Tag Archives: humiliation

The Most Embarrassing 80s Moment You Never Had | But I Did

Actual skates - oh, I keep them for parties and stuff! No, seriously.

Actual skates – oh, I keep them for parties and stuff! No, seriously.

The other day I was attempting to parlay these NBC segments I’m doing into a piece for a national magazine.  As I typed away, touting myself as an “expert,” trying to seem way more important than I actually am, and rambling on about my amazing qualifications to an Editor in Chief (whom I shouldn’t have been writing directly in the first place), Eddy Grant’s “Electric Avenue”came on and I was immediately transported to SKATELAND in Cockeysville Maryland, circa 1984.

It was Girl’s Skate and the disco lights had taken over the floor.

Now, if you’re unfamiliar with roller skate culture, Girl’s Skate is the precursor to Couple’s Skate.  During Girl’s Skate, your job, as a girl, is to look as totally awesome as possible.  You have to rock your Flashdance style off-the-shoulder-shirt with splatter paint detail, and your acid-washed jeans.

The boys watch from around that short wall AND If they likes what they sees, they put out a hand for you to slap.  The “hand out” also implies that they would like to Couples Skate with you.  SO, if you think the boy is cute, you slap his outstretched arm, buuuut if you think he’s too dorky, you hold your hand super close to your body in an overly dramatic fashion that says: “I’d rather be caught dead than be seen skating with you.”

Yep, it’s an exercise in fostering self esteem.

On this particular day, I had my eye on a very cute older boy; he may have even been a preteen!  I spotted him from across the crowded rink, as my dad laced up his skates trying to catch up to my speedy entrance.

Oh, I didn’t mention that my dad skated with me every week?  How could I forget that detail, this story is about how cool and awesome I was, right?

There I was, doing my best tricks:

  • The speed up and glide.
  • The Shoot the Duck (crouch down and stick one leg forward).
  • The professional leg cross weave around the corners.

I looked around at the outstretched arms, while Electric Avenue played in the background.  As a sensitive kid, I was an equal opportunity slapper.  So, I’d slap the hand of anyone that put it out there.  Well, unless they were super nerdy and everyone else was avoiding them, obviously!

Then I spotted him, that cute preteen.  He looked bad.  I mean, good — bad. He probably drove there on his motorized bike…  Skates hanging from the handle bars and a switchblade style comb in his back pocket to flush up his mullet.  He was definitely from the wrong side of the tracks. You know, like Matt Dillon in Little Darlings

Matt dillonI noticed that he wasn’t really offering his hand to too many girls and in a defensive action, started to skate towards the middle.

As I got closer, he did it.  He eyed me and then threw out his hand.

Holy crap, that’s for me and now I’m so far on the inside I’ll never make it, and then we won’t get to Couples Skate.  I won’t be able to hold his hand, which I’m sure will be cool and big, not small and sweaty, like the other boys I always couples skated with.  He may even be good enough to do the envied backwards hands on hips skate! My life is officially over.

Move Jenny, move!

I weaved through a few of the slower girls and reached as far as I could to touch even a fingertip.  Then in a crushing blow he pulled his hand back and pretending to slick his hair.  Holy shit, he gave me the “psyyyyych,” before the “psych” was actually invented!

To add insult to injury, my arm had overstretched to meet his teasing gesture.  I felt myself going down.  Think slo-mo in some cheesy 80‘s film, “Ohhhh Nnnoooo.”  I grabbed at the short wall to pull myself in ricocheted off it and slammed straight to the ground a few feet away from him.

Yep, COOL, I was!  (if you say that with a Yoda accent, it has the truest effect.)

I got up quickly and ran to the bathroom to cry in a stall, while Couple’s Skate started without me.  Seriously, it just began like normal, as if the most horrifying incident had not just occurred on that concrete slab of rejection.

I remember the song perfectly, it was Air Supply’s, “All Out of Love”  I also remember the pain.  Oh, the pain and the “uncoolness.”

“I’m so lost without you.”

Apparently, you can’t get too cocky in Cockeysville or anywhere, because someone will put you right back place. Unfortunately or maybe fortunately, I’ve been put in my place more times than I care to remember.

Even as an adult, a simple song can bring back an experience that sends you to rock in a corner.  I guess you’re supposed to dust yourself off and get back in the ring or the rink as the case may be.

So back to my pitch:
Dear Editor in Cheif – I AM A kick ass writer and I’m not half bad on a pair of skates…

PS : I got that job – eat your heart out mullet boy, everyone knows rat tails are like way hotter anyway!

