12.28.2011

Cringeworthy: Part Quattro "High School"

Oh, high school.

Social ineptitude, emotional train wrecks, monster zits, dances, hormones, unbelievably reckless behavior...

I'm pretty sure it's a rule that you have to do at least ten stupid things while in high school.
Stupid?
Or awesome?
Everything seems like a good idea at the time, but holy shit, upon looking back it's amazing I'm alive.
Really, my parents should have killed me at least a few times when my own dumb antics didn't.
And on a cold weekend in December I did very nearly die... of embarrassment.

The time: December 2002. Junior year of high school.

The place: Port Huron, Michigan

Outcome: Eh, just read the damn thing.

My high school was home to a unique group of girls. A pseudo-sorority called LRT, the "Ladies of the Round Table".
Once a year, on the first Saturday in December, they sponsored a formal dance. The dance was ladies choice, and it didn't matter what grade you were in. If you were in high school and could afford the ticket you could go.

Which is how I ended up in a dress, with a corsage as big as my head, on the arm of my boyfriend at the time. Let's call him "Rhodes".
Some names have been changed to protect the not entirely innocent.
We had a great time dancing and hanging out with friends, but eventually the lights came on and it was time to go.

Think back to your first "serious" relationship.
There was a ridiculous amount of face suck wasn't there?
Don't lie. Yes there was.
Anyway...

In my '93 Dodge Spirit, behind an out-of-business home improvement store...

Pimp mobile
'Cause that's just how the kids do.

Well, it's winter. So naturally the windows do this:



Which is why I didn't notice this:

Until it started doing this:
Fuck.
You may be thinking, "So the cops caught you making out. Who cares? No big deal."

Wait, it gets better.

Remember this program?
The D.A.R.E officer for my school district was a Mr. Deputy Muxlow.

He had also been my seventh grade softball coach.

.....

You have exactly one guess as to who came knocking on the car window.

Yeah, we've met.
It would have been one thing had it been an officer I didn't know. I could have brushed off the embarrassment, secure in the knowledge that we were strangers and I would never see him again.
As it was though - Goodbye anonymity. Hello spirit crushing shame.

His exact words to me?

"Blair? You're driving now?"

The last time he had seen me was as a fresh faced youngster on the softball diamond. 


Now I was a painted up harlot, making out behind an abandoned store front.

And not nearly this classy.
The phrase "paralyzing mortification" sums things up quite nicely.

Thankfully, Deputy Muxlow let us go without too much fuss.

But my face has never been so red.
And of course Rhodes is in the passenger seat, laughing like a retarded seal.






Ah, high school. Could there ever be a more awkward time?

The answer you're looking for is "No".

12.22.2011

Cringeworthy the Third: "College"

The Time: Spring 2006

The Place: Ferris State, Big Rapids Michigan

Outcome: Omelets maybe? My memory gets fuzzy at this point.

It's a fact that the best stories stem from the college years. But I'm not here to tell of my rockstar partying days, clutch beer pong shots, or zany antics.
Although I do have one piece of advice for my sister, who has just started college:
I know you have AAA.
If you're ever out drinking attending a study group, and are too wasted tired to make it home, you may not have to spend money on a taxi.
Three times a year you can call AAA roadside assistance. They will tow your car and get you back to your place for free.
You're welcome.

Anyway, back to me acting like an idiot.

I was twenty in the spring of 2006, just finishing up my sophomore year of college. It was the night before my dad was scheduled to come and help move all my stuff back home for the summer.
Exams were over, I was no longer working, and my dorm room was about half-way packed up.
It was pretty obvious where I would be spending the rest of the evening...

Now, I was only 20. Obviously not legal. I anticipated a simple evening of dancing, socializing, and saying good-bye to friends who were graduating. I would be home by 2AM at the latest. Plenty of time to sleep, pack up the rest of my stuff, and be ready for when my dad came at 9AM the next morning.
Except it did. Spectacularly.
As I handed my I.D to the bouncer at the door, something completely amazing and unexpected happened.
Instead of reaching for the Sharpie to identify me as a minor, he looked at me, looked at my I.D and said: "You're going to be chill tonight, right?"
"Absolutely!"

And then I walked into the bar with a wristband.


More like half-ran really. I couldn't believe my luck, and wanted to make sure I got in before he changed his mind.

And did I keep it calm by sticking with beer or one shot drinks? Hell no! I started in on long islands like it was my job.
Surely I won't regret this decision.

