Embarrablast from the Past Ep. # 8: Public Displays of Humiliation

Today at work there was this cool tweenage girl who was telling me she wanted to audition for a solo in her church's kid's musical. She was singing the song, and she did have a pretty and sweet voice. As a person who likes 1) kids 2) singing 3) church and 4) kids singing at church, I totally encouraged her to try out for that solo. Her words back to me were, "I want to, but I'm afraid I'm going to get stage fright and won't be able to do it."

And I couldn't think of anything to say in reply to that, because I had EXTREME stage fright until I was 18 years old. I'm not sure what the change was, but all through high school, I was basically unable to sing solos in front of people. Well, okay, technically that's NOT true. I sang a few solos in high school chorus and church, but for some reason if I ever actually held a microphone in front of my face, I'd choke. I couldn't sing. I couldn't even breathe. I used to think that I wanted to go into musical theater--I'm not sure how I thought I could handle it. I know I couldn't handle it now...but I digress.

This tweenage girl's fear reminded me of the most embarrassing displays of public humiliation I'll probably ever have (I hope). My sister was in Junior Miss. What is Junior Miss? It's a program for girls between their junior and senior years of high school. It's not a pageant (or that's what they say--I beg to differ). It's an educational scholarship program...where girls prance around on a stage and do stuff they do in...pageants. My sister did a great job (she won the talent portion and the portion entitled "presence and composure"...which was where the girls wore fancy dresses and pranced around and answered current event questions...like in a pageant...though this was not a pageant).

Well, when my turn came, my mom and sister encouraged me to participate, too. And to be honest, I kind of wanted to participate. I wanted to be like my sister, who did such an amazing job. If I had it to do over again, I wouldn't have done it. Why? Because that sort of thing is just totally NOT for me. Overall, it wasn't a bad experience. I got to know some of the other girls and they were really great. But pageants (or NOT pageants...however you wish to see it) are just not my style at all.

Anyway, the night of the pageant was a disaster for me. A disaster. Completely. It was videotaped and stuff, but I never even watched it. Ever. I just never ever want to see the disaster of that night again. Everybody I knew and a gazillion people I didn't know were there to witness the greatest public display of humiliation I've ever had or will ever have.

There was this opening dance routine that wasn't judged, but it was our introduction to the audience and to the judges. I was participant #3, which meant I was at the front of the stage next to participants #1 and #2. Everyone else was behind me. So the curtains opened, the music started. I smiled and started dancing and put my heart into that routine. I didn't pay attention to contestants--oops, I mean "participants"--#1 and #2 beside me. I was focused on that audience and on those judges. And I was nailing that routine, I tell you. I was perfectly on beat.

Well, we did a turn at one point, and I realized that everyone else was doing a completely different move than I was. They were several beats ahead of me in the routine. I knew I had it right, but the thing was, everyone else had it wrong. I promise you. I was right, but the girls were following another participant who had started on the wrong count (she admited her mistake and laughed about it after the fact, but I didn't think it was funny--because I was the one who paid for that mistake). I would have followed the others, but I hadn't been watching them. I had been watching the crowd...like I was supposed to. So from the start of the whole thing, I looked ridiculous to the audience and the judges.

Then came the athletic portion, which didn't go too badly. Except, dude, athletics and I were never friends. So when it came time for me to do my "solo" athletics, I did some kind of stupid thing just to get it over with. In other words, it was again obvious that I sucked.

The talent portion was the worst. In retrospect, I shouldn't have played the guitar at all. I should have chosen a much better song than the one I chose--one that showed that I can sing like Christine Daae (for realz). But you know, it wouldn't have mattered. As soon as that curtain opened, I froze. I croaked out my song. Literally. It was dreadful. As soon as the curtains closed, I burst into tears.

And when the time came to prance around in a pretty dress and answer a question, I froze again. I don't remember the question. I don't remember my answer. I had one planned. When I started talking, I forgot what I was going to say and ended up just thanking the judges and going back to my spot, where I basked in utter humiliation. Maybe this is shallow of me, but current events were never my thing. I should have just said something about world peace and gotten it over with.

So yes, the entire night was a lesson to me to not try to be something I'm not. I'm not a pageant girl. I've got a lot of other talents that are much better suited to a socially awkward girl like me.

The winner that night had the right attitude, which I believe is one of the reasons why she won. It's perhaps some simple theology, but she kept saying that she could do all things through Christ (Philippians 4:13). I was focused on my own glory, quite honestly. I wanted to be noticed.

And I was.

For the wrong reasons.

There's a reason I don't sing a lot of solos in church these days, and it's not because I still get stage fright. It's not because I think I'm going to suffer public humiliation (I'm pretty much immune to that now). It's because I don't want to run the risk of focusing more on my performance than God's glory. When I'm asked to sing, I do. And I'm not completely opposed to volunteering. I am just very cautious, because I know I'm vain. And my church just so happens to have a plethora (I love that word) of amazing vocalists. I'm happy to let them shine, because they probably have the right attitude.

