Monthly Archives: November 2007

The Queen Mother

Have you been hitting refresh all day waiting for me to post this? I think you have. Or at least SOMEONE has, if my stats are any indication today. Are you that eager to humiliate me? It’s OK if you are; I would be too.

So, without further ado, here it is. The tale of my most embarrassing moment EVAH:

There is some background that you need to have in order to get the full effect of this story. It took place when I lived in my old apartment, which was located on a cul-de-sac. So, I had to kind of drive around the block to get to my apartment building. It’s hard to describe, so I have created an excellent quality rendering in MS Paint:


See? You would go down the pretty major road, down the side street, and around the block, and then you would be at my apartment. So you would need to drive past the Valvoline oil change place every day. End necessary background information – on with the show!

This incident took place not long after I got my first job in marketing. This job required me to travel a bit – mostly to places far enough to take a plane, but some that were within driving distance as well. At the time, I was also commuting 74 miles per day just to get to work and back.

One week, I was really (REALLY) overdue for an oil change. This was when I had my old piece of crap Saturn so it used to die on me when I so much looked at it funny, let alone when I hadn’t changed the oil in a really long time. Normally I took it to the dealer for everything (because it was such a piece of crap that things broke repeatedly and if I had the work done at the dealer they would fix it the rest of the times for free) but since I was heading to Hartford early the next morning I decided to go the Valvoline that was on the way home.

I arrived at the Valvoline in a huge rush, since I had just been stuck in traffic and they were supposed to be closing in 10 minutes. I will preface this by saying that I had never actually been to one of these quick oil change places before, but I knew the drill – pull in, car is over big hole, man in hole changes oil, drive out. Simple.

So I pulled in and I guess I was not really lined up with the hole very well because the man who waves you in kept waving me to move more to the left, so I did, and then I did some more, and then I did some more, and then the guy’s eyes got really big and he screamed at me to STOP. And that is when I found out that the man was not actually waving me in, he was on his cell phone, gesturing vehemently to the person he was talking to.

Also, my car? It was teetering on the edge of the lip around the big rectangular hole in the floor, and I was about THISCLOSE to having my car fall into the big hole. (I mean, the whole car wouldn’t fall in, but you get the idea. It would be VERY NOT GOOD to have your car fall into a hole, even if only part of the car was in the hole.) And there was no foreseeable way to get my car off of this edge and away from the hole without there being a very good chance of it falling in.

I don’t think I need to tell you what my state of mind was at this moment. I was white-knuckled on the steering wheel, with my feet slammed on both the brake and the clutch as hard as they could go. I was afraid to even breathe for fear that I would go in the hole. But I tried to stay calm.

All of the people who worked at the Valvoline were all milling around trying to figure out what to do. Finally it was determined that if they could get a jack under my car, they could jack it up enough to roll it off of the edge, and then I would be able to pull out of the garage without worrying that by moving half of an inch I would be in the hole. The only problem was that the Valvoline did not have a jack. But don’t worry! Joe’s brother does, and he only lives a few miles away, so Joe will go jump in this other guy’s truck (because the jack will not fit into Joe’s car) so that they can go get the jack.


So I continued to sit there, white-knuckled, while one of the other Valvoline workers tried to chat with me AS IF I WAS IN THE MOOD FOR PLEASANT CONVERSATION.  He told me that no one had ever fallen into the hole at this particular Valvoline, but at the one where he used to work, a few people had and their cars had been totaled, because when the car fell into the hole, it bent the frame, and after that happens a car is totaled. And then he wondered if insurance would cover a thing like that. 


At this point I was still staying somewhat calm, until Mr. Chatty calmly looked over and said, “I can’t believe your tire hasn’t popped yet from sitting on the edge like that. ‘Cause once that happens, you’re goin’ in.”

And then I lost it.

I mean, completely and totally lost my shit. We’re talking crying (possibly sobbing) mess, and covered with snot because I would not (COULD NOT) take my hand off the wheel to get a tissue. It was easily the worst public display of emotion I have ever put on, and that includes any possible temper tantrums thrown as a child.

