As I mentioned before, peeing my pants has unfortunately not been an uncommon occurance in my life thus far. Describing each episode would take much too long (and totally ruin the comedic value of all the stories), so I've decided to highlight two of the most spectacular occurances here. Next time in my concluding epic, I will describe in detail the most recent, and possibly the most entertaining, peeing accident yet.
Many times when I have lost bladder control, I was able to cleverly hide it from any possible witnesses (i.e. "falling" into a puddle before my friend could turn around to see the incriminating wet streak running down my jeans) but then there are times when the urge to relieve myself comes on so suddenly and I am in such a public place, that there is no shielding myself from public humiliation.
I was a junior in high school and was standing next to my car waiting for the tank to fill when, without warning, pee started gushing out of my bladder. I immediately hunched over and clamped my legs together and then after taking a deep breath, I hobbled as quickly as possible inside the 7-11. I didn't see any restroom signs and so I frantically asked the cashier where the bathroom was. She was busy helping a customer and distractedly told me there was not a public restroom. And so I reacted how any (in)sane person would...I jumped up and down in frustration, waved my arms around and yelled "YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND, THIS IS AN EMERGENCY!!" My mature way of handling the situation must have really impressed the clerk. She looked at me with eyes bugging and quickly pointed to the back room. I raced back there, but unfortunately by then most of my bladder had already emptied. And so after a pathetic attempt to clean myself up, I took a deep breath and braced myself, like a prisoner walking to their execution, and with a much quieter air about me, I slunk out of the store with downcast eyes.
As a freshman in college, I lived on the 7th floor of the on-campus dorms. The basement of the building was the location of the laundry room and all of the vending machines, so I spent a decent amount of time down there. There was not a bathroom in the basement (very poor planning on the designer's part if you ask me!) and so I had several close calls down there that year. One evening I was browsing the different snack options in the vending machines and without warning I. Needed. To. Pee. VERY BADLY! The physical need was so strong, in fact, that my body involuntarily flung itself against the machine hard enough to knock a candy bar loose. I knew I needed to find a bathroom pronto, but the elevator in the building was way old and way slow, so I decided instead of going up 7 floors, I would instead just go up 1 to the lobby. In my panicked state, my mind forgot one vital piece of information. Our dorms were not co-ed, and boys were not allowed on any of the upper floors and so in the evenings the lobby would flood with young women from my dorm and their friends and suitors of the opposite sex. If I had remembered this, I probably would have just risked the long elevator ride. Instead, I stumbled out of the elevator and stupidly hopped/ran to the bathroom with my thighs clenched and pee escaping with every lurch while about 3,000,000 pairs of eyes gawked at me. After I finished my business, I had to walk past all of the witnesses again to go back to the elevator.
As if that walk of shame wasn't bad enough, when I got up to my floor, I headed towards my room at the end of the hallway trying to be inconspicuous so none of my floor-mates would notice me. My friend Carri spotted me and started calling my name. I ignored her, as my uncomfortably damp spirit (and pants) was priority over whatever she needed from me. This just made her mad so she started really yelling my name. I finally whipped around and yelled back, "I can't talk to you right now, I have to go change because i just PEED MY PANTS!" That shut her up.
I just re-read what I have written today, and after reviewing it and my other stories, as well as all the stories I have yet to tell (not just about peeing, but about everyting ridiculous in my life), I just realized that maybe it is not such a puzzle after all why I am 25 and still not married. Oh well, I may be alone, but at least I'm not boring! Until next time...
Friday, September 19, 2008
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Peeing Epic. chapter 1
I fear old age and pregnancy, I really do. Old people are always complaining about how their memory stinks, or how they stink (of oldness), or how they get tired easily, etc. etc. Pregnant women talk about how pregnancy wreaks havoc on their minds and bodies – they crave weird foods at strange times of the day, they lose their girlish figures, their hormones make them crazy and often mean. My problem is that I am not old and I have never been pregnant, yet I already suffer from all of these problems. So how much worse are all my symptoms going to get when I AM old and/or pregnant? It’s a scary thought.
The worst symptom of old age and pregnancy I’ve heard of is loss of bladder control. Maybe I should start stocking up on adult diapers now, because I have the worst bladder ever already. As evidence, I have several examples of me losing control of my bladder under the most inconvenient circumstances. These examples span the decades of my life, and I will begin my Peeing Epic with the earliest time I can remember peeing my pants. (Although I was only 6, this was old enough for peeing on myself to be socially unacceptable.)