By the way, I did have a chance to redeem myself after the whole "Junior Miss Fiasco." When my high school graduation came around, we had a "Class Night" which is a night that showcases the graduating class. I sang for that. Now, the song choice is slightly embarrassing. I sang "Go the Distance" by Michael Bolton. The song that's in the Disney Hercules movie. It was actually a new movie when I was graduating high school, okay? And I still love the song. So there.

When I auditioned, I choked. But if you audition, they pretty much let you do whatever anyway. I sang it for the first rehearsal, and the stage fright was a little less. The second rehearsal, it was almost gone.

The night of Class Night, I nailed that song.

You'd better believe I watched THAT video again.

SSA Ep. #16: Walking in Crowds

When I was, I don't know, about 8 or 9, I went to an amusement park with a small chaperoned group. All was going well until the heavens opened up and it started pouring down rain. The leader of our little group was really nice and bought all of us these bright orange ponchos from one of the gift shops so we wouldn't get drenched. The problem was, EVERYONE in the whole park also decided to purchase the ponchos from the amusement park gift shops. These ponchos only came in one retina-burning shade: caution sign orange.

While the amusement park made a killing in poncho sales that day, everyone ended up looking like tall, dripping oompa loompas. And whilst walking with my companions, this gigantor of an oompa loompa walked right in front of me, separating me from my group. Several others followed him. Perhaps only five or six people pushed past me, but it was enough to separate me from my group by several paces.

In normal circumstances, I could have simply looked around until I saw the people I knew, then I could jog to catch up with them. However, since everyone looked like giant mobile traffic cones (that makes me want to watch Toy Story 2), I couldn't tell which group was mine. This resulted in my wandering around in circles, crying to myself, until two nice teenage girls saw me and took me to the Lost and Found. Apparently, they have those for people too.

So the story has a happy ending. I got to sit inside a nice warm building, drinking hot cocoa, watching Yogi Bear on tv until my anxious group leader came to claim me. By the time she did, the sun was out again, and I was ready to hit the rides.

But ever since then, I have been extremely wary when walking in groups. If I'm walking in a group of friends or family members, I do NOT like being separated from them.

'That's ridiculous!' I hear you say! 'You're a grown up' I hear you say! Or maybe you're not saying anything, and I'm just hearing voices...again...

I know, I know. If I got separated from a group today, I could easily just call/text one of my friends and figure out where they were. I could totally handle the situation like a grown up. No big deal at all. It's just that I kind of really like the security of being in a group, especially when there are crowds.

Don't get me wrong here. I'm the sort of person who enjoys going out by herself. I can have fun in a crowded movie theater even if I didn't come with anyone else. But if I happen to be with someone, I want to know where they are...just in case.

I'm really not sure to what the "just in case" might apply.

They say there is safety in numbers, and I have to say, I agree. I mean, there are a variety of ways that walking in a group has its advantages. For instance, walking in a group is a great way to avoid suckerization. Walking in a group makes it harder for you to get mugged or something. Walking in a group can prevent you from getting trampled on by another group.

And if I were walking in a group, I'd have someone to trip, you know, just in case zombies attacked. They can't have my brains! I'm writing books!

The trouble is, there aren't really any written courtesy rules to follow when walking in groups. I noticed this while recently attending a live show with my good friends Stefanie and Laura. We entered the theater and Laura walked on ahead. I was about to push my way through the crowd to stay with her, but Stefanie held back and let other people walk ahead. That was nice of Stefanie. I thought, "Now why can't I be nice like Stefanie and let people walk ahead instead of being so bound and determined to stay with the group?" But then I thought, "Oh yeah, because Stefanie is awesome and not remotely socially awkward. I mean, for crying out loud, she doesn't even have door issues!" And then I continued to push my way through the crowd like someone had just started giving away free bacon.

It's times like those that I need my own personal Fezzik from "The Princess Bride" to shout "EVERYBODY MOVE!" The crowds would part and I could move about at my leisure. But then, if I had my own personal Fezzik, a lot of life's problems would be solved. He's strong. He's big. He's...good at rhyming. Hmm...where can I get a Fezzik?

I wonder what Fezzik would look like in an orange poncho, shouting, "I AM THE DWEAD PIWATE WOBERTS! THERE WILL BE NO SUWVIVORS! ALL YOUWALLS NIGHTMARES AWE ABOUT TO COME TWUE!"

I think I forgot what I was writing about.

Embarrablast From the Past Episode # 7: The Surprise Birthday Party

As my 31st birthday inevitably approaches (sigh), I feel the need to post this...just in case.

When I was a little girl, I never had birthday parties with friends. My mom always just made a cake for the family and we ate ice cream and I received presents. I didn't live in this world that most kids seem to live in now--if you don't have a HUGE party for your kids EVERY year, you're apparently a bad parent. I am not picking on my parents. I enjoyed my childhood birthdays. Still, there was a part of me that secretly longed for someone, anyone, to throw me a surprise party.

The surprise parties I saw on the stupid 80's sitcoms all seemed so much fun. I wanted for people to hide, then jump out and shout "SURPRISE!" as soon as I showed up.

And then I grew up.

In my life, I have had two surprise birthday parties. Both were while I was at college. Both were...less than ideal.