But before you think I'm a complete idiot, here's a little back story regarding long islands:
The Michigan town I grew up in sits right across the border from Canada where the drinking age is 19. So really, I had been legally drinking for over a year. However, as I would find out later, there is a huge difference between Canadian long islands and their U.S counterparts.
Personally, I blame the metric system.
It boiled down to this: In Canada, they give you one metric shot of rum and fill the rest with sour mix and a splash of coke. I could consume three or four over the course of an entire night and still be fine.
But as we all know, in the U.S, a long island consists of not only rum, but gin, vodka, tequila and triple sec. Making it so there's barely enough room for the sour mix and splash of coke.

I think we can see where this is heading...
Classy. As. Balls.
The bar finally closed and somehow I'm still on my feet. Getting some greasy diner food sounds like the best idea ever, and there's only one place open this time of night...
This place seems vaguely familiar...
The rest is kind of a blur, I know a group of us went there and got a booth. And I'd like to think that I politely excused myself for a quiet sit down in the ladies room, but in actuality it was probably more of a drunken stumble and loud projectile vomiting. 
Such a lady am I.
 Fortunately, I had some good friends with me. That or they were just tired of dealing with my stupidity.

Anyway, one of my buddies lived in a house across the street. He dragged me across the road and deposited me on a couch. I immediately passed out and he went back to finish his eggs.

What seemed like moments later, my friend is shaking me awake. In the distance it sounds like a phone is ringing.

"Hey, wake up! You have like six missed calls. Weren't you going home today?"

"What? Oh shit, shit, shit. Where are my keys?!"

It's past 10 o'clock in the morning. My dad has been waiting for over an hour. 


Imagine for a moment that you're a parent. (Hell, maybe you already are.)
You've driven three and a half hours to help your baby girl come home from school. She's the first one in the family to go away to college. Her grades are good, and you can't help but feel a sense of pride in knowing that you've done a good job raising this one.
Yes, very proud.
And a robot.
But there's no answer when you knock on her door, and when she finally answers the phone, her voice sounds funny. She apologizes profusely and tells you she'll be right over.
Fifteen minutes later, your daughter comes bouncing up the steps. Reeking of smoke and wearing what are obviously bar clothes from the night before, there appear to be pillow creases on the side of her face, and she is displaying an unusual sensitivity to light.  
Uh, hey Dad.
 If my dad was angry he hid it well. But he also wasn't about to let me off easy. Especially after I unlocked the door to my dorm to reveal the mess of boxes that littered the floor.
I could have sworn I had packed up more than this.
Every other word out of my mouth was some variation of "I'm sorry".
My dad sighs, "Lets just get this stuff packed up."
He leaves to go pull the van around, and that's when the hangover hits.
I would welcome death.
I'm feebly chucking stuff into boxes when my suitemate makes an unexpected but very welcomed appearance. She hooks me up with some aspirin and helps move boxes around.

Several hours later everything is packed in.
Success!
And considering the circumstances, taking my dad out to breakfast is the least I can do.
So we go to breakfast at, where else?
The same diner whose bathroom I had puked all over mere hours before.
 And then I drove my car three and a half hours back home. Still hungover.

But we did learn one thing.
To avoid an even more embarrassing repeat, in the years that followed, Dad made sure to show up the day before I moved out.
You know, for the time honored tradition of getting wrecked with his daughter.
Cheers!

12.21.2011

Cringeworthy 2.0 "Rock City"

 Foot in Mouth Disease.

The time: Year and a half ago.

The place: Adairsville, Ga.

Outcome: You know what? I'm not going to feel bad about this one anymore.
                Not worth the price of admission.


There is a place in Chattanooga, Tennessee called Rock City.
It reigns supreme among all tourist traps and cheesy roadside attractions. Even Wall Drug of South Dakota pays tribute to this Kingdom of Kitsch.

Approximately 900 barns in the midwest and southeast U.S have been painted with advertisements beckoning people to see for themselves the glorious wonders of Rock City.
Seven states and they're hinting that it's the best thing ever??
Sold.
We were living in rural northwest Georgia when we finally heeded the siren call of the Rock City Barns.
Young and bored, the decision to make the hour drive into Chattanooga was an easy one.
The barns had promised fantastic sights, and we eagerly anticipated experiencing the amazing Rock City for ourselves. 

However, upon entering the park we were overwhelmed with the creepy trying-to-be-Disney-but-can't-quite-pull-it-off-because-of-low-production-quality vibes.
All this, but with a scratchy "fairytale" soundtrack playing.
Granted, Look-Out Mountain was appropriately scenic, the gardens were nice, and the cheesiness of the "Enchanted Trail" was good for a laugh. But there was something not quite right about the fake cave at the end of the trail, innocently called "Fairyland Caverns".
Abandon hope all ye who enter here.
In this instance I think a few pictures should suffice to convey the feelings of dread and disgust that we felt, regarding the creepy paper mache Mother Goose abominations that loomed within the caverns.
Legend has it that the souls of lost children are trapped within the figurines.
Fortunately we escaped with our souls intact, and laughed about the corniness of Rock City for the rest of the weekend.