I was in my first grade classroom and my classmates and I were gathered at our teacher’s feet listening to her read from some wonderful book. I remember needing to pee, but not wanting to miss any of the story, so I convinced myself I could wait a little longer (note: this will be a recurring theme in all of my peeing stories…I’m not sure what it will take for me to realize that actually I can NOT wait any longer.)
Trying to stem the flow of pee that was slowly making it’s way out of my body, I slowly eased up from sitting Indian style to perching on my knees so I could make a quick getaway when the last page was read. The movement had the opposite effect than I intended and only made the peeing harder to stop. By the time I was sitting back on my knees, my pants were soaked through. Luckily though, because of my sitting position, the front of my pants was not visibly wet.
I sat there in a panic, and desperately tried to figure out a way to not get caught by my unforgiving classmates. Then I noticed Brad sniffing the air. Brad was a little brown-haired hockey player who was usually the leader in pulling girl’s pigtails and leading other boys in playground mantras like “Susan is a Stinkface. Susan is a Stinkface.”
He sniffed again and again and then interrupted my teacher’s reading.
“I smell pee!” He yelled.
I was mortified. Now there was no way to gracefully get out of this. As I took a breath and prepared myself to confess that it was my own pee perfuming the air, Brad rudely pointed at the girl sitting on my left.
“It’s Audrey…She peed her pants!”
Audrey was “that girl” in our class. Her clothes were often second-hand and just slightly ill-fitting. Sometimes she didn’t smell great. She was already socially awkward at the tender age of 6. Everyone’s heads turned towards us and 20-something little noses crinkled at the same time. I was going to defend her, I really was, but before I could, Audrey stood up and ran to the hallway. I paused in surprise and then my teacher scolded Brad and the rest of the class. She left us to go get Audrey. They came back a few minutes later with Audrey sniffling just a little, and everyone could see that her pants were dry and so the incident was forgotten as my teacher finished the story.
While all this happened, I never moved an inch. I don’t know how I got so lucky, but somehow the amount of time it took to resolve the Audrey thing and then finish the book was enough for my pants to dry so that they weren’t noticeably wet. After my teacher closed the book and dismissed us back to our desks, I jumped up and ran to the bathroom to survey the damage and then went through the rest of my day careful to not make any sudden movements that would waft any pee smell into the air. The class believed that Brad was just making a scene for no good reason and no one ever suspected that he had, in reality, smelled pee during story time.
As I said in the beginning, this was only the first of many times I’ve peed my pants over the years. I’m still not completely sure that I’ve learned my lesson and that it won’t happen again. But the bright side to the story is that I felt so guilty about Audrey, I made it a point to be nice to her for the rest of the year. We never became best friends, but we did manage to have some fun times together, and while we were together, Brad never dared to aim his playground taunts in her direction. And I’ve never since let someone who was unable to defend themselves take the blame for something that was my fault. So there’s a silver lining at least, huh?
The worst symptom of old age and pregnancy I’ve heard of is loss of bladder control. Maybe I should start stocking up on adult diapers now, because I have the worst bladder ever already. As evidence, I have several examples of me losing control of my bladder under the most inconvenient circumstances. These examples span the decades of my life, and I will begin my Peeing Epic with the earliest time I can remember peeing my pants. (Although I was only 6, this was old enough for peeing on myself to be socially unacceptable.)
I was in my first grade classroom and my classmates and I were gathered at our teacher’s feet listening to her read from some wonderful book. I remember needing to pee, but not wanting to miss any of the story, so I convinced myself I could wait a little longer (note: this will be a recurring theme in all of my peeing stories…I’m not sure what it will take for me to realize that actually I can NOT wait any longer.)
Trying to stem the flow of pee that was slowly making it’s way out of my body, I slowly eased up from sitting Indian style to perching on my knees so I could make a quick getaway when the last page was read. The movement had the opposite effect than I intended and only made the peeing harder to stop. By the time I was sitting back on my knees, my pants were soaked through. Luckily though, because of my sitting position, the front of my pants was not visibly wet.
I sat there in a panic, and desperately tried to figure out a way to not get caught by my unforgiving classmates. Then I noticed Brad sniffing the air. Brad was a little brown-haired hockey player who was usually the leader in pulling girl’s pigtails and leading other boys in playground mantras like “Susan is a Stinkface. Susan is a Stinkface.”
He sniffed again and again and then interrupted my teacher’s reading.
“I smell pee!” He yelled.