Now the first one was actually fun, but it didn't turn out as planned. It wasn't my plans that were ruined, because I wasn't the one who planned anything. But about a week or so before my birthday, I started having some suspicions that someone was planning a party for me. I don't know why I started thinking this. The ions just seemed to be off; the stars were misaligned. I knew. Somehow I knew.

So I told the roommate I had at the time, "Roommate, I think someone is planning me a surprise party. I don't know who, but I know someone is planning it." That roommate and I got along really well, but we weren't extremely close friends. I figured she would be able to keep a secret that I knew someone else's secret.

My birthday arrived and my suspicions became even more confirmed. My friends (who all knew it was my birthday) completely ignored the fact that it was my birthday. That's something people only do when they are trying to hide the fact that they're going to suprise you later. I mean, that's classic 80's sitcom. Classic.

So again, I said to my roommate, "Roommate, I am pretty sure that someone is throwing me a surprise party."

And then this girl who I sorta kinda knew, but not really, called me up and said, "Hey, do you want to come down to the student center later and hang out?"

I said, "Why? We have never really hung out like that before?"

She said, "Oh, I just thought it would be fun to spend some time with you. Can you meet me at the student center at...say 6:30 sharp?"

Yeah. I knew exactly what was going on. She was the bait. She was the lure to get me down to the student center where my surprise party was to be held.

So I turned to my roommate. "Roommate, I'm absolutely CERTAIN that someone is throwing me a surprise party!"

My roommate sighed heavily. "Yes, Ruth. Someone is throwing you a surprise party. It's me. Are you happy, now?"

D'oh.

I went to the student center at 6:30. I acted surprised. I had a great time with my friends, and all in all, it was a fantastic party and a fantastic birthday. But to this day, I still feel guilty for figuring out my roommate's secret and THEN being stupid enough to tell her about it.

The second surprise party I had was on my 25th birthday. At this point, I had already learned from previous mistakes. I told all my friends multiple times that I did NOT under any circumstances want a suprise party...or a party of any kind. What I wanted on my birthday was to spend some time with my boyfriend.

Only my boyfriend spent most of the day ignoring me. I was already depressed about turning 25. I was not feeling well that day. Then, my boyfriend ignored me all day. He didn't meet me for lunch like I asked him to. He didn't meet me for dinner. So I had a serious case of the grumps by about 7:00 that night.

My friends came by to cheer me up. "Ruth, why don't you get out of your room. It's your birthday! Come down to the student center with us and have some fun!"

"No," I said firmly. "It's my birthday, my boyfriend has ignored me all day, and I can be miserable if I want to." (You would cry too, if it happened to you...)

"Really, we don't want you to be stuck in your room," they implored. "Come down to the student center with us. We can play pool or watch movies or whatever you want. Just don't sit all alone in your room."

"No," I said again. "I want to be left alone."

Finally, they realized I wasn't going to come with them. So one of my friends said, "Okay, Ruth, we wanted this to be a surprise, but we're having a party for you, so you kind of have to come to the student center with us. Now. We're late."

D'oh.

And let me tell you, that was probably the most awkward party I've ever been to. I asked them NOT to do it, and they did it. And it was dreadful. My boyfriend was there. He was acting strange. My mood continued to be off. Everyone eventually left because of the tension in the air.

And later on that night, I got dumped.

On my birthday.

Fun times.

...

Anyways...


So I'm not expecting or suspecting any of my friends to throw me a party, surprise or otherwise, but just in case you're one of my friends and the idea popped into your head, I advise you to pop the idea right back out.

I'm socially awkward. I'm introspective. I'm an introvert. In other words, I don't always like people! :-D

I like surprises, but NOT surprise social interactions. If I know I'm going to have to be social, I have better time to prepare myself for it. If a social encounter just jumps out at me and says, "SURPRISE!" then there's a good chance I'm not going to be the best company. In fact, I might get really excited and punch you in the face.

So if you want to throw me a party, go for it...just let me know about it in advance. You've been warned.

SAA Ep. #15: Public Restrooms

I have a feeling I wouldn't have to write anything besides a title for this blog for people to know exactly what I'm talking about. I mean, if you haven't had a socially awkward moment in a public restroom, then you're probably someone pretty special. I mean, you're probably like the Queen of England or someone. Only I doubt the Queen of England has ever HAD to use a public restroom. Doesn't she have like four servants who carry around a little royal outhouse just in case she ever needs to...oh wait, what am I talking about? The Queen of England NEVER poops! Everybody knows that!

(If you are the Queen of England and you are reading my blog, please forgive me for insinuating that you use the bathroom...er...water closet...like the rest of us mere mortals.)

Anyway, part of me wonders why I've waited until now to write about this, since everyone (except for the Queen of England, of course) understands the awkwardness involved in using a public restroom. Then there's another part of me that doesn't want to write this blog because thinking (and writing) about public restrooms sort of gives me the heebie jeebies.

I hate public restrooms. If I can avoid using them, I usually do. If I have to go, but know I'm close enough to home, I'll hold it until I can get there.

