Let's Get One Thing Straight (Or Two...Or Three)

I didn't realize how risky it would be to open up a free-for-all on my Embarrassing Moments until the very first comment on my last post. Now I have to defend myself from said comment, since there were all kinds of irrational accusations thrown around recklessly and with no regard for the dignity of my family and neighbors. Overstating is fun!

But still, I do need to clear a few things up. First and foremost, I have never flashed a neighbor kid as far as I know. And I know Tanner doesn't want me telling you how he's scarred for life since I a) once thought he was Bob when he knocked on the bathroom door after I'd just turned off the shower (with the glass doors) and said "come in." Don't try to picture it, it's best for everyone if you don't. And b) once sneaked out of the master bathroom into my room to get some underwears, noticed the door was open, and went to quickly shut it just as Tanner popped in. (He popped back out in record time, too, poor thing.)

Also, that whole "Twinkies" incident is getting on my nerves. I have been caught eating any number of things in my bed during the day. It's one of my favorite places to eat, while watching tv, while folding laundry -- or pretending to fold laundry. But I have NEVER been caught eating Twinkies in my bed -- or ANYWHERE, for that matter. Eewwwww! That would be like eating....holy cow! I was trying to think of something grosser than Twinkies to use in my analogy and I couldn't! At least not that you'd understand. I could say I'd rather eat a straight up marshmallow! But that wouldn't get you right in the gag reflex, like it does me. Or that I'd be happier eating a cupcake with more frosting than cupcake! But you'd probably think that actually sounds good. Or a cinnamon bear with chocolate all over it! Ahhhh! I can't do this anymore! We're just going to have to agree to disagree about which treats are disgusting enough to convince you that I just plain wouldn't be eating such things, let alone getting caught eating them in my bed! See, I'm not trying to hide anything. I have no shame about fixing a big ol' bowl of Maple Nut ice cream, heading into my bed, cranking on some Ops, and learning about how crucial it is that I get properly fitted for a bra! I'm just saying that it would NEVER involve Twinkies, for criminy's sakes! That's just gross! So GET OVER IT, JACOB FOSTER! IT NEVER HAPPENED! Jacob Foster is Collin's 11 year old friend who started this vicious rumor in the first place, and has since embellished and perpetuated it ad nauseum. After he accused me of the whole Twinkie thing he asked how old I was going to be on my impending birthday. When I told him 39 he laughed and said, "Oh, Sister Farley! Everybody says that. How old are you really?" "No, Jacob Foster. People say they're 29, not 39, and I was not eating a Twinkie in my bed!" "Okay, Sister Farley. Whatever (snicker, snicker)." Jacob Foster remains convinced that I both eat Twinkies in my bed and am older than 39. He also thinks I'm lying about both because I'm embarrassed to admit the truth. Do I look like someone who lies to cover embarrassment? I think not.

I did, incidentally, receive a lovely Twinkie for my 39th birthday from guess who? Thoughtful little guy.

Oh, I just realized why you thought I flashed a neighbor kid, Si Foster. It wasn't a kid, okay? It was total strangers at the gym across from our house. And it was an ACCIDENT! Sheesh! I now know that you can see in a window if it's dark outside and light inside. Give me a break -- it was a long time ago. Back when I was 8 months pregnant with my second child. I just needed a towel for my shower and the laundry was on the couch by the big window. Hmmm...I'm starting to see now why I prefer to fold the stuff in my bed...

Help! Help! My Memory's Gone Missing and I Can't Remember Where I Left It!

My Embarrassing Moment from today is...I CAN'T REMEMBER ANY EMBARRASSING MOMENTS!

I wanted to write a story today. I have a little time and I'm feeling a little writey and I sit down at my Mac and BLANK OUT! Kimi! Woman of A Thousand EMs! What's happening to me? Is this what they call "writer's block?" Does that make me a real writer? Ooooh! Look at me -- I've got a case of writer's block. Forget embarrassed. Now I'm cool!

Sorry peeps. Got a touch o' the writer's block today. Better go back to bed I guess. I'll need some rest, food, fluids (maybe carbonated, or with a high sugar content at least), videos, candy, you know the drill. It's a strict regimen for the w.b. afflicted.

While I'm resting up and recuperating from this difficult and painful affliction, you can help. If you know of, have heard, remember, or (most likely) witnessed one (or more, most likely) of my Embarrassing Moments, will you remind me? You can email me or leave it in a comment. You can call me or send it by post. You can come over and tell me in person. Just remind me! I need you! Heeeelp!

'Preciate cha 'n' all thetcha do.

Now I have a sore throat, too! From screaming.

Now that my kids are old, they're all in school during the day -- well, I mean not right now, since it's summer and stuff. But when school is in session all my kids are gone during the day. Settled? Okay.

One school day the furnace guy came. He was working on the furnace while I wandered around the house doing random things. One of those random things was going into the guest room downstairs near the furnace room to clean it or something. I don't really remember what I was doing and it is irrelevant to the story anyway, so settle down, you. So I went into the guest room and as I reached to pick something up from the floor a male voice coming from the direction of, indeed, inside of the bed said, "Hi." (In a low, male-sounding voice). "AAAAHHHHHHHHH!" I said, just as what I thought was a spider, but was actually nothing at all landed on my arm. "AAAAHHHHHHHHH!" I reiterated. This was accompanied by a little scaredy-dance and flailing arms (trying to dislodge the imaginary spider, of course). When I came to, Tanner was smiling amusedly/bewilderedly at me from the bed. "Did you forget I stayed home with a sore throat?" He says, in that now-familiar throaty voice that had scared the skidoobies out of me moments before.