The Cringe

On Monday, myself and a co-worker were driving around together supervising. Let's call him "Chip".
Inevitably, Chip asks the obligatory "do anything fun this weekend?" question. And naturally I launch into a witty monologue, lampooning every ridiculous aspect about Rock City I could think of. The deer park with no deer, creepy dwarves, and chintzy exhibits. Nothing was safe.
Seriously, where are all the deer?
Finally, after five or ten minutes, (it may have been longer, my self-absorption causes me to occasionally blank out), I noticed that Chip wasn't sharing my enthusiasm for bashing Rock City, so I quiet down and ask if he's ever been there.

"Yeah. In fact, I proposed to my wife there."


"Are you serious?"

"Yeah, she loved it."

"Well, you probably did it in a quiet romantic spot or something, huh?"

"Nope, I got down on one knee on top of Look-Out Mountain. There was a pretty good crowd of people."
Fuuuuuuccckkk...

"Wow. Well, um, I guess whatever makes her happy."


Ugh. I suck.

Cringeworthy - But at least you'll feel better about yourself.

Growing up is tough. We're exposed to millions of new experiences, but are supposed to act as though we've done it all before. Of course that's impossible. So we do stupid things and make less than stellar decisions because we're learning. And that never stops. Ever.

Some folks are just slower than others.
And since no one person knows the correct response to all of life's scenarios, we occasionally have some pretty spectacular screw ups. Naturally this causes us to wish that death by embarrassment was a real thing. 
However, considering my track record, I assure you, it is not.

In keeping with the grand tradition of laughing at people doing stupid things, I hope you enjoy these next few posts. And if you don't, perhaps you will enjoy this instead.
^NSFW^
The Very Serious Elf.

The time: Two days ago.

The place: Work

Outcome: Had to change pants.

Imagine you're at work. It's still early, but it's been a pretty good morning so far. You've managed to get to work on time and actually remembered to make coffee.
Christmas is only a few days away, and that holly jolly goodwill-toward-men feeling is bubbling up inside you. Maybe you're singing Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer a little louder than you would if you knew people were around.

That was the situation I found myself in as I was going through the office back door. Balancing a coffee mug on the clipboard I was carrying in one hand, while I fished for my keys with the other.
"... had a very shiny nose.
And if you ever saw it, you would even say it glows.
Like a lightbulb!"

As I was dealing with the door, a few things happened simultaneously. I heard a voice say "Morning", and a tiny head popped out from behind the hood of a car parked not three feet away.

How long have you been standing there!?
Naturally I jumped about a foot in the air, spilling coffee all over myself as the little person came ambling out from behind the car. He was dressed in a bright red cardigan.
Eh. Something like that.
Anyway, I think it was the combination of being startled and in Christmas mode that caused my brain to short-circuit. Effectively throwing all politically correct thinking out the window.
So as I stood there, covered in coffee, the only thing going through my head was:
"An Elf is talking to me!"
Damn you Hollywood!
Of course that's ridiculous, so I started laughing. But this was a very serious little person. Perhaps he guessed my thoughts and disapproved, or was just disturbed by my lack of professionalism. Either way, he was not laughing. Which caused me to become really embarrassed.

The coffee mug I had dropped was rolling toward him. He eyed it, stepped over the mug and went inside.

Burned. Both by coffee and a little person.

Ouch.

12.10.2011

Ho ho ho... Where's the eggnog?

'Tis the season!
To break out the brandy and spike the 'nog.
Stimulate the economy, see the family, and then drown our aggravations with a stiff libation.
The melodies we've ignored all year are now jingling in everyone's ear,
bringing forth such holiday...cheer.

I may be in need of another beer...

Wow, that was painful. Okay, I'm done rhyming now. Promise.

Eleven months out of the year I refuse to tolerate holiday music. I suppose that's pretty typical, but the moment December hits, well, just fill my lungs with sugarplums and... whoops. No rhyming. Sorry.