First off, I hate public restrooms because of the smell. Public restrooms typically smell like one of three things (or a combination of the three things, which is even worse than one of them):

1) Poop. Warm poop. Warm poop from many different people. Warm poop that lingers in the air, like a stale breeze to remind you that a gazbillion other people used that toilet right before you (but I'm getting ahead of myself).

2) Cheap air freshener that does not get rid of the poop smell, nor does it mask it. Rather, it combines with the poop smell to make a whole new odor combination! Now, instead of just regular type poop smell, you can have your poop smell in five fantastic new poop sensations! Poop Covered Cherries, Fresh Poop, Strawberries and Poop, Vanilla Bean Poo, and, my favorite, New Poop Scent. And really, the names of these stupid air fresheners make me gag as much as the smell. Tahitian Breeze? Really. Did the air freshener manufacturers go to Tahiti and bottle up the smell, transport it to the USA (or England--that's for you Lizzie!), and make it into a public restroom freshener? You want to hear an even worse name? Here it is. The worst name for a bathroom air freshener ever. Ready? Here it is. Mango Tango. Ugh.

3) Bathroom cleaner so strong it will burn your nose and make you cry. The worst smelling bathroom cleaner in the world has to be the stuff that smells like lime candy. It doesn't smell like actual limes, mind you. I used to think I hated limes because all I'd ever had was lime candy. Real limes are awesome. Lime candy tastes like bathroom cleaner smells. I can't eat green suckers to this day because of that bathroom cleaner smell. At least it masks the smell of the poo--sometimes.

I also hate public restrooms because of the lines. I mean, am I the only one who finds it completely awkward to wait in a line to pee? Usually I get crammed in line between two older ladies who like to complain about their bladder control problems and why they should get to go first. I usually let them go first because I'm sick of hearing them complain about their bladder control problems. And then, after it's finally your turn to use the bathroom, you have to face the person who used the toilet right before you. I mean, if this person looks at all sketchy, it really discourages me from using the same toilet she just used. Don't hate--you know you all think the same thing. Or maybe you don't, because maybe it IS just me who hates the idea of using the same toilet as about a gazbillion strangers (but again, getting ahead of myself). And if that person just made a big poo, you can so totally tell it from the sheepish look on her face. So you have to go in that little stall and breathe the total stranger's fresh poop smell that even the crappy air freshener hasn't reached yet.

It's also really awkward when there is no line, because then you have to try to figure out if there's anyone in the bathroom stalls. So you bend down to see if you can see anyone's feet, and then you see all sorts of things you never wanted to see. This is why, when I use the bathroom in public (and in private, just in case you were interested), I make a point of only pulling my pants down as far as they need to go. I don't need "stall peekers" seeing my underwears. FYI, no one wants to see yours either.

So say you have finally found a stall. A stall. A little semi-private rectangle for you to call your own. Here comes the part I hate the most: actually using a toilet that about a gazbillion strangers have already used. I've learned the hard way that you have to make a thorough check of that toilet seat before sitting down. If there are toilet seat covers, I use them. If not, you'd better believe I give that toilet seat a thorough wipe down before sitting down. I know...I sound like a germaphobe. I probably am a germaphobe. I just don't like sitting on other people's pee drops (or poop smears...ewww). It's not my style. If you like it, knock yourself out.

What we need is Japanese Toilets. Those things are awesome. I was in the Narita International Airport in Tokyo where I experienced the most amazing public restroom experience ever. That toilet cleaned itself after every user. Not only that, but it played music. I loved that toilet. It was the cleanest public toilet I'd ever seen, or will ever see.

I mean, most of my readers probably know that I work with kids. I am exposed to a variety of germs in many different forms on a daily basis. I guess some people would think I was immune to any fear of germs, but listen. Just because I CAN hold back my gag reflex while cleaning up diarrhea and vomit and God knows what else from kids who AREN'T my own--it doesn't mean I like it.

So back to the public restroom. When the seat is at least somewhat clean, I use it. Here comes more awkwardness. I am one of the many Americans plagued with...the Shy Bladder. I hate having to pee when someone is in a stall less than two feet away from me...listening. And it's even worse when you've got gas. Because then EVERYBODY hears it. And then it's EVEN WORSE when someone else has gas, because you just feel awkward listening to someone else toot--it always seems the person in the stall next to me has eaten several bean burritos before coming to the restroom. I really wonder how guys deal with the whole urinal issue. I mean, most of the time there is NO privacy there at all. I don't think I could deal.

And then there are the times when there's no toilet paper, so you have to ask a stranger to pass some under the stall to you. And if there's no one else in the bathroom, then you're just stuck there.

And I hate those toilets that flush by themselves. They always flush before I'm ready, and it scares me half to death. Then, when I stand up and AM ready for it to flush, it does nothing. So much for technology. I gotta push the manual button. Pee pee go down the hoooole.

Then there's the awkwardness of having to wash your hands while carrying your purse, jacket, etc. I mean, you COULD set it on the sink, but there's always water all over it (and the floor is completely out of the question unless you want to catch the plague). So you have to try to balance it on your arms while washing your hands. I always end up gett ing water on my shirt. And the soap always smells like rotten cherries. Or like the stuff you use to pave driveways.