"Oh yeah," I say.

"Geez," he says, eyebrows raised mockingly.

"Sorry," I say. And then I have a giggle-fit. Part of the giggle-fit stemmed from the fact that the furnace guy was in the next room. I giggled wondering what he must be thinking at this point. He could only hear the screaming, not any of the resolution. And then I stopped giggling and started wondering why the furnace guy hadn't come in to make sure everything was okay. I mean, from the alarming--nay--blood-curdling scream I had just let fly, he could have reasonably surmised that I had been attacked by some...some...I-don't-know-what!

Well, I was never one for confrontation, so I sneaked back up the stairs and acted like nothing happened. Eventually the furnace guy finished his job and handed me the bill. I thanked him and added, "Oh, sorry about all that screaming. I forgot my son stayed home with a sore throat." "I wondered what that was," he said. I didn't say Thanks for saving me! I could've been being killed, for all you knew! or anything like that. I had said that to my kids once when I found a giant Chinese cockroach in the washing machine (while doing Bob's China laundry, obviously) and screamed bloody murder for a solid 15 seconds. They had no response to that and I figured the furnace guy wouldn't either, so I let it go. Still, the kids know about my overreacting tendencies. What was his excuse?

Did I mention I'm easily startled?

Kimi Clampit

Ever like to think you're classier than you really are? Like to hobnob with the hoity toities and pretend you're just as posh as all get out? Well I usually know my place in life as a first-class nerd, trying to maintain at least a semblance of low-scale sophistication. Just enough to keep my friends from rethinking the whole arrangement, that sort of thing. But I know deep down I'm a full-throttle band geek who, though my instrument was piccolo (at least a halfway cool-ish instrument. I mean, if you have to be in the band in the first place), I nearly tried out for sousaphone (that's giant marching-band-sized-and-shaped-TUBA if you're a normal person) because I thought it would be cool to be able to say I played the sousaphone! I can't remember now why I didn't end up playing it, but OH MY GOSH! Can you imagine?! Nonetheless, I still wanted to at the time, and I know that about myself, so I know my own potential for Olympic-level Dweebhood. This knowledge keeps me humble for the most part. Except for the occasional delusion of elegance. The mental slip ups when I think I have the same level of chicness as the people I'm around.

I once left one of my earrings in the car. Not a pair. Just one earring. No, I don't know why. That's not relevant right now, so don't worry about it. Anyway, every time I got in the car I would be like, "Doh! I HAVE to take that earring in the house!" But it stayed in the car for a long time. Eventually I tried tricks to remind myself to take it in, like hanging it from the thing that's hanging from my rearview mirror. I was sure this would work, but no. Then I had an even better idea! I hung the longish earring from one of the longish earrings I was wearing at the time. That would totally get the earring into the house! Aren't I clever? Aren't I just the shrewd one?

Later that night Bob said, "We must go to the Bosendorfer piano showroom tonight! We must!" I know Bob doesn't talk like that, but it's making me laugh right now picturing it in my mind's ear. But he said essentially that. So we went. Bosendorfer pianos are (according to Bob, who would know) one of the two best piano brands made in the whole entire world. And probably the better of the two, so really the best. I can't figure out how to get the two little dots above the o in Bosendorfer, but you have to picture it and say it like the Bosendorfer reps do: Boooooeesendorfer. Again: Boooooeesendorfer. Make your lips say "oo" while the inside of your mouth says "ee." That's right. Good. That is meant to have you appreciate the swanky upscale nature of the Booooooeesendorfer piano. And they like to say it a lot when you're at the showroom, pretending you would ever be able to buy one. And not only that, but that you'll probably be buying one real soon. (Right after you pay off the house. And win the lottery.)

The reps are all dressed in practically-but-not-quite formal gowns and nearly tuxedos. I kept thinking they should have a glass of champagne in their hand as they gestured dramatically at the selection of Boooooeesendorfer pianos in the temporary showroom. (Utah's not cool enough to sell Booooooeesendorfers, they're made somewhere cooler and taken on showroom tours.)

So as you picture Bob and me, putting on airs, if you will, or at least doing our best to fake it, you may start to put two and two together. Well, you're one step ahead of me if you do. Remember the lone earring I have at this point hanging from one of my two earrings? Yeah, I didn't. I didn't remember it at all. Not until I got home from Booooooeesendorferland and prepared to go to bed did I catch a glimpse of an anomaly hanging from the side of my head! Yes, of course I asked Bob why he didn't tell me. No, he hadn't noticed. It's usually a perk that Bob doesn't notice any of my flaws, but this time he could have helped a girl out, you know? I know I really should stick to my roots and not try to elevate my social status in my own mind. But a girl can dream, right? Someday, maybe someday I'll get the chance, if I'm lucky, to finally...PLAY THAT SOUSAPHONE! Yeah!