BE AWESOME, SHARE THIS POST

BE AWESOMER, TAKE ME SHOE SHOPPING

Join the fun on Facebook

Enter your email address for notifications (I promise not to hock Viagra):

 

What you Should Never Ever do When you Forget Someone’s Name


At a very lovely party I went to last weekend, which ironically happened to be a baby naming, don’t worry, you’ll get the irony later, I had one of my more humiliating moments.  Let’s say I’ve had more my share of humiliating moments (See Humiliation on the Roller Rink, a Freudian Slip to make Freud Blush and the time I was an amateur stalker).  I was talking to some ladies I’d been introduced to moments prior and because people’s names tend to leave my head as quickly as they enter, I found myself fumbling for their given monikers.

I have a few tricks when I forget names.  My go-to tactic is to quickly get distracted into conversation, ask a question of a peripheral person or run off to one of my children to wipe off a stain, a booger, a smirk… This allows the two people I’m with to take the reigns and awkwardly introduce themselves.  I try to stay close enough to eavesdrop and once I hear the name I’d forgotten I turn back and say something like “I’m sorry, Laura this is Sheryl” or “Sorry about that, have you two met?”  Maybe it’s totally transparent, but you can’t prove I didn’t need to know where the person directly behind me got her shoes, can you?

My other strategy is to stand there like an idiot until the two people I’m standing with introduce themselves and then I get to dorkily say something like, “I’m sorry, that was rude of me not to introduce you.” or  “I thought you two knew each other.”  The “I thought you knew each other” can only be used in few situations.  You can’t expect your parents to know your yoga instructor, or your hubby to know your child’s pediatrician.  (Was that below the belt? Well, I’m an equal opportunity offender.)

So, I was introducing my daughter, who’s name I do remember, to these women and I introduced one of the gals as Claire.  She gave me the look I’ve seen too many times, which said, “My name is not even close to that, I mean we’re not even talking same first letter.”

“You’re name’s not Claire is it?” I surmised.

“No, it’s Ann.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I don’t know where I got Claire.” (uncomfortable pause)  “Claire’s a horrible name. I mean you certainly don’t look like a Claire, you’re much prettier.”

“Thank you,” she said as if she wholeheartedly agreed, while the ladies laughed at my quick recovery.

The truth is, I really have no negative feelings towards Claire’s.  The name is cute and Frenchie.  Plus, I loved My So Called Life and her cow hugger, I enjoy that I can get 157 items for $9.99 at Claire’s namesake fashion accessories stores.  I’ll even hunker down with an eclair every now and again.  I can only blame this superflous, mean-spirited name bashing on the immortal words of one dissident teenager, John Bender who said: “Claire’s a fat girls name… You’re not fat at present…  One day you’re gonna get married, you’re gonna squeeze out a few puppies and then, uh uhh uhh…”

When you’re doing off the cuff, face saving comedy or “gorilla comedy,” as I like to call it, you don’t have a ton of time to plan your set.  You just make a quick association and go with it.

I went on to sully the good name that is “Claire” for quite some time. Saying something like:

“Ryan, Ann’s a great name for a girl but Claire sucks.”

“Claire’s a slutty girl who will definitely be knocked up in high school and won’t even get a reality show. ”

“Claire could not be a more awful name.  When I hear it I want to scratch my eyes out.”

Look, I don’t remember the exact Claire slurs, but they were extreme.  As the ladies laughed and we jovially got past my gaffe, I turned to the baby of honor’s godmother, who I had not yet introduced to my daughter.

Knowing her name was Diane or Dana or something with a D, I said, “I hope your name’s not Claire. Snort snort hee hee.”

Nope, but my daughter’s is.

Well, now I guess we know where I got it from.

The baby was not the only one doing this!!!

The laughing quickly stopped.

The look on her face was not quite that of someone whose name I forgot, it was someone whose favorite name in the whole world, the one she chose to name her only daughter, I just raked through the mud.

“I’m so sorry, I was just trying to make light of the situation. (Pause to get no reaction whatsoever) I actually like the name Claire.”

Good save Jenny, the term “actually” made you sound as if it would be odd to like the name Claire, like saying, “Most people probably don’t, but I ACTUALLY do.”

“Well, I do,” she said with a well deserved sneer.

“I should shut up now.”  I followed.  And I actually did, which is rare.  She then walked away.

The mother of the baby of honor, thank goodness I had the good sense to confirm his name before my arrival, caught the tail end of our conversation.

“What just happened?” She inquired.

“Well, I don’t think your best friend and I just bonded,” I said, and went on to tell her the tale…  leaving out the part about the Jud Nelson association bit.

She said, “Don’t worry, I’m sure she didn’t take it personally.  I’ll tell her you’re funny and that you write a blog.”

Wow, if only that really held some weight.

Jenny did what?  Jenny stood you up for lunch?

Don’t take it personally, she writes a blog.