By the way, I'm noticing a new trend. Foam soap. Now, in working with kids, I've found one brand--one. One brand of foam soap to rule them all. I love it. GoJo. GoJo is awesome. Why? Because it lets you lather it with water. Dude, this other foam soap doesn't lather. It's already pre-lathered for you. So my question is, if you can't lather it, how in the world do you know if you're getting your hands clean? Foam soap sucks--except for GoJo.

And then there are those annoying air hand dryers. I HATE those things. First of all, I really like having a paper towel to use to open the bathroom door (because let's face it, there are still some people out there who don't wash their hands after using the restroom. I mean--really? Do people LIKE walking around with pee on their hands. I don't get it.). Second, those things never get my hands dry. I always have to press the button like five times to get my hands good and dry. And the hot air makes my skin cry. If there aren't any paper towels, I will often just wipe my hands dry on my pants. That's really just how I feel about it. Then I have wet pants.

Automatic paper towel dispensers are preferable, but even these things are annoying. It's nice when it gives you that one perfectly portioned paper towel, but how often does this actually happen? I mean, usually, it gives me WAY too little, so I have to tear off a sheet, then wave my hand at it again. And again. And then there's the time when it senses some movement from some other dimension and starts dispensing paper towels you never asked for. And you just feel rude if you don't take it. It's like the machine spit it out just for you. So you take the paper towel, even though your hands are completely dry. And it spits out another one, which you feel obligated to take, and thus begins a vicious cycle.

Yeah, so that about covers it. Public restrooms. At least they aren't port-a-potties. I really am too afraid to write a blog about those. *shudder*

I gotta figure out how to become the Queen of England...

SAA Ep. #14: Losing More than Just Weight

Keep in mind that I'm short (5'3). It will help you put my weight in perspective. And please don't anyone take offense to this. I'm speaking as a girl who has been there (I know how hard it is)...and who still thinks she is there, obviously.

I've never been over 200 lbs., but I was 195 lbs. once. I was 21. I had just been in my sister's wedding, and I was a chubby little maid of honor. I decided then that I needed to lose weight. I lost 35 lbs. and felt great, but you know what? I was still 160 lbs. I was still chubby, just less chubby. And over the next several years, I regained a lot of the weight I lost.

And there's something interesting that happens to a woman when she stops being in her early twenties. She can weigh the same that she did when she was in her early twenties, but the weight can look quite different on an almost thirty year old body.

So at 175 lbs., I was just as heavy as I was when I was 195 lbs. I was wearing the same pant size--16 to 18. I mean, that's just like a couple sizes away from having to shop in the "big girl section." I've never had to shop there, but I've been very close. And I was in denial.

Well, last January, I started paying attention to pictures of myself. I was like, "Whoa! I look fat in all these pictures! Maybe it's NOT just the camera or the angle.... Holy crap! I'm fat!" I decided I wasn't going to be fat anymore. The sad thing is, the major reason for me wanting to lose weight had nothing to do with health issues or just wanting to look nicer. I thought to myself, "Self, if I am going to be an author, I do NOT want people who come to my book signings to think, 'Hey. Hey, look. Hey, look at that. Hey, look at that fat author.'" And because I didn't want people to think of me as a fat author, I decided to lose weight.

And it worked. I watched every single calorie I ate. I exercised. And after about six months, I lost 40 lbs. I got down to a size 8 and weighed 135 lbs (I haven't been that light since middle school...and I'm wearing a pant size less than what I wore in middle school). It took me 30 years, but I FINALLY lost my baby fat...seriously. I had been fat all my life...but not anymore.

Before (I'm the fat one in the sunglasses, obviously)

After!

So I'm not fat anymore (though I'm currently dieting again because I think I can do even better...aiming for 120lbs if my body lets me do it healthily), and that's awesome. But I have to say that being not fat anymore has some drawbacks.


For one thing, after losing weight, these wrinkles magically appeared on my forehead. I guess all that extra fat I had filled in the wrinkles or something. But yes, now I can't raise my eyebrows without getting little creases all over my forehead. It's a good trade off, I suppose. I look a little older (I still don't think I look thirty...or almost thirty-one...shh), but it's because I look a lot thinner. I'll take it...and a heavy dose of wrinkle cream...because I'm vain.


The second drawback is that I often have trouble thinking of myself as a thin person. Fat people make jokes about their fat. It's how we let other people know it's okay for them to acknowledge our fatness--and to beat rude people to the punch. Maybe it's a sign of bad self-esteem because of our fatness...idk. And notice I am still including myself in that "we" and "our," even though I'm no longer a fat person. I still think of myself as being bigger. I catch myself making a joke about my fatness, only to accidentally insult a currently fat person--because I'm no longer included in the fat club. And I forget.


And sometimes I make those fat comments around guys who start thinking I'm one of those girls who thinks she has to go on diets all the time even though she's a perfectly healthy weight. ...maybe I AM one of those girls now...?


I've even bought shirts at stores only to have to return them because I forgot that I no longer wear an extra large. I now wear a small (or sometimes a medium). And really, it's hard to think of myself as a size small. In my brain, I'm still a fat person. I have to remind myself over and over again that I do wear a size small.