Also, at this point I was wondering WHERE THE HELL, FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLD, WAS JOE???

It turns out that it took Joe a while to get the jack, because his brother wasn’t home and he didn’t have a key to the garage. But that was OK, because Joe had a buddy who worked as a tow truck driver and mechanic, and he had a jack at his garage that was only a few towns away. Joe had connections.

So I sat there, still on the verge of hysteria, as the snot and tears tried to my face only to be replaced by fresh, new snot and tears, and thought that at least, AT LEAST no one would ever have to know about this. Because I would not tell a soul.

But wouldn’t you know that my two roommates were walking to the convenience store at the time? And they were walking right past the Valvoline? And they saw my car and thought that something didn’t look right? And so they came to the Valvoline and now I had no hope of keeping the memory of this incident buried in a deep, dark recess of my mind?

(Also, they were not very good at pretending that they weren’t laughing at me. Which only made it worse.)

Finally, Joe came back with the jack. Then I found out the details of the plan. The jack was actually to be placed on top of some type of work-cart thing, which really was not meant to hold the weight of either the jack, or the car that the jack was going to be holding up. Good. Then, since they would not be able to get the jack into position under the area of the car that is meant to be jacked up, they would have to put it under some other area and hope that it did not slip and/or cause a ton of damage to the bottom of the car. Even better. Then, if all the stars aligned, they would be able to push my car off the edge of the hole while keeping the jack balanced. GREAT. Let’s get it the hell over with, already.

I crossed my fingers as hard as they have ever been crossed and commenced freaking out EVEN MORE than I had been before. They positioned the jack, did their thing, and believe it or not it worked! I was back on solid ground – and I was out of that car faster than you can say I AM NEVER GOING TO VALVOLINE AGAIN.

I flat out refused to drive my car out of the garage, because I was not taking any chances. No way. So Joe (my hero) drove my car out, but not before first insisting that I allow him to change the oil since that is what I had come there for in the first place. I threatened my roommates that if they ever spoke of the incident, I would kill them while they slept. And then I beat it the hell out of there, never to return.

Except that I had to drive RIGHT PAST that Valvoline on my way home every day for the next year and half, until I finally moved. And I SWEAR that the people who worked there knew my car and laughed at me every time they saw me.

So there you have it. My most embarrassing moment. If any of you are thinking “that’s not that bad”… well, really, you didn’t see me covered in snot and sobbing so you really can’t say. And no, I have never and will never drive my car into one of those places ever again as long as I live.

If you enjoyed this story (or even if you just think that I am the biggest moron that ever lived) please leave a comment… it will help me to get over the haunting memory of The Queen Mother of embarrassing moments.


Filed under NaBloPoMo 2007

Guest Post: Sherry’s embarrassing moment.

Today we have the very first guest post on my blog, which is very exciting. Sherryhas graciously agreed to share her very own embarrassing moment. She also very nicely said that I could feel free to edit it, but I did not because it is perfect as is. So, enjoy reading, and please pop over to Sherry’s blog to thank her for sharing this very funny story.


The day my older brother got his driver license my family was driving home from visiting my grandfather in the north side of Dallas somewhere. We were driving along- with my brother in the driver’s seat, my mother in the passenger seat, my little sister behind my brother, and me behind my mother- when WHAM somebody made a left-hand turn into us. We whirled out of control through the intersection until we slammed into a light pole.

It was this point in my life when I learned that I pass out easily. I learned this because during this whole ordeal I found myself passing out numerous times. I began passing out rather immediately. In fact, I don’t actually remember getting hit. I do remember a loud noise and endless spinning. And then I remember waking up. When I woke up, my mother and brother had exited the car, and only my sister and I remained. A helpful gentleman was in the front seat asking my sister and I if we were okay. While he was there, I saw my mother fall and commenced freaking out.