Basically, I'm digging me some Christmas music, even if it's not all actually "Christmas" music.
But lord knows there's no shortage of it.
Producing a holiday album is like a rite of passage for mainstream musicians and singers. Most of the songs are at least tolerable, yet there are more than a few that are clearly the hell-spawn of the evil Burgermeister Meisterburger and Heat Miser. 
You know they're gettin' some freaky, angry, 1970's stop motion lovin on.
Rawr.
 These are the songs that make up the yuletide soundtrack for at least one of Dante's circles of hell. Songs like - 

"Dominick the Donkey"

First sang by Lou Monte, somehow this abomination has managed to get airtime since 1960.
Complete with such inspired lyrics as:
"Hey! Chingedy ching,
(hee-haw, hee-haw)
It's Dominick the donkey.
Chingedy ching,
(hee-haw, hee-haw)
The Italian Christmas donkey!"
Sapping your will to live one bray at a time.
Consequence: Every time this song is played, the ghost of Lou Monte strangles a puffin.

Do you really want to be responsible for that?
Awesome Alternative: Trans Siberian Orchestra's "Carol of the Bells"

Because, oh I don't know. It's festive, upbeat, and rockin!

You are welcome.



Okay, remember when a country song wasn't really country unless it was describing some kind of horrific tragedy? That's Christian group NewSong's  "Christmas Shoes". They just added a sprig of holly to the saddest country song ever with the sole intention of not so much tugging at your heart strings, as ripping them out and using them to play an acoustic guitar.
Apparently it allows for a much richer sound.
A little tear jerk is fine, but these guys have plunged off Sympathy Highway and swan-dived over Manipulation Cliff. Leaving me to feel nothing but resentment, as well as an uncanny ability to recognize "Christmas Shoes" within the first three chords in order to quickly change stations.

Consequence: Broken shoelaces. Forever. And poo seeking sneaker soles.

Awesome Alternative: Judy Garland's "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas."

It's everything "Shoes" is not. Well sung and optimistic. Simple, but much more pleasant.

Take it away Miss. Garland


"I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas", you say?

Gayla Peevey, I understand you were only ten at the time, so it's not entirely your fault. But your obnoxiously squeaky child voice has plagued me every December for the last 26 years. What idiot would actually want a freakin hippopotamus for Christmas anyway?!
Kid, I don't care if they are herbivores. Your mom was right, that thing is going to eat you.
I can only theorize that "I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas" was the end result of a particularly wacky bout of Mad Libs. Nothing about it makes sense, not even in a cute way. It's the squeaky dysfunctional fourth wheel on the shopping cart that just spins around annoyingly.

Consequence: You get a hippopotamus.


Enjoy.

Awesome Alternative: Mannheim Steamroller's "Sleigh Ride"

Sure it's a little goofy, what with the coconut clip-clop sound, but it's fun and lighthearted. Also there's not a trace of awkward prepubescent vocals. And who doesn't love a horn section?




And yet few sounds of the season can compete with the squeakiness that is The Chipmunks' "The Christmas Song".
You might not like what I'll do with your hula hoop.
I hope those bastards enjoyed their helium, because the rest of us are paying dearly for it.

Consequence: Chased by three hungry, rabid chipmunks.

Awesome Alternative: Bruce Springsteen's "Santa Claus is Coming to Town".

Because he's the Boss, and there's a saxophone involved. What more do you want, really?




I was pretty young when I first heard "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus" by the Jackson 5, but I do remember being very disturbed that infidelity was being discussed so nonchalantly. But this song isn't so much inherently bad, as it just left a bad taste in my mouth because of what I associated it with for all those years. So I won't hate on it too much.
It did take me until about the end of middle school to figure out that Mommy was not, in fact, a Santa Claus groupie. Yes, I'm occasionally a little slow. Like how I didn't realize that Elton John was gay until my sophomore year of high school.
I just knew that the guy has a great music catalog. One might even call it... fabulous.
C'mon, the 80's were all glam rock. In my mind Elton John was just a hold over from the days of David Bowie and Iggy Pop. At any rate, you can't deny the man's "Step into Christmas".

Okay, yeah, the feather boa might have been a clue.




"But what's the best holiday song?" you may ask. Of course it's different things for different people, but Dean Martin's "Baby it's Cold Outside" is my current favorite.
Yes, I believe you're right. It is cold outside.
Really, I'll listen to any Dean Martin holiday song though. He's a man that just oozed cool. Mischievous without being reckless, flirtatious without being slimy.
I like to picture him smiling into the the microphone while winking at a pretty girl working the soundboard.


And what guy hasn't pulled something like this? Trying to convince a girl not to leave quite yet.
Adorable.


But whatever you're listening to, however your beliefs may be, and wherever you are:
Happy Holidays, Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Kwanza, Christkwanzukkah, and Festivus for the rest of us.

Travel safe!