Embarrassment
What else could go wrong? (The One Question to Never Ask)
There are a few things in life that teach you, absolutely, about Who You Are. Moments that, while happening, show you to yourself. One of them is grief. Another one is heartbreak. But a moment of embarrassment, in my experience, proves to be the most direct in revealing everything You Are in one (nauseating) moment. There’s something about realizing, instantly, that you look foolish that slows down time. The outside world drowns away and for a moment you realize you’ve been thinking that your heart exists inside of your chest when, in fact, it’s located in your ears... both of them! The blood flow that consumes your face makes the obvious agony you’re feeling known to the outside world and the immediate swoosh of heat that rushes all over the body makes the un-comfortability all the more… uncomfortable.
By Nadia Iris5 years ago in Confessions
Uteruses, “Whaatsits” and Snickers Bars…
When my doctor told me I had “one hell of a big uterus” I was in such a state of elation after giving birth that I took his words as a compliment. I even thanked him as if he’d complimented my hair. It never occurred to me that he was making a clinical observation, albeit a bit blunt, because my baby weighed a hefty 10 ½ pounds.
By Laura DeRue5 years ago in Confessions
Circle K’OD
So, in the recent past I was a teacher at an International school in Phnom Penh, Cambodia. A dusty and lawless city, full of skyscrapers, tuktuks and packed with people. Anyways, it was in this place that I met one of my best mates, Ben. Ben is an English chap who is two years my senior (28). I met him at school and we became friends, best friends, maybe even soulmates. Anyways, let’s fast forward this a bit. Picture this, a Saturday morning and I’m hungover from a relatively big Friday night. While contemplating life and the decisions past I get a call from Ben, the man that put me here the night before. My mouth still stuck to my pillow I let it ring, because I know where it’s going. However, Ben and his persistence are key here. So I answer the second call wherein Ben attempts to convince me to come to a pub on the infamous riverside (filled with tattoo parlors and lady bars) very chilled place with a pool and a laidback Aussie owner. I try say no but Ben promises me it’s a chilled day. His daughter Jasmin, who is two, is there. This is supposed to engine the safety of childcare and responsibility not leading us astray, it did not. So my arm is twisted and I’m on my scooter cruising down the riverside. So we chill at this bar for a bit, having beers and watching Jasmin swim, feeing safe in adulthood. Our mate Zeke joins us as well as a few of our fairer sex friends. Pretty soon the sun is going down and the night is turning (we sent Jasmin home, just so you know). Anyways, fast forward a bit more and we are at a bar called the Blue Dolphin, real classy place. And now we are absolutely fucked. There’s now some 15 of us, as we’ve picked up some strays, including some old American dude called Kev and some Irish backpackers. We’re playing games, banging on the tables, being wonderfully obnoxious, which ends up getting kicked out the bar by an angry Khmer woman. Then we are on my scooter again Ben sitting with his back against mine, beer in hand, legs swung out like a drunken sailor, me swerving trying not to kill us or anyone else. Anyways, everyone decides to call it a night and meet back at mine for beers and morning shenanigans. Apparently Ben, Kev and I have different ideas. We end up digging up a craving for Chinese street food at 3am on one of the main roads. So there we are, three white dudes and a bunch of Asian guys. We’re eating Dimsum, having beers and talking shit. Anyways we leave in good spirit, part ways with Kev who is never to be seen again. Ben is cruising on his scooter and me on mine. We are cruising down Monivong Blvd. Ben comes in close and tells me he is sure that he’s left his wallet and passport at this restaurant. So we turn back and have a search at our new local. Now this is where things get hazy. Anyways, we search for his things (I’m guessing) but come up empty handed. So as we are walking out there’s dudes outside cooking meat, chatting shit and having beers, as you do at 3am. Anyways, apparently one of the guys passes a comment and says something in Khmer, not knowing Ben speaks fluent Khmer. Ben turns around and is like:’ Hey man that’s not cool.’ Now, apparently this is where I took issue with this guy (never been in a fight in my LIFE but all of a sudden I’m the baddest motherfucker around) and I apparently go in on this guy so much so he walks away and sit down on a chair, half cowering. Anyways I’m so involved here that I don’t notice what’s happening behind me. Ben comes up and taps me on the shoulder and says: ‘I’ll come over the top mate but just know we are going to get fucked up.’ Anyways I turn around and there’s 15 topless Asian dudes in a circle around us. The security guard lookin nervously on from the fringes. So I make the mature decision to get on my scooter and get the fuck out of there. So Ben and I bounce after narrowly escaping a beating. Anyways that’s the last memory. We wake up next to each other in my bed half naked, as has happened more than I would care to admit. having no idea what went on. Remembering almost fighting 15 Cambodian dudes. But that was it.