I was mortified. Now there was no way to gracefully get out of this. As I took a breath and prepared myself to confess that it was my own pee perfuming the air, Brad rudely pointed at the girl sitting on my left.
“It’s Audrey…She peed her pants!”
Audrey was “that girl” in our class. Her clothes were often second-hand and just slightly ill-fitting. Sometimes she didn’t smell great. She was already socially awkward at the tender age of 6. Everyone’s heads turned towards us and 20-something little noses crinkled at the same time. I was going to defend her, I really was, but before I could, Audrey stood up and ran to the hallway. I paused in surprise and then my teacher scolded Brad and the rest of the class. She left us to go get Audrey. They came back a few minutes later with Audrey sniffling just a little, and everyone could see that her pants were dry and so the incident was forgotten as my teacher finished the story.
While all this happened, I never moved an inch. I don’t know how I got so lucky, but somehow the amount of time it took to resolve the Audrey thing and then finish the book was enough for my pants to dry so that they weren’t noticeably wet. After my teacher closed the book and dismissed us back to our desks, I jumped up and ran to the bathroom to survey the damage and then went through the rest of my day careful to not make any sudden movements that would waft any pee smell into the air. The class believed that Brad was just making a scene for no good reason and no one ever suspected that he had, in reality, smelled pee during story time.
As I said in the beginning, this was only the first of many times I’ve peed my pants over the years. I’m still not completely sure that I’ve learned my lesson and that it won’t happen again. But the bright side to the story is that I felt so guilty about Audrey, I made it a point to be nice to her for the rest of the year. We never became best friends, but we did manage to have some fun times together, and while we were together, Brad never dared to aim his playground taunts in her direction. And I’ve never since let someone who was unable to defend themselves take the blame for something that was my fault. So there’s a silver lining at least, huh?
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Intermission
Sorry, I haven't run out of stories yet. Life has just been super busy for the past few weeks. But due to a sad story (those kind have no place on this blog, so I won't elaborate) my much-anticipated trip to Utah has been postponed and so I am going to have some free time this next week. Hopefully I can write out some good ones and post them soon.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Impressing Hot Guys - Jessica at Age 17
I promise I actually do have a good, sophisticated, witty sense of humor. But sometimes I get carried away, and my humor takes a downward spiral into “potty humor.” The kind where farting, burping and saying naughty words makes me giggle uncontrollably. During my senior year of high school, I went through a phase where I thought snorting super loud like a pig was SO funny. (p.s. I blame my girlfriends, especially Mel, for encouraging this ridiculous behavior every chance they got just because it made me look like an idiot. When I look back, I’m pretty sure that everyone was laughing heartily AT me and not with me.) Anyways, I started doing this thing that I called my Seductive Snort, which is easier to demonstrate than to describe but I’ll do my best.
You know how sometimes when someone is being sexy, they pretend to be a tiger or cougar or something? They raise one shoulder as their chin dips towards it and then pushes back out, and their hand comes up in a human claw and swipes the air as they let out a hearty “RAWWWWR.” And their eyes kind of squint and their lips kind of purse. Go ahead, try it right now so you can picture what I’m talking about…
…
…
Ok, now that you have that image in your mind, just picture me doing that, except for instead of growling like a large feline, I snort super long and loud and the dipping and raising of my chin is super dramatic. That was my Seductive Snort, and I did it on a regular basis.
I was in Jazz Choir that year, which meant that we were constantly traveling around the state to perform in various choir festivals and competitions. Our choir had to wear a uniform of sorts – the boys in suits with purple ties, the girls in black slacks and purple button up blouses. Sadly, my weight, which had remained steady throughout high school, started creeping up my senior year and so by the end of the year, that blouse wasn’t the most comfortable item of clothing I owned. I didn’t want to buy a new one so I just sucked in and made it work.
In the spring, our Jazz choir competed in an important festival and we won third place overall. We had worked really hard that year and doing well, combined with our time together on the bus and in our hotel rooms had put us all in really good moods. As we were waiting to get on the bus to take us home after the competition, I saw all the boys in choir and our drummer and bass player (yeah, we were awesome enough to have a back up band, haha) standing in a circle in the parking lot. I was very hyper and immediately saw the perfect opportunity to show off my Really Hilarious Seductive Snort. It would be especially funny because I was doing it for all those boys, instead of for my usual audience of girls. I grabbed my friend Amy by the arm and we waltzed right up to the circle of 8 or so boys. I was really good friends with the guys, and that combined with my adrenaline rush resulted in a Jessica with no reservations, which is almost always a dangerous thing.