The nice man said I ought to stay in the car. But how was I supposed to do that with my mother on lying on the ground outside of the car? I pushed him out of the way (because my door wouldn’t open, I had to crawl to the front seat in order to get out), and I said, “Get out of my way, dude!” Of course, this man was not what you would normally consider a “dude.” In fact, I think he was black. Also, he was in the passenger seat, so I literally pushed him out of the way so I could get to my mom.

And then I passed out. I don’t remember much of the next part except waking up here and there, being utterly confused and in a lot of pain. Although I didn’t break anything, I was bruised rather badly. People kept standing over me asking me if I was okay and then saying, “You’re bleeding! It looks like you busted your lip.” This, to me, was rather obnoxious because my lip did not hurt at all, but my legs, hips and head were killing me.

Eventually the paramedics got there, and this is where the story really gets good. I got put on a backboard and gurney and the whole nine yards. As the paramedics worked with me, I could only see one of them, but I knew two were there. They asked me things like where I was hurt and such. Then they wheeled me to the ambulance and put me. At this point, I finally saw the other paramedic. And wow! He was cute. And I told him so. “You’re hot!” I said. I do not remember what he said, but what would you say if a seventeen-year-old just told you such a thing?

And then the ambulance drive. I was wearing my color guard (flag twirling girl) jacket, and I was captain that year. One paramedic said, “Wow. Captain, eh? You must be pretty good.” “Yes, I’m the best one on the whole team,” I told him. I guess I was saying “like” a lot because one of them mimicked me (jokingly of course), and I replied, “Hey! I may talk like I’m dumb, but I’m not! I’m third in my class! I’m very smart!” (Clearly I was not a very humble teenager).

Also, in the ambulance I told the paramedics that my father was in Brooklyn, when actually he was at Brookhaven Community College taking a Spanish class. I also called my older sister and left a hilarious message on her phone. If I were ever to be drunk, I’m pretty sure I would sound like that. “Hiiiiii Teresa. I’m in an aaaambulance. Steven wrecked the car!” etc. Really, you need to hear me do an impression of myself to get the full effect here.

We spent several hours at the hospital until we were finally all able to leave. And before we left, guess who I saw? That’s right. The hot paramedic. He was still hot. At least I wasn’t delusional about that. Unfortunately, he saw and recognized me, and it dawned on me that I had said such an embarrassing thing.


P.S. I am already working on writing the Queen Mother for tomorrow. I need to do it in stages, because it is long and I turn red every time I start writing it. I really hope you like it, because of how much I have been hyping it, but no matter what I can assure you that it is still really and truly embarrassing to this day!

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The Farm and The Talk

I was trying to figure out which story to tell today, since tomorrow will be Sherry’s guest post (yay!), and then I think Friday will be the Queen Mother, and then I think I am done with this embarrassment for a while. I will probably sprinkle the rest of the stories sporadically throughout some other posts, but I think I would like a break from this kind of story-telling. (I mean, a break other than the extended one I took recently.) I’ve enjoyed writing these stories, but they leave little time for writing about how much I love clementines (so much that I have gone through an entire crate of them in less than a week) and shoes (so much that I have purchased 4 new pairs in the last week, hello, my lovelies) and how much I hate the annoying woman in the nearby cubicle (so, so much because this morning I was treated to her half hour long phone conversation about her son, and his haircut, and their Christmas pictures, and did you know he’s constipated again, which NO I DIDN’T KNOW THAT AND I REALLY DIDN’T NEED TO, stop making personal calls at work or at least stop being so LOUD about it). So I think a better mix of story-telling to mindless drivel is in order. I am much better at drivel.

However, I did have to eventually choose a story. I was stuck between two of them, but this one eventually won out because I think I’ve had enough stories about college and not nearly enough about my adolescence. And if there were ever a time for awkwardness and embarrassment and embarrassing awkwardness, it was my adolescence. Here goes:

I was kind of a dork growing up. (I know, I still am, but now I embrace it.) Not in the weird, ‘has no friends and likes to sniff her own pits’ kind of way, but in the ‘has friends but is a little bit socially awkward, is not popular and has no clue how to dress’ kind of way. So not surprisingly, the boys did not come running to my teenage self.

