Well, I stand (sit) before you embarrassed today, MF'ers.
You see, a week ago on a Thursday yours truly was asked to guest host Mojo Friday, that beloved site institituion, as a favor for TexDem, who was heading off to Netroots Nation 2009 in Pittsburgh.
Thing is, if you tell a reporter on a Thursday that you want it Friday, he or she will usually assume that you don't mean next Friday. But that's what TexDem had meant. Heh.
So imagine his surprise to find my Mojo Friday diary posted last Friday -- and a full 15 minutes early to boot! Oh, how we laughed.
Well, me and him laughed. The rest of you chewed me out for posting early.
Anyway, today's edition is about those embarrassing moments in life that are such a regular feature of living on Earth. And if you haven't had one lately, I'm sure the next one is scheduled for you at some point in the next hour.
For me, the embarrassment started early on, and was frequently mixed with severe physical pain.
In second grade, the boy behind me tapped me on the shoulder and I turned around. He whispered, asking if he could use my pencil eraser. I hadn't heard his question right and he reached to grab my pencil. I pulled back and we tugged back and forth on it, fighting. When he let the pencil go, I was pulling the business end directly toward my face. To this day, I have a tiny, graphite-colored dot underneath my left eye from where the pencil lead stabbed me. And it was completely my fault.
Flash forward to high school, we were on a field trip to a museum that had a large botanical gardens. The bully who'd been making my life a living hell was behind me, and shoved me into a bush full of prickly leaves and thorns. Deciding in a flash I'd had enough, I got up and leapt onto his back, wailing punches down on this pituitary wonder many times my own size. Without a thought, he shrugged me off his back and I ended up shoved into a different genus of shrub -- which shared the same thorny characteristics as the other.
There's, of course, romantic missteps that can embarrass even the best of us. Mine really got kicked off in college. For the record, when it comes to knowing what to say to people I'm crushing on, I am not the best of us.
I met the woman who would become Mrs. Droogie in the student lounge of the dorm in which we both lived. She was beautiful and I noticed her right away, but never thought she would be interested in me. So I kept on talking to my other friends and acquaintences.
The way she tells it, I started telling incredibly filthy jokes. Neither of us remember how they went, but one of them may have involved a 12-inch pianist. My friends laughed, and lucky for me she resolved to give me a second chance.
Later on with the same group of people converged, she struck up conversations with me. She got physically closer and closer. It got to the point where others started leaving to give us a chance to get to know each other better. I was still clueless. It wasn't until she literally climbed into my lap that I started to think, "You know, she might be interested..."
I may never know how many women lacked Mrs. Droogie's persistence.
As a writer, I've had some of my most embarrassing moments printed for tens of thousands of people to see. For example, the following mistakes were mine:
- Writing that a man had been held by police on suspicion of "assault and buttery." I don't like that one because it sounds fake -- when really I was probably just craving popcorn.
- Writing that a building's construction was made possible by "pubic and private" funds. That one is a classic. Lots of writers make it, and lots of copy editors miss it.
And my wife, despite being an English teacher with a finely honed knowledge of parts of speech, grammar and syntax, has mangled more words and phrases than Yogi Berra and Sarah Palin combined. Her problem is she thinks faster than she can speak. A few of her greatest hits:
- Asking me to help out with the "clippon couping." (coupon clipping)
- Referring to chicken feathers as "chicken leaves."
- Asking me to order "frimp shried rice" from a Chinese take-out place.
Sometimes these stories end in tragedy you can only laugh at.
I was in traffic in my hometown with a vase of red roses and a wrapped present. I was headed home from shopping after work so I could surprise my wife with these gifts. I was concentrating on keeping the vase of roses level so the water wouldn't spill all over the seats when I noticed through the passenger side window that traffic had started to move.
I pressed on the gas harder than I meant to and rammed the car in front of me, which unlike the traffic in the lane next to me hadn't moved an inch. There was no excuse for any of it. It was all my fault. My car's hood was crumpled up like a cooked slice of bacon and the headlights were smashed. The more durable SUV suffered only mild damage to its rear bumper.
Also, my passenger side seat and the present stashed in the floorboards were covered in rose petals and water. I had no option but to call my wife, tell her about the accident, and present her later with her soaked present and mangled roses. "Happy fourth anniversary, honey."
Other times, embarrassing moments can become memories you actually want to share.
When I bought the engagement ring, it was the result of a lot of saving. We knew at the time that we wanted to marry each other, but she was afraid of how our families would react -- especially hers. Secretly, I went through the process of asking two parents at two different houses if I could marry their daughter. The results were mixed.
In any event, I knew none of it would matter. I took her to the lake where we had spent a lot of time walking and talking when we were first getting to know one another. Along the edge of the bank, just at twilight, I sank down to one knee, planting it in the mud and looked up at her with the ring.
She said, not really grasping the situation instantly, "Oh. You got a ring -- WHA--?!"
She dropped down to her knees to talk with me face to face, frantically asking whether the time was right as I explained having asked her parents already. She calmed down, beamed, took the ring, and finally gushed about how embarrassed she was that she'd "ruined the moment."
But I always like that story. I don't think it's embarrassing at all.
So, MF'ers, do you have any stories to tell this Mojo Friday?
Here's your Mojo Guidelines:
If you comment you have to recommend all comments. (in order to receive mojo you have to give mojo. It's only good mojo manners.)
Everything you say may be taken as a joke (so if you ask a question, expect a silly answer)
You must recommend the diary (and pimp it unapologetically)
You don't have to comment to recommend.
You can't steal my idea (right, like that ain't goin' to happen)
Please, no pictures or YouTubes until after 300 comments. Now, after 300, use a little common courtesy and be responsible in the number.
Mojo mojo mojo mojo, mojo mojo mojo.
Droogie (that is me) is not bound by the guidelines. Heh
Also, congratulations to Netroots For the Troops 2009 on meeting and exceeding their fundraising goal for deployed troop care packages. I assume are still taking donations. Here's the link: Donate Here!