“Hey you guys!” I said loudly to grab their attention. “When I do THIS, does it seduce you?”
Then I did my loudest, longest, most dramatic Seductive Snort to date. Right after, I stood there with my chin and chest pushed out and looked around to catch their expressions. I was totally laughing but no one else said anything as several seconds ticked by. This is never a good sign. Suddenly, my friend Amy jumped towards me saying, “Um, Jessica you…” then she just grabbed my shoulders and turned me around.
I glanced down after I was facing the opposite direction and then saw it. My vigorous snort had caused the buttons on my ill-fitting blouse to pop open. I hadn’t discovered undershirts yet, and although I was wearing a bra, it didn’t cover much due to the thrusting forward of my head and chest. I should have been mortified, but I was still on an adrenaline high so I just grabbed Amy’s hand and ran away laughing hysterically.
Later, the embarrassment hit. But I really loved all those guys and did not want to feel awkward around them for the rest of the year. So in choir the next Monday, I mustered up the courage to turn to Mark who had stood next to me the entire year in both Concert Choir and Jazz Choir. I brought up The Incident from the weekend and as we talked I was appalled to find out that the guys had discussed it afterwards and they all thought that I had flashed them on purpose. I asked Mark why on earth they would think that, and he reminded me that beforehand I did not say anything about a snort, but I had clearly asked, “When I do THIS does it seduce you?” The next thing they knew, they were getting an eyeful of my chest which does tend to seduce most guys. I had to go around individually to each of the boys and make sure they knew that flashing them had NOT been my intention that day.
For obvious reasons, I retired the Seductive Snort after that. I should have also retired the story surrounding it but, as this blog obviously shows, a good story always trumps feelings of embarrassment and so it remains one of my favorites to tell to this day.
You know how sometimes when someone is being sexy, they pretend to be a tiger or cougar or something? They raise one shoulder as their chin dips towards it and then pushes back out, and their hand comes up in a human claw and swipes the air as they let out a hearty “RAWWWWR.” And their eyes kind of squint and their lips kind of purse. Go ahead, try it right now so you can picture what I’m talking about…
…
…
Ok, now that you have that image in your mind, just picture me doing that, except for instead of growling like a large feline, I snort super long and loud and the dipping and raising of my chin is super dramatic. That was my Seductive Snort, and I did it on a regular basis.
I was in Jazz Choir that year, which meant that we were constantly traveling around the state to perform in various choir festivals and competitions. Our choir had to wear a uniform of sorts – the boys in suits with purple ties, the girls in black slacks and purple button up blouses. Sadly, my weight, which had remained steady throughout high school, started creeping up my senior year and so by the end of the year, that blouse wasn’t the most comfortable item of clothing I owned. I didn’t want to buy a new one so I just sucked in and made it work.
In the spring, our Jazz choir competed in an important festival and we won third place overall. We had worked really hard that year and doing well, combined with our time together on the bus and in our hotel rooms had put us all in really good moods. As we were waiting to get on the bus to take us home after the competition, I saw all the boys in choir and our drummer and bass player (yeah, we were awesome enough to have a back up band, haha) standing in a circle in the parking lot. I was very hyper and immediately saw the perfect opportunity to show off my Really Hilarious Seductive Snort. It would be especially funny because I was doing it for all those boys, instead of for my usual audience of girls. I grabbed my friend Amy by the arm and we waltzed right up to the circle of 8 or so boys. I was really good friends with the guys, and that combined with my adrenaline rush resulted in a Jessica with no reservations, which is almost always a dangerous thing.
“Hey you guys!” I said loudly to grab their attention. “When I do THIS, does it seduce you?”
Then I did my loudest, longest, most dramatic Seductive Snort to date. Right after, I stood there with my chin and chest pushed out and looked around to catch their expressions. I was totally laughing but no one else said anything as several seconds ticked by. This is never a good sign. Suddenly, my friend Amy jumped towards me saying, “Um, Jessica you…” then she just grabbed my shoulders and turned me around.
I glanced down after I was facing the opposite direction and then saw it. My vigorous snort had caused the buttons on my ill-fitting blouse to pop open. I hadn’t discovered undershirts yet, and although I was wearing a bra, it didn’t cover much due to the thrusting forward of my head and chest. I should have been mortified, but I was still on an adrenaline high so I just grabbed Amy’s hand and ran away laughing hysterically.