By Timothy worthington5 years ago in Confessions
Lost Underwear and Love at First Sight
This story is 100 percent true, and certainly one of my most embarrassing “moments”, that lasted for weeks as things escalated with seemingly no end. The result however, was a wonderful love story, but that’s not the point. Let’s dive into the pure horror that I am.
By Jordan 5 years ago in Confessions
Underneath the sheets
A few years ago, I met the guy who will become my most lasting relationship. We met at a party. At first, we were not too close. But whit the years, he will become my best friend and eventually my boyfriend, over time we are getting closer and closer. Almost Inseparable, we always have a lot of chemistry, whit the time we became practically the same person, he has a weird sense of humor. that's why he always make me laugh, but he never laughed at my jokes. He simply doesn't understand my sense of humor. We are opposite, but at the same time, we are very similar. It is difficult to explain how he and I connected we used to spend our free time always together. I used to saw him practically all the time. When I was going to my drama school I always had one hour free in my lunchtime, so I was always going to lunch whit him, he used to lived only two stations away from my school, so I used go and visits him and lunch whit him very fast and then come back to my school. After school, I was go and visiting him to sometimes I sleep whit him and sometimes just come back to my home .when the weekends come i always stayed to sleep at his place. Our routine were the same as a couple does typically, we used to love go to parties on the weekends, eat in a restaurant. We always loved to try different types of food of different nationalities or happy just watching some series on Netflix or sometimes just simply do nothing. He love to take naps so sometimes we where just doing that, the only problem of my boyfriend did not live alone. He lived with his mother. But his mother was rarely at home, so we used to be always alone .One day we forgot that his mother was there and my boyfriend as he always wanted to have sex with me, as any couple would , so well we started having sex, we were having a great time, when I was having my orgasm, my boyfriend tells me to my ear, it seems that someone entered the room. Still, I couldn't stop it because I was practically finishing. And well inside the room, there was a bathroom. Hence, the mother went to the toilet and entered, or she did not notice what we were doing, and or she just acts like she doesn't see anything, or she simply did not care. Still, so we stop, and he just hugs me and says, act like you're sleeping my hurt was bouncing, and my mind was running thinking and how embarrassing I feel, and I can't feel my face was so red, I just put my head underneath the comforter close my eyes. I act like my boyfriend told me, but it always gives me the impression that he is the type of person who doesn't care too much about anything. He acts really chill about the whole thing. After we felt the mother was no longer in the apartment, we started talking and wondering whether he really saw us or not. My boyfriend says she definitely saw us. Still, we can do nothing about it , we are not the first or the last persona in the world who experienced the same thing, next time, we just need to be more careful .but still I will never forget this experience and it will always consider one of the most embarrassing experiences of all my life.
By Pame Molina5 years ago in Confessions
Embarrassed But Thankful
I hated having to go to Math extra classes but I had to because I had a nasty encounter with a teacher the year before and I now hated the subject and had my finals looming. As a result, Saturdays were no longer peaceful and I now had to take two buses for over an hour to get to school. I knew my parents did not have much and it was a strain on them for me to take these extra classes. That was the hardest part for me, we were already poor and I felt like I was saddling the family with more stress. So I did not complain but went every Saturday. And while I don't know that it really helped because my block needed psychological help, not academic help I was grateful to them for trying to get me help.
By TanYah Global5 years ago in Confessions
Akward Words In An Elevator
Nurses, probably more than any other group of people, are accustomed to encountering death and pain. Although we are certainly affected by the suffering of others, our job calls for a measure of detachment, the ability to move forward without faltering. The traumas we experience here on this pediatric oncology unit are sometimes compartmentalized because it is a helpful device to make it through a hard shift and a challenging career. These traumatic moments are rarely predictable in form, though. It is often the case that among my diverse set of pediatric patients on any given day, some are quite sick and sad while others are doing just fine and may even be preparing to go home.