However, one boy did. And that is how I got my very first boyfriend. I have tried long and hard to think of a really good name to give him for the purposes of this story, but I’m drawing a blank. Hmmm… how about Howard? I think that will do nicely, since it even almost kind of sort of sounds a little bit like his real name.

So Howard had asked me out and we went on our first date (we went ice skating) and all was going well. And I guess in order to explain the rest I have to first tell you that Howard’s mom and my mom are best friends, and so Howard and I had known each other since we were babies (there are bathtub pictures, the horror) and yes, that IS sad and pathetic, but it is also true. One of the activities that our mothers had taken us to when we were wee little toddlers was a program at a local farm. The moms volunteered and in exchange got a few hours away from their children, and the children got to play with ducks and goats and go on hayrides. I don’t know what it says about us that our mothers would rather clean our horse stalls than be with us for a few more hours each week, but I suppose when you are a stay at home mom it’s not unreasonable to get sick of your kid after a while.

So this is all background to explain that Howard’s mom still volunteered/worked at the farm (at some kind of historical museum that was part of it, I think) and that is how Howard and I ended up volunteering at the corn maze.

Have you ever been to a corn maze? They are actually kind of fun, and Howard and I had a good time volunteering, because what better way to foster young love than to make eyes at each other over a bale of hay. I mean, really. This is romance, people.

One night we were there kind of late, and Howard’s mom had to finish up some stuff, so she told us to go hang out for a while and she would let us know when she was done. So Howard and I walked around the farm, and ended up in one of the barns, where I had my very first Make-Out Session. (I was a good girl, so it was making out only, thankyouverymuch.)

I guess Howard and I didn’t realize how long we had been there, but after a while we figured it had been kind of a while, and it was time to pull ourselves away from swapping spit and go find his mom so that we could go home. However, the second we stepped out of the barn we heard a rather frantic voice calling for us. We ran toward the voice and found Howard’s mom, who had been looking for us for over an HOUR, and who was completely convinced that we had been axe murdered or eaten by wolves or drowned or worse. Oops.

I tried to surreptitiously pull hay out of my hair and mumble an apology, but Howard was not so demure. “Geez, Mom, stop making such a big deal,” he said. “We were busy.”

Well let me tell you, that was the WRONG THING TO SAY, since Howard’s mom thought that busy meant, well, BUSY, and that is how I ended up getting the sex lecture from my boyfriend’s mother and knowing that my own mother would be hearing about it the very second I got home. And I really don’t know what was worse, being told about condoms and diseases, or having to explain that, um, we weren’t doing that, really we weren’t and yes I know how babies are made.

For the record, Howard is now married and has two kids, so I’m pretty sure that now he knows how babies are made.


Filed under NaBloPoMo 2007


So…. I guess I kind of disappeared for a while there, huh. And during the month when I should have been posting every day! The horror!

I don’t have an entirely excellent reason why I was gone, but assuming that you care, it had something to do with work, and a kind of hugely important thing that got screwed up, and needing to fix it. Luckily, with the application of (a lot of my) time and (a lot of the company’s) money all is well and fixed and fine.

There’s also been some family stuff happening which has been, ahem, rather unpleasant, and so I wasn’t really feeling up to 1) being humorous (Wait – I’m humorous, right? I mean, I don’t want to assume and then have you think that I think I’m funny, when really I’m not funny at all. In my real life, I don’t consider myself to be all that funny, but I think some of the stuff on here is pretty funny. I mean, spaghetti! On a wall! It’s a riot!) and 2) delving into some of my life’s less flattering moments.

So there you have it.

But! But, I did have a lovely Thanksgiving, complete with lots of pie. And my Black Friday shopping endeavors were fairly successful. Don’t worry, I’m not one of those crazies who’s out at the mall at 5am. I rolled out of bed at 6:30, and with a few clicks of the mouse, I had my items and the stores had my dollars, and I was back in bed by 7:15. Success!