Later, the embarrassment hit. But I really loved all those guys and did not want to feel awkward around them for the rest of the year. So in choir the next Monday, I mustered up the courage to turn to Mark who had stood next to me the entire year in both Concert Choir and Jazz Choir. I brought up The Incident from the weekend and as we talked I was appalled to find out that the guys had discussed it afterwards and they all thought that I had flashed them on purpose. I asked Mark why on earth they would think that, and he reminded me that beforehand I did not say anything about a snort, but I had clearly asked, “When I do THIS does it seduce you?” The next thing they knew, they were getting an eyeful of my chest which does tend to seduce most guys. I had to go around individually to each of the boys and make sure they knew that flashing them had NOT been my intention that day.
For obvious reasons, I retired the Seductive Snort after that. I should have also retired the story surrounding it but, as this blog obviously shows, a good story always trumps feelings of embarrassment and so it remains one of my favorites to tell to this day.
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Impressing a Hot Guy: Jessica at Age 8
So, speaking of trying to be cool… along with never quite being able to follow the latest fads, I’ve also always sucked the big one when it comes to trying to impress boys. Especially cute ones. One of the most traumatic attempts to catch a boy’s attention took place the summer before third grade. (I just now almost wrote “happened to me” instead of “took place,” but sadly, I was the sole cause of the ridiculous moment and cannot claim victimhood in any way.)
My family had a membership at the local neighborhood pool and I spent all day everyday there in the summer. One time, I spent the night at a friend’s house and then we went to the pool together. When we left to go back to her house to eat lunch, we ran into a cute boy named Jason on the sidewalk. He was the most popular boy in our class the year before, with big dark brown eyes, an olive complexion and beautiful silky brown hair. He was mostly talking to my friend and ignoring me. This was typical (and still is to this day). I’ve never been able to capture a boy’s attention with my stunning looks, especially when there are other females around, however I have always been able to use my quick wit to make sure I’m not completely overlooked. My window of opportunity to make an impression on Jason was quickly closing and I racked my brain for an attention-grabber.
“Oh man, this will be SO funny!” I thought to myself.
I interrupted their conversation and said, a little louder than was necessary, “Hey you guys, watch this!” Then I grabbed the bottom of my shirt and lifted it up to my chin to “flash” them, but the FUNNY part was that I had my bathing suit on underneath. Get it? So I wasn’t actually flashing anything but latex or whatever bathing suits are made out of. I was such a clever and witty little girl.
At least that’s what I thought until I saw that instead of Jason’s eyes squinting because of his laughter, they were bulging in astonishment. Then I felt the breeze and looked down to see that somehow when I was changing, I had missed one of the bathing suit arm straps and it was dangling down by my belly. Which meant that my right booblet was exposed for everyone to see.
He never talked to me again throughout elementary school. Actually, after what happened that was a relief for me.
So in my case, at least in the summer before third grade, flashing nipples was NOT an effective way to catch the guy.
I am so awesome.
My family had a membership at the local neighborhood pool and I spent all day everyday there in the summer. One time, I spent the night at a friend’s house and then we went to the pool together. When we left to go back to her house to eat lunch, we ran into a cute boy named Jason on the sidewalk. He was the most popular boy in our class the year before, with big dark brown eyes, an olive complexion and beautiful silky brown hair. He was mostly talking to my friend and ignoring me. This was typical (and still is to this day). I’ve never been able to capture a boy’s attention with my stunning looks, especially when there are other females around, however I have always been able to use my quick wit to make sure I’m not completely overlooked. My window of opportunity to make an impression on Jason was quickly closing and I racked my brain for an attention-grabber.
“Oh man, this will be SO funny!” I thought to myself.
I interrupted their conversation and said, a little louder than was necessary, “Hey you guys, watch this!” Then I grabbed the bottom of my shirt and lifted it up to my chin to “flash” them, but the FUNNY part was that I had my bathing suit on underneath. Get it? So I wasn’t actually flashing anything but latex or whatever bathing suits are made out of. I was such a clever and witty little girl.
At least that’s what I thought until I saw that instead of Jason’s eyes squinting because of his laughter, they were bulging in astonishment. Then I felt the breeze and looked down to see that somehow when I was changing, I had missed one of the bathing suit arm straps and it was dangling down by my belly. Which meant that my right booblet was exposed for everyone to see.
He never talked to me again throughout elementary school. Actually, after what happened that was a relief for me.