When I walk by people, I tend to give them too much room to get past me because I forget that I don't take up as much space. One time I was trying to get by someone in a restaurant, and she scooted her chair in so I could get by. I said, "It's okay, I'll go around the other way. There's not enough room for me." But there was. There was plenty of room. I just pictured myself as a large person trying to get through a space that was actually big enough for an average sized person to fit through. So the person who was nice enough to scoot in her chair started thinking I was calling HER fat...ugh...and social awkwardness ensued.


So yeah. Losing weight involves more than just, well...losing weight. I've also lost some of my identity. It's not necessarily a bad thing. I just have to remind myself that I'm no longer a chubby little girl, but a slender young woman (emphasis on the YOUNG). I'm still gonna have this distorted picture of myself, and it will probably get worse if I DO reach that goal of losing another 15 pounds.


Meh. Even if I lose more weight, I'm afraid I won't lose the awkwardness. It's here to stay, folks.


If you're trying to lose weight, I definitely recommend it...if it's for the right reasons. Just be warned--it might take you a while to lose the "fat mentality." I'll let you know if I ever get used to not being fat.

Embarrassing Confession #5: Shoulda Had a Type A

When I was a kid, I used to drink V8 and pretend I was a vampire drinking blood.

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Sometimes I still do that.

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I may or may not have pretended my V8 was blood today.

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It was good.

SSA Episode #13: The Woman Who Saved Valentine's Day

It's Socially Awkward Adventure #13! I hope none of my readers have triskaidekaphobia. Yes. I had to look up the correct spelling for that. No, that's not what this blog is about.

Have you ever wanted to do something nice for someone (or a group of people), but you lose track of time and find yourself scrambling at the last minute, and by the time you realize that it's too late to accomplish this nice thing, you kind of wish you hadn't thought of doing this nice thing in the first place?

If you could understand what I just wrote, I hope you can answer "No, Ruth. That's just you." Yes, the above scenario is something I have dealt with time and time again. Like, I get this idea that I'm going to make guacamole for a party (seriously...I make awesome guacamole. It's so good I call it "ROCKamole"), then I realize at the last minute that I don't have any avocados, and the only ones I can find in the stores are either too mushy or too hard, and then when I FINALLY find some ripe ones after going to four different stores, I realize I don't have at least an hour and a half to make this guacamole.

Apparently, this blog has a theme today, and this theme is run-on sentences...but I digress...

This post is not about Valentine's Day. Well, it is, but only indirectly. Okay, so it's about Valentine's Day. I mean, sort of...

So recently I saw this card for single people that said something stupid like, "I believe there is someone for everyone out there, and one day you will find yours. Until then, know that I love you and lots of other people do too." Basically, what that says to me is, "Here's a card so you won't feel lonely while the rest of us married people are at home snuggling with our spouses. Enjoy!"

The thing is, I'm really NOT bummed about Valentine's Day at all. Not at all. I haven't been for several years...and I've been single for several years. In fact, I've only been "with" someone for one Valentine's Day out of my whole life. But I'm not into that whole "Single Awareness Day" or whatever. It's Valentine's Day. I love Valentine's Day! Do you want to know why?

It's because I love kids. I mean, maybe if I had a significant other, I might just think Valentine's Day was all about showing my love to him. But...somehow I doubt it. I mean, all these froo froo hearts and flowers just don't make me feel romantic. They make me feel cutesy. Kids are good with cutesy.

I love getting those perforated valentine's cards to give to the kids in my life. I love putting together Valentine packages for my nieces and nephew. I love putting heart stickers all over the place. I love reading conversation hearts and just being flat out sickeningly adorable. I love Valentine's Day. And the greatest joy to me every Valentine's Day is giving cards/presents to the kids I love.

So...

Late last night I got this idea that I wanted to get individually wrapped rice krispies treats for the kids in my preschool class. We were having a Valentine's party today, so I thought it might be a nice gesture. I figured I had PLENTY of time to run out in the morning and get some rice krispies treats from CVS. Only CVS didn't seem to have any rice krispies treats--at least not that I could see. And CVS is pretty hopping on random Thursday mornings, especially when the ground is covered with a very light dusting of snow that will have completely melted away by noon--because in the South, if there's snow, that means everyone needs milk and bread immediately and at the same time, or the world will explode in a rainbow of heart-shaped confetti. So I couldn't ask anyone where the rice krispies treats were because all the employees were busy helping people find bread and milk that didn't seem to exist anymore.

No big deal. I had a plan B! There is a grocery store right around the corner from where I work. So I went there. I was still a few minutes ahead of schedule. It was awesome. I'd run in, find the rice krispies treats, and self-check my way out of there to arrive on time to work in a blaze of rice krispies treats glory. Only I couldn't seem to find the rice krispies treats at this store, either. I was browsing the snack aisle (a logical place to find...ya know...snacks), when I ran into one of the minister's wives from my church. I thought she was amazing before, but listen to this:

She greeted me. I explained my dilemma. She said she thought that the rice krispies treats should be with the snacks, too (logical place, that's all I'm saying). Well, I had to run because by this time I was late for work, so I figured the rice krispies treats were just not meant to be.