Among the items purchased was a GPS, and while I’m sorry to say that this purchase will likely result in a decrease of the number of embarrassing stories I have to tell in the future, I am convinced that it will also be a life-changing purchase. Because, you see, I have no sense of direction, and getting lost really stresses me out. Matt kind of has a sense of direction, but getting lost makes him curse a lot. And I don’t know about the areas that you live in, but around here Mapquest (or Google Maps, or whatever) sucks. Boston (and its surrounding suburbs) is a city made almost entirely of 18th century cow paths that someone decided to pave into roads, and with construction and the Big Dig, this all basically translates to: YOU AIN’T GOIN’ NOWHERE. At least without getting lost. Enter my new beloved GPS, which Santa brought for Matt and I as an early Christmas present.

In other news, do you want to know what else I did this weekend? I organized my closet, and went through all of my clothes, and I tried on all of my old clothes, and you know what? THEY FIT.

I’ve been waiting to talk about this, and while I realize that the week following the Great Pie Consumption of 2007 might not be the best time to do it, I want to talk about weight loss, and the fact that I, personally, have lost it. Weight, that is. The thing is, I know we’re all supposed to be happy with ourselves, and focused on being healthy and not the number on the tag, and media images and unhealthy habits and blah de blah blah blah, but the fact is, I was unhappy. Really, really unhappy. And for once in my life, I up and did something about it.

Sure I whined about it for a while first, as some readers might remember, but then at the end of August I started anew. I had lost about 10 pounds by the time I went to NJ to visit with Liz in mid-October, and as of right now I am only a tiny bit shy (it’s that damn pie) of being 20 pounds lighter than I was at the end of August. Sure, there are things that I still want to work on (Hello, triceps! And you stupid, stupid thighs!) but for the most part I am really happy, and I swear when I put on those old jeans (and I could both zip them AND breathe at the same time) there was the sound of angels singing. Because while I know, I KNOW, that it’s not about the number on the tag, and stores are making their clothes bigger to make women feel better about that stupid number, I don’t care, because SIZE SIX, BITCHES.


Anyway, as good as those jeans made me feel, I honestly do feel even better about being happy with myself, and accomplishing something, even something as trivial as reduction of the size of my ass. (I should get a medal. Or maybe a plaque.)

So now that I’m feeling all warm and fuzzy and small-assed (or you know, smallER-assed), let me go ahead and promise more stories of humiliation. I guess since I missed all those days of NaBloPoMo, I will just post the very best of the remaining stories for the next few days, finishing with the Queen Mother on Friday, or maybe sometime next week, depending on how many stories I have left. (You still want to hear the Queen Mother, don’t you?) Since I kind of kicked the whole theory of NaBloPoMo out the window, I guess it doesn’t matter if I actually tell the final tale on the last day of the month.

Also, wanna know something amazing? Or, rather, someONE? The fabulous Sherry has agreed to do a guest post with her very own embarrassing moment. Sherry is fabulous for many reasons: she likes board games, reading, and ice cream, which I personally think are some very good things to like. Also, her guest post is pretty darn good, so I look forward to sharing it with you.  I will be posting Sherry’s guest post on Thursday, so be sure to check back and see that I am not the only one who manages to do silly things sometimes!

That’s all for today, duckies. It’s good to be back!


Filed under Family, Holidays, Life in New England, NaBloPoMo 2007, Project Old Pants, Retail Therapy


I am not dead. And while I realize that not posting for 3 days out of the month that requires posting ever day is a horrible offense, of which the only excusable excuse would be death, well… na na na NAH na you can’t make me do it.

Sorry. I might be a little stressed out. I might also be going home to the largest, most delicious glass of wine in the whole freaking world. Or, you know, several of them.

I promise to be back with less Crazy and more Embarrassing tomorrow. Pinky swear.


Filed under NaBloPoMo 2007

NaBloPoMo #15 – Panic in the Lunch Room

For an explanation of my NaBloPoMo theme, click here.