So in my case, at least in the summer before third grade, flashing nipples was NOT an effective way to catch the guy.
I am so awesome.
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Being Cool is Harder than You Think
When I was in the second or third grade, the “cool” kids were all getting digital watches. Our playground activities suddenly consisted of anything that could be timed with the little stopwatch feature on the watches. Races, holding our breath, hopping up and down on one leg…you get the idea. I really wanted a digital watch of my own so that I too could start timing an endless amount of awesome things just like all the popular kids were doing.
I went to the store one afternoon with my dad and convinced him to buy me a plastic watch that was awesome because:
- it was pink
- it was water resistant
- IT HAD A TIMER!
I remember thinking I must have been pretty slick to get my dad to buy that amazing watch for me, but looking back I bet the watch cost maybe $6, and the price tag actually did all the talking for me.
So I went home with my new treasure and proceeded down to our basement. I was all alone and sat brainstorming how I could christen the timer feature on my watch. Sadly, one little girl all alone indoors doesn’t actually have a lot of options and coming up with something was harder than I thought it would be. But, I was as awesomely random then as I am now so I finally came up with what I thought was a great idea:
Spinning.
That’s right…going around and around in small circles as fast as I could without falling down. So I excitedly pushed all the necessary buttons, braced myself in the middle of the room and pressed “start.” I spun and spun and spun. I wondered as I spun if there was a world record for this. If so, I was sure to beat it right then in my basement. Thoughts of all the fame that would come my way after I was published in the next edition of “Guinness Book of World Records” kept me motivated to keep on keepin’ on.
After what seemed like at least an hour had passed (I never cheated and looked at the watch…it would ruin the surprise!) I figured I had the record in the bag so I pressed the stop button and collapsed on our couch. I let the anticipation build for a minute, then I slowly brought my wrist up to eye level. 19:37 was displayed on the screen.
I was disappointed for about thirty seconds, and then the nausea hit. I lay curled up in a fetal position for the rest of the night, clutching my aching stomach. When my dad came down to check on me, he just shook his head when I told him why I was so sick. I’m pretty sure he flat out told me I was somewhat retarded. It was a miserable night. Looking back, what I should have timed was how many hours my stomach cramped and rolled AFTER the spinning. I surely would have won that particular world record.
This is one of many tales from my life illustrating my awesome ability as a little girl to observe the latest fad, jump on the bandwagon, and then turn the fad into the lamest and nerdiest thing ever. So nowadays if you see me turning my nose up at the newest, coolest thing, just know that my snootiness is actually self-defense because I know better than anyone how nerdy and incapable of cool I actually am.
I went to the store one afternoon with my dad and convinced him to buy me a plastic watch that was awesome because:
- it was pink
- it was water resistant
- IT HAD A TIMER!
I remember thinking I must have been pretty slick to get my dad to buy that amazing watch for me, but looking back I bet the watch cost maybe $6, and the price tag actually did all the talking for me.
So I went home with my new treasure and proceeded down to our basement. I was all alone and sat brainstorming how I could christen the timer feature on my watch. Sadly, one little girl all alone indoors doesn’t actually have a lot of options and coming up with something was harder than I thought it would be. But, I was as awesomely random then as I am now so I finally came up with what I thought was a great idea:
Spinning.
That’s right…going around and around in small circles as fast as I could without falling down. So I excitedly pushed all the necessary buttons, braced myself in the middle of the room and pressed “start.” I spun and spun and spun. I wondered as I spun if there was a world record for this. If so, I was sure to beat it right then in my basement. Thoughts of all the fame that would come my way after I was published in the next edition of “Guinness Book of World Records” kept me motivated to keep on keepin’ on.
After what seemed like at least an hour had passed (I never cheated and looked at the watch…it would ruin the surprise!) I figured I had the record in the bag so I pressed the stop button and collapsed on our couch. I let the anticipation build for a minute, then I slowly brought my wrist up to eye level. 19:37 was displayed on the screen.
I was disappointed for about thirty seconds, and then the nausea hit. I lay curled up in a fetal position for the rest of the night, clutching my aching stomach. When my dad came down to check on me, he just shook his head when I told him why I was so sick. I’m pretty sure he flat out told me I was somewhat retarded. It was a miserable night. Looking back, what I should have timed was how many hours my stomach cramped and rolled AFTER the spinning. I surely would have won that particular world record.