Jenny called your mother fat and kicked her in the shin?

Oh, that Jenny, you know she writes a blog.

Jenny robbed a convenience store?

Those bloggers.  Yep, she writes a blog and she’s funny, officer.

Well, assuming that her explanation of why I can get away with being offensive and rude didn’t work,  I have one less fan in the universe.  Luckily, I write a blog, so people get to subscribe and unsubscribe to me daily.

By the Way: No Claire’s were harmed in the making of this post, which is more than I can say for Claire’s mother. Sorry.

Total Humilation on the Roller Rink, circa 1984

You know when you’re feeling a little big for your britches? (Using that phrase alone should nullify anything I’m about to say.)  Then you get a flashback, a glimpse of some past experience that is earth shatteringly embarrassing and the universe puts you right back in your place?

Well, here I am trying to parlay this “CBS Expert Mom” thing into a piece for a national magazine.  I am at my laptop touting myself as an “expert,” and trying to seem way more important than I am.  Just as I am rambling on about my amazing qualifications to a senior editor, whom I shouldn’t be writing directly in the first place, Eddy Grant’s “Electric Avenue” comes on the radio.  I am immediately transported to Cockeysville Skateland circa 1984.  Its Girl’s Skate, the disco lights take over the floor.

Now, if you are unfamiliar with roller skate culture, “Girl’s Skate” is the precursor to “Couple’s Skate.”  During “Girl’s Skate,” your job, as a girl is to look as cool as possible.  You have to rock your shirt with the iron-on decal, those jeans with a comb sticking out of the back pocket, and those leg warmers you shoved up over them to add a “Flashdance” effect.  The boys watch from around the rink and if they likes what they sees, they put out a hand for you to slap.  The hand out also implies that they would like to Couples Skate with you.  If you think they’re cute, you slap their out-stretched hand.  Yes, it is an exercise in self esteem.  Years of this did quite a number on my psyche.

On one particular day, I had my eye on a very cute older boy; he may have even been a preteen!  I spotted him from across the crowded rink, as my dad laced up his skates trying to catch up to my speedy entrance.  Oh, I didn’t mention that my dad skated with me every week?  How could I forget that detail, this story is about how cool I am right?

Here I am doing my best tricks: The speed up and glide,  the crouch down and stick one leg forward, the professional leg cross weave around the corners.  I look around at the outstretched arms, More than a feelin, should be my background music.  As a sensitive kid, I am an equal opportunity slapper.  So, I slap the hand of anyone that puts it out there, unless they’re really dorky and everyone else is avoiding them, obviously! Those poor kids go home and make “kill lists,” or comfort themselves with their Star Wars figurines.

Then I spotted him, that cute preteen, he looked bad.  I mean good bad. He probably drove here on his motorized dirt bike with his skates hanging from the handle bars and a switchblade hiding in his pocket.  He was definitely from the other side of the tracks. You know, like Matt Dillon was in Little Darlings. I noticed that he wasn’t really offering his hand to too many girls and in a defensive action started to skate towards the middle.  As I got closer, he did it.  He eyed me and then threw out his hand.  Holy crap, that’s for me and now I’m so far on the inside I’ll never make it, and then we won’t get to couples skate.  I won’t be able to hold his hand, which I’m sure will be cool and big, not small and sweaty, like the other boys I always couples skate with.  He may even be good enough to do the envied backwards hands on hips skate! My life is officially over…Move Jenny, move. I weaved through a few slow girls and reached as far as I could to touch even a fingertip.  Then in a crushing blow he pulled his hand back and pretending to slick his hair… Shit, he gave me the “psyyyyych.”

To add insult to injury, or in this case injury to insult, my arm had overstretched to meet his teasing gesture.  I felt myself going down think slo-mo in some cheesy 80’s film.  Ohhhh Nnnoooo, I grabbed at the wall to pull myself in and slammed straight into it, then ricocheted off, and slapped to the ground.  I am SO COOL!  I got up quickly and ran to the bathroom to cry in a stall, while reading about who is ez, and who loves whom 4-ever.  “Couple’s Skate” started without me, as if the most horrifying incident had not just occurred on that concrete slab of rejection.  I remember the song perfectly, it was Air Supply’s, “All Out of Love” or maybe Journey’s “Open Arms,” or some ballad  by Foreigner or Styx.  I also remember the pain, oh the pain and the uncoolness.  Apparently, you can’t get too cocky in Cockeysville, cause someone will put you right back in your insecure, struggling, awkward place… where you belong.  Unfortunately, I’ve been put in my place too many times than I care to remember.  Even as an adult, a simple song can bring back an experience that sends you to rock in a corner.

Dear Senior Editor- I am a lowly writer, eh forget get it.