Alas. My quest for the rice krispies treats had come to an end. I had failed.

But, I say again, listen to this...(or read this...because it's written and not spoken...whatever...)

As soon as I got to work, I got a phone call from the minister's wife. She had found the rice krispies treats and was bringing me a box! I mean, she was like a super hero. The day was saved! She saved Valentine's Day!

You know how there are all those stupid movies out there about somebody saving Christmas? Ernest Saves Christmas. Noddy Saves Christmas (who's Noddy? Idk.) Elmo Saves Christmas. Dora Saves Christmas. Diego Saves Christmas (wasn't Dora enough?? Apparently not). Inspector Gadget Saves Christmas (I might actually watch that one). Rainbow Brite Saves Christmas. Felix the Cat Saves Christmas. Mater Saves Christmas. Your Mom saves Christmas (I might have made up that last one). Me thinks I should do a blog on "...saves Christmas" movies. Ya know...like sometime around Christmas...because right now it's around Valentine's Day...

Yeah, so anyway, they should make a movie about the lady who brought me rice krispies treats. They should call it "The Woman Who Saved Valentine's Day." I'd watch it.

I'd watch it because I lived it.

...and I still have half a box of rice krispies treats to prove it.

Embarablast from the Past, Episode #6: The Mall Kiosk Dude

I do not have naturally curly hair. I have naturally poofy hair. Therefore, there are two things I must do in order to have hair that doesn't eat small children.

1) I must put lots of straightening/nonpoofifying/smoothing product in my hair and then blow dry it so that it is almost straight. Hair straighteners do not work for me. I have used them. As soon as I walk outside, if there is the slightest bit of humidity, it frizzes out all over the place. Plus, I do NOT have the patience for them. I have better things to do with my time than spend half an hour trying to make my poofy hair be straight.

2) I must put lots of gel in my hair and let it dry (usually overnight). Then it's curly and still somewhat poofy. So THEN I have to put a little mousse in it to control the flyaways and douse my entire head in copious amounts of hairspray. Then it's curly and mostly nonpoofy...and 83% less likely to eat small children.

And I just spent a few paragraphs talking about my hair. ...no wonder I'm socially awkward.

Before getting to the point, I feel the need to mention one other thing. In the summer of 2007, I spent two weeks in Thailand. It wasn't even enough to fully develop culture shock, but man, I sure did pick up one really bad habit. In Thailand, I experienced something both remarkable and terrifying: The Night Market. There were hundreds of little booths up and down the street, where the most persistent sellers you have ever met in your life were trying to sell you the most useless junk you have ever seen in your life. Now, there was some good stuff there. I bought about a gazillion Thai silk neckties for about $2.50 each (Thai Ties, get it?). But all the sellers there were intent on getting all the "rich Americans" to buy their stuff. So if you even looked as though you might possibly make eye contact with any of them, they would attack you until you bought their stuff.

So I quickly learned that the only way for a sucker like me to survive was to NEVER make eye-contact with any of them. If some of them still persisted, and most of them did, then I had to be agressive. I had to firmly and loudly say "NO" in order for them to get the idea that I wasn't going to buy from them. Unfortunately, I brought this mentality back to America with me.

I remember being in Walmart a week after I got back. There was this really sweet looking young woman who was trying to get people to sign up for the bank that's inside my Walmart. I saw her approach me out of the corner of my eye, and bless her. The only words she said was, "Hello, would you like...." I turned to her and loudly exclaimed "NO!" She backed up about a good foot and meekly apologized. I felt like such a jerk. Well, I was a jerk, but it was because I still had the "an American in Thailand" mentality.

Anyway, so a few months after this, I decided to go to the mall. I almost never go to the mall because it kind of freaks me out a little. I much prefer the thrift store. I was only going on this particular occasion because I wanted some hand soap from Bath and Body Works. It was a nice day, so I had the sunroof open on my car, and my hair may or may not have gotten tangled in it, causing it to look poofier than usual. Yeah.

So I went into the mall. On my way to B&BW, I ran into a guy at a mall kiosk. Almost literally. He was chasing me and almost ran into me. Why was he chasing me? Because my hair looked like it was in severe need of straightening and he happened to be selling a hair straightener.

"Would you like to try this hair straightener?" he asked.

I turned and looked at him. No joke, the guy looked like Kenny G...only carrying a hair straightener instead of a saxophone. He was the last person who needed to be giving me advice on hair care.

"No, thanks," I said. I continued on my way.

He kept following me. "I really think you should try this out."

"Look," I said. "I don't use hair straighteners. I just use a blow dryer and it's fine."

Dude GRABBED my arm and said, "Oh, no! You have GOT to try this!"

My "an American in Thailand" mentality kicked in full gear. "NO!" I exclaimed. I stamped my foot like a three year old who couldn't have a cookie. "NO! I said NO!"

The guy backed off. Kenny G went back to his kiosk. I stood there for a moment, realizing that innocent bystanders probably thought the guy was trying to do something to me besides straighten my hair.