This is one of many tales from my life illustrating my awesome ability as a little girl to observe the latest fad, jump on the bandwagon, and then turn the fad into the lamest and nerdiest thing ever. So nowadays if you see me turning my nose up at the newest, coolest thing, just know that my snootiness is actually self-defense because I know better than anyone how nerdy and incapable of cool I actually am.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Flashing Dimples
I was on Cloud Nine. My best friend, Mel, had been taking the discussions for months, and now she had decided to take the plunge and officially become a Mormon. She was completing her pre-baptism interview while I waited in the church foyer with the two missionaries who had taught her. I was chatting non-stop, unable to contain my nervous and excited energy.
Mel and I were 18 years old and had both developed a friendship with these two young elders over the past few months. They were familiar with the ten or so other kids in our tight-knit group of friends because we were all in the same stake. One of the missionaries was especially good looking and I had teased him several times about being careful around girls and not being a lustful missionary.
As the three of us sat in the foyer, we began discussing who would be attending Mel’s baptism. I ran down our list of friends and then mentioned that I wasn’t sure if one good friend named Pam would make it back from her sister’s wedding in time for the baptism.
A quick note about Pam – she has always been That Girl that boys of all types are drawn to. She has long, thick blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and a beautiful smile with two huge dimples in her cheeks. On top of all that, she plays sports, bakes amazing cookies, she can smoke anyone in a game of pool plus she just has that good-natured “Molly Mormon” aura about her. No one can resist her.
Anyways, the cute elder got a look of slight distress on his face when I said Pam might not come to Mel’s baptism. I was quick to tease him about being in love with her. He got defensive, and so to smooth things over I tried to reassure him by saying, “Oh, don’t worry. You’re not alone…ALL boys love Pam. They can’t help it, all she has to do is flash her big dimples and they all come running!”
His face turned red and he had no response so I figured I had embarrassed him enough for one day. I changed the subject and started prattling on about some other silly thing. Mel eventually came out (having successfully qualified for baptism, despite her telling the missionary who was interviewing her that she was a transsexual, but that’s a story for another day.) I quickly forgot about the conversation in the foyer.
Fast forward two months. Pam and I were both attending BYU and we often ate dinner together in the Morris Center cafeteria. One night, I got there before her and was waiting in a booth. I spotted her walking toward me and waved her over with a big smile, but my smile faded when I saw her red face, bulging eyes and gritted teeth. “JESSICA, I NEED TO TALK TO YOU ABOUT SOMETHING RIGHT NOW.”
I quickly racked my brain trying to figure out what on earth she could be mad at me about and couldn’t come up with a single reason. She proceeded to (huffily) tell me that she’d just got done talking to Mel on IM and something very interesting had come up in the conversation. She asked if I had been with the missionaries during Mel’s baptism interview. I had no idea what significance that had, but confirmed that yes I had been. The she asked if I had talked about her with the missionaries. At first I said no, but then I remembered the conversation with the cute elder. But that was all so innocent…ok, maybe I shouldn’t have been talking to a missionary about lusting after my friend, but all in all I had been quite complimentary towards Pam. So why was she now breathing so heavily and giving me the Stink Eye? I asked her to tell me exactly what Mel had told her.
After Mel’s baptism, the elders were visiting her one day to check in and say hello. They asked her about her friends and at one point wanted to know how I was doing in Provo. She informed them that I was slowly making new friends and that luckily, I got to see Pam a lot. At the mention of Pam’s name, the missionaries both turned red and gave each other A Look. Mel noticed their strange reaction and asked what was going on. At first, they refused to tell her why the subject of Pam would prompt such weird behavior.
Mel never takes no for an answer in those types of situations, so after some badgering they finally gave in. They told her all about our conversation in the foyer, but with one major discrepancy. At the end of the story, blushing and stuttering, they reported how I had enthusiastically exclaimed that “all boys love Pam. They can’t help it, all she has to do is flash her big NIPPLES and they all come running.” !!! Why Mel decided to tell Pam before checking the facts with me first, I’ll never know, but she told her this incorrect nipple version of the story and Pam was p-i-s-s-e-d!
She only got madder when I fell sideways on the cafeteria bench, laughing so hard I couldn’t breathe. I finally managed to gasp out that I had actually said dimples. It took a lot of convincing before she would believe me, and even then it was a sore subject for years to come, even though I hadn’t actually done anything wrong.
So that’s the end of this particular tale, but I must admit that over the years, some questions arising from this story have lingered in my mind:
1. Am I really so crude that missionaries would not stop to question that I had just talked about flashing nipples to them, in a church, during a friend’s baptism interview?