I have to preface this one by saying: I swear that I am not making this up. You will read it and think that there is no way that this actually happened, but it did. I am still haunted by the memory.

I know everyone thinks that the cafeterias in dorms are the most awful places on earth, but I actually loved my school’s cafs. At such a large school, there are a bunch of different cafeterias, and a large number of options in each one. For someone like me, who is a picky eater and will happily eat the same (safe, boring) thing every night, the cafeteria was heaven.

(Also, I didn’t have to cook.)

(Also, the Fro Yo machine was like a little gift from heaven. How much do you think it would cost to have one of those in my house?)

So anyway, the caf was great, yada yada, until this one day when I managed to wreak havoc by doing several stupid things in quick succession:

First, I got my (boring, safe) dinner consisting of spaghetti with marinara sauce and put it on a tray. Then, I went to get a drink. The drink machine was kind of crowded, so I tried to reach around someone to get a cup, and in the process I kind of leaned my tray up against the wall next to the drink machine.  I got my cup and stuck it under the soda dispenser. Things were fine until I leaned a little too much, and the tray slipped and slammed into the wall. The plate of spaghetti and sauce seemed to linger in slow motion before sliding down the wall, leaving a streak of spaghetti sauce in its wake and and large chunks of broken plate mixed with spaghetti on the floor.

People scattered and snickered as I frantically reached for napkins to try to control the mess. Some poor, kind cafeteria worker took pity on me and brought over some large rags to try to help me, but as he approached, he slipped in some of the mess and in some kind of bizarre Home Alone-type action sequence, fell against the wall and slid down the same path that the spaghetti sauce had taken. When the poor guy tried to get up, he cut himself (not badly, but enough that it was bleeding) on the broken plate!

It was then that I noticed that my cup? The one that I had stuck under the fountain soda machine? Was leaning up against the little metal thingie that makes the soda come out. And it was overflowing – everywhere.

(Now do you see why I had to preface this story? Do you?)

I moved off campus the following year. I think it was for the best.

It’s not too late to volunteer to write a guest post! Come on – someone step up and help a girl out! 


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NaBloPoMo – An Intermission

For an explanation of my NaBloPoMo theme, click here.

Things I have recently discovered:

I am only halfway through NaBloPoMo. How is that possible?

I skipped a number somewhere in my numbering scheme. (8, I think.) But then I had messed it all up anyway since the first one didn’t have a number, but now I feel obligated to continue the numbers. So tomorrow will be number15. And there will only be 28 numbers at the end. And there will be no number 8.

I seem to be short a few stories somehow, even though I thought I counted at the beginning and I had enough. There are other stories I could tell… but I told myself that I wouldn’t write any stories that involved someone other than me as the primary embarrassee. (Even if I was there or was embarrassed in some way.) SO. How about a guest post? Come on. You know you want to. Pretty please??

This has been fun, but I am really looking forward to not posting every day. I am actually looking forward to that more than I am looking forward to no longer revealing my most idiotic and klutzy self on the Internet. Of course, it doesn’t help that NaBloPoMo happened to fall during a time when work has been insane. (INSANE, I tell you.)

Speaking of work, (if you aren’t prepared for a whiny tirade, you can just skip to the next paragraph) you know what sucks? Work sucks, at least it has lately. Budget planning REALLY sucks, because MATH SUCKS. Feeling physically ill from stress on your drive to work sucks. Being almost done is pretty good, but not being completelydone sucks. Boo hoo. Feel bad for me. Send wine. (So that I can have less whine. Ha.)

Soooo… that’s all I’ve got. I think tomorrow’s story is a pretty good one, and it will also be long, you can just pretend that I am saving my writing energy for tomorrow. Because obviously it wasn’t spent on today.

Also, any volunteers for guest posts, please (PLEASE!) e-mail me at onesmartcookie1231 at yahoo dot com, or leave a comment letting me know that I am not the only one dumb enough to post this stuff. (You can remain anonymous if you want!) Otherwise you are guaranteed at least a few days of this drivel before the month of November is over. Act now!

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