By David Metzger5 years ago in Confessions
My experience at the blood bank
In the early 1990s, there was a neighbor who spoke often about going to the blood bank which really was the local blood plasma center. I did not have a real understanding about this organization so my opinion was based on what I heard. Listening to this neighbor I assumed that this was a place where the homeless, addicts, and alcoholics went to get money for their next drink or drug. I envisioned older males who smelled of alcohol and were dirty and stinking were the main people who frequented this establishment.
By Cheryl E Preston5 years ago in Confessions
One embarrassing moment to remember
As far as purely embarrassing goes, I think back to youth soccer and a truly bone headed moment comes to memory. In case you didn't know the term bone headed is a description of neanderthalic thinking or lack of thought. A bit of caveman simplicity of thought that lacks much thought involved. It comes from pterodactyl who had a large femur-like bone sticking up from their head. I played soccer as a kid and enjoyed the exercise. The fresh air, the sunshine, the field of play. I began playing soccer when I was four or five years old. I was an Aztec. We had bright yellow and white uniforms and I loved being an Aztec. I loved my uniform and it even sort of matched my bright blonde hair. I even bought an Aztec calendar necklace on a school trip to a science museum in grade school. I played soccer in the town league for many years but I began transitioning to football in seventh grade. I played football for our high school but still played soccer for the town at the same time. A lot of times I would go directly from football practice to soccer practice and in eighth grade it was still the same. One sunny afternoon, in soccer, I dribbled the ball toward the corner just outside the goalie box. I had my head down a bit watching the movement of the ball as I drove it past some of the other players. When I looked up I had broken into the clear and I paused their in the open with the ball but now several players were rushing toward me and the space was getting smaller. As they were closing the distance rapidly, I searched for my teammates couldn't see any of them, so, without much thought, I did what made so much sense to me to keep the ball safe right then. I simply bent down and picked it up. As soon as I stood entirely upright again I dropped the ball before the referees whistle even blew. As the ball was falling the whistle blew and I was already turned back up field walking away. Everyone was speechless just watching me in my wide-eyed retreat. I walked up to the sideline and right off the field. I said, "Coach, someone needs to go in for me. I think I was thinking in football terms. Maybe coming here right after football practice isn't going to work anymore. That is just embarrassing. What was I going to run it into the goal past the goalie for a touchdown? I gonna take a break." He just laughed a little bit and said "What were you thinking of football?" And I said, "Yes, I think so." I'll never forget that. You can pretty much use every part of your body in soccer just not your hands. There is inadvertent handball where the ball accidentally strikes your hand but I went out of my way to take the time to bend down and just pick it up in both hands. I was not mentally with it on that play. There is no handball more obvious than that. So in my confusion I stayed on the sidelines for awhile lost in thought. I had played soccer since I was like four or five years old. The most important "no-no, never" that you are taught is just don't use your hands unless you are the goalie. To think of it now, it was all of those things but also I had some new family members as well. In eight grade I had a one year old niece and a new born nephew, so, all in all I don't think my thinking was out of line considering precious cargo, to keep those new little additions safe but on the soccer field you aren't going to get very far if you are breaking a rule as fundamental as just don't use your hands. Soccer is made to use your feet that's why Europeans and the world outside the United States call it football. There's a lesson in that somewhere otherwise it is just a purely unthinking moment of the most obvious hand ball there might have ever been in Soccer.
By James M. Piehl5 years ago in Confessions
La petite anglaise
This is a true story. All names have been changed. La petite anglaise. The little Englishwoman. Truth is, I’m not exactly petite. Or feminine. Or elegant. I’m a tall, big-boned, big-footed Englishwoman of hardy peasant stock, prone to bouts of clumsiness, both physical and verbal. But that’s what they called me, la petite anglaise, during the dreamy summer of 1991 when I worked in a hotel, high up in the French Alps. I was 20 years old, good at French and, despite my big-boned clumsiness, reasonably attractive and reasonably slim, considering the number of croissants I wolfed down every morning with a large bowl of strong coffee. Attractive enough at least to catch the eye of Stéphane, the 19-year-old sous-chef. Tall and wiry with a mop of dark hair, he was a clown in the kitchen, always teasing me and the other girls and playing pranks on us. I knew he had a girlfriend back home in Lyon, but that certainly didn’t stop him flirting. It was only a bit of fun, after all. A summer fling before I returned to university in the cold, autumnal North of England. I hadn’t had a boyfriend for a while and I’d been having the time of my life that year in France – travelling, making friends, drinking and partying like there was no tomorrow, far from the reproving looks of my family back home.
By Lola Finch5 years ago in Confessions