2. Why on earth didn’t those missionaries stop me in that moment for A. clarification or B. at least a scolding?
3. And last, but not least…which IS the more effective method of enticing boys…flashing of dimples or nipples? (Single girls need to know!)
Mel and I were 18 years old and had both developed a friendship with these two young elders over the past few months. They were familiar with the ten or so other kids in our tight-knit group of friends because we were all in the same stake. One of the missionaries was especially good looking and I had teased him several times about being careful around girls and not being a lustful missionary.
As the three of us sat in the foyer, we began discussing who would be attending Mel’s baptism. I ran down our list of friends and then mentioned that I wasn’t sure if one good friend named Pam would make it back from her sister’s wedding in time for the baptism.
A quick note about Pam – she has always been That Girl that boys of all types are drawn to. She has long, thick blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and a beautiful smile with two huge dimples in her cheeks. On top of all that, she plays sports, bakes amazing cookies, she can smoke anyone in a game of pool plus she just has that good-natured “Molly Mormon” aura about her. No one can resist her.
Anyways, the cute elder got a look of slight distress on his face when I said Pam might not come to Mel’s baptism. I was quick to tease him about being in love with her. He got defensive, and so to smooth things over I tried to reassure him by saying, “Oh, don’t worry. You’re not alone…ALL boys love Pam. They can’t help it, all she has to do is flash her big dimples and they all come running!”
His face turned red and he had no response so I figured I had embarrassed him enough for one day. I changed the subject and started prattling on about some other silly thing. Mel eventually came out (having successfully qualified for baptism, despite her telling the missionary who was interviewing her that she was a transsexual, but that’s a story for another day.) I quickly forgot about the conversation in the foyer.
Fast forward two months. Pam and I were both attending BYU and we often ate dinner together in the Morris Center cafeteria. One night, I got there before her and was waiting in a booth. I spotted her walking toward me and waved her over with a big smile, but my smile faded when I saw her red face, bulging eyes and gritted teeth. “JESSICA, I NEED TO TALK TO YOU ABOUT SOMETHING RIGHT NOW.”
I quickly racked my brain trying to figure out what on earth she could be mad at me about and couldn’t come up with a single reason. She proceeded to (huffily) tell me that she’d just got done talking to Mel on IM and something very interesting had come up in the conversation. She asked if I had been with the missionaries during Mel’s baptism interview. I had no idea what significance that had, but confirmed that yes I had been. The she asked if I had talked about her with the missionaries. At first I said no, but then I remembered the conversation with the cute elder. But that was all so innocent…ok, maybe I shouldn’t have been talking to a missionary about lusting after my friend, but all in all I had been quite complimentary towards Pam. So why was she now breathing so heavily and giving me the Stink Eye? I asked her to tell me exactly what Mel had told her.
After Mel’s baptism, the elders were visiting her one day to check in and say hello. They asked her about her friends and at one point wanted to know how I was doing in Provo. She informed them that I was slowly making new friends and that luckily, I got to see Pam a lot. At the mention of Pam’s name, the missionaries both turned red and gave each other A Look. Mel noticed their strange reaction and asked what was going on. At first, they refused to tell her why the subject of Pam would prompt such weird behavior.
Mel never takes no for an answer in those types of situations, so after some badgering they finally gave in. They told her all about our conversation in the foyer, but with one major discrepancy. At the end of the story, blushing and stuttering, they reported how I had enthusiastically exclaimed that “all boys love Pam. They can’t help it, all she has to do is flash her big NIPPLES and they all come running.” !!! Why Mel decided to tell Pam before checking the facts with me first, I’ll never know, but she told her this incorrect nipple version of the story and Pam was p-i-s-s-e-d!
She only got madder when I fell sideways on the cafeteria bench, laughing so hard I couldn’t breathe. I finally managed to gasp out that I had actually said dimples. It took a lot of convincing before she would believe me, and even then it was a sore subject for years to come, even though I hadn’t actually done anything wrong.
So that’s the end of this particular tale, but I must admit that over the years, some questions arising from this story have lingered in my mind:
1. Am I really so crude that missionaries would not stop to question that I had just talked about flashing nipples to them, in a church, during a friend’s baptism interview?
2. Why on earth didn’t those missionaries stop me in that moment for A. clarification or B. at least a scolding?
3. And last, but not least…which IS the more effective method of enticing boys…flashing of dimples or nipples? (Single girls need to know!)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)