I was red-faced and embarassed, but I continued on to the store. When I approached, I saw that the little bars were being rolled down. The mall was closing. It was Sunday, and they closed earlier than the rest of the week. D'oh.

I didn't get any hand soap that day. I did get a totally humiliating experience.

I hope Kenny G met his hair straightening quota for the day. ...or maybe I don't.

SSA Ep. #12: Invisible Leprosy

Aside from my chronic Social Awkwardness, I have another ailment. It's curable, but the older I get the chance of successfully curing it gets slimmer and slimmer. Fortunately, it's a condition that doesn't prevent me from living a normal life (as normal as my life gets) about 85% of the time. Some people don't seem to even notice I have this condition; it's not a big deal to them. Some treat me with derision. Others seem to think they must pity me and condescend to me. Some are completely and utterly afraid of me and my condition, and they avoid me at all costs. You see, I have Invisible Leprosy.

In other words, I'm a single woman in my thirties.

Being single doesn't bother me much. I just think it's hilarious the way other people treat me sometimes.

Some people seem to think that there must be something horribly wrong with me since I never got married. There are four ways this attitude usually goes:

1) There must be something wrong with her because no guy wants her.

I don't have much of a response for that. Maybe *those* people are right...but I have a different opinion. Personally, I haven't met a guy strong enough for someone like me. Not just ANY guy can handle this much socially awkward awesomeness.

2) She's one of those women who focused on her career so she never had time for marriage and family.

Lol...I work in childcare. Do people REALLY think I'm focusing on my career? I'd LOVE for a guy to romance me, sweep me off my feet, and then provide a steady income with health insurance benefits. I'd kind of like to take care of my OWN kids for a change, too.

3) She hates men.

...No. I don't. Moving on.

4) She's a lesbian.

...FACEPALM... No.

There are also people who feel the need to condescend to me and pity me. I have had SEVERAL conversations that went something like this:

Condescending Person: So are you married?
Me: No.
CP: Oh... *averts eyes as if they'd just insulted me*
Me: I'm content being single. It's not a big deal.
CP: Well, there are plenty of single guys out there.
Me: No, really, I'm cool with it.
CP: AND you are still young. You have PLENTY of time.
Me: Um, I know. But being single doesn't bother me. Really. At all.
CP: Well, I'll be praying God brings the right man into your life.
Me: I prayed that for years. Apparently, it's not His will for me right now. I'm okay with that.
CP: DON'T GIVE UP FAITH!
Me: I'm not, I'm just accepting the life He's graciously given me...
CP: You know what, I think I know a guy who would be perfect for you. I can set you up.
Me: Oh, would you look at the time! I must be going now. I've got an appointment with the pillow I'm going to cry into because I'm completely sad and alone and useless without a husband.

Another attitude I get is one where the person seems to get the impression that I'm "called to singlehood." In fact, I get this attitude a lot from people who need things: "You're single! God has called you to live a life free from the trappings of marriage so that you can help out others. So you need to drop everything and help me out with my problem."

I'm not called to singlehood, okay. I'm called to live the life God has given me whether it be married or single. I'm called to live. I'm more than happy to help out when I can and where I can, but I need to make something very clear. Just because I'm single and don't have kids, it does NOT mean I have all the free time in the world. I work three jobs and try to write in the little free time I have. Also, I try to maintain a meager semblance of a life. So no, I'm not required to help out with any task someone else thinks I'm supposed to do just because I'm single. But thanks for thinking of me...

I have to say that the funniest reaction I get to my Invisible Leprosy comes from guys.

When a guy figures out I'm single, he usually does one of three things. 1) If he's okay with me being single, then he just treats me as he would do any lady who is not his wife. 2) If he's married and NOT okay with me being single, then he will make a point to display his wedding band and mention that he is happily married to his beautiful wife and that he loves his 2.3 children, and then he'll get away from me as soon as possible. 3) If he's single and NOT okay with me being single, then he'll stutter a lot and mention that he is considering going into foreign missions and/or becoming a monk...and then he'll also get away from me as soon as possible.

Don't get me wrong. I completely understand the need for boundaries in male/female friendships. In fact, I am rarely comfortable being friends with a married guy if I'm not also friends with his wife. His wife is the most important person in his life (or should be), so I feel that I can't really be friends with him until I'm friends with her. I also think it's a good practice to try not to be alone with a married guy. With single guys, I think it's good to only hang out in groups unless we've agreed to pursue a dating relationship. I mean, even the most innocent friendships can be misread. People like to gossip and spread rumors. It's a good idea to be careful. I'm not going to have a spaz attack if something happens and I have to hitch a ride with a guy I'm not married to or whatever, though. It's just not that big of a deal...

But it really bothers me when a married guy practically runs away from me, just as it bothers me when a single guy assumes that I'm after him just because he is also single.

ATTENTION: Just because I am single, it does not mean I am a homewrecker. Just because I am single, it does not mean I am going to go after any single guy I can find. Just because I am single does not mean I am desperate. Just because I am single does not mean you have to be afraid of me. I'm safe. My condition is not contagious.

...or then again, maybe it is.

So on second thought, don't touch me. I'm a girl. I'm single. I have cooties.