAR WENT OUT TOO. ARIZONA HATES US.”

He leans in and points out that I had… in fact… never actually turned the air conditioning on.

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