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For a Good Time, Call Me

I like to appear that I have my shit together. It makes me feel better about myself and the fact that while I can put on heels, curl my hair and look nice, underneath it all, I’m just minutes away from publicly humiliating myself. I can’t count the number of ways I’ve embarrassed myself in the last month, let alone the last 15 years, although, I am going to start writing down every single thing I do because I do believe this will be the focus of my first book. And let me tell you, I have a LOT of material.

Truth be told, I’ve found peace with my inner nerd that likes to rear its’ ugly head at the most inopportune times. I’ve learned to embrace this part of who I am and truthfully, I don’t have any choice because it’s not something that is ever going to change. At least you can count on me for a good laugh. I’m dependable like that.

There’s the time I fell off the stage during play practice, in eighth grade. (This public humiliation thing has always been a part of my life). Nothing like tripping off the stage during the most dramatic part of the play (let’s be clear, this was no Shakespearean play, but from what I remember there was a dramatic part. And in case anyone is wondering what my breakthrough role was, I was a cop. An 90lb cop. Very believable.)  I fell hard and I’m pretty sure my knobby knees left imprints in the wooden floor. My play book slid theentireway across the gym, and all I could do was sit on all fours and laugh my ass off. It was pretty awesome. I do wish Vine would have been around back then because I’m pretty sure that shit would have had millions of hits.

There’s the night this summer I got all dressed up in the cutest dress and wedges, met my girlfriend for drinks on the patio at a bar (obviously at a bar but I need to be clear that, again, this was a public display). I walked back outside and completely tripped on a crack in the patio. I was going down head first people. But I put my catlike reflexes to work and pulled out a save. However, not before everyone outside heard me yelling “SHIIIIIITTT” and got to witness my near fatal fall. That was met with an incredible amount of laughter and smart ass comments, from people I’ve never met or really want to met at this point in my life, and me standing up, straightening out my dress and simply saying, “I’m okay” which was met with lots of clapping. And laughing. But seriously, they need to fix that shit before I break a hip.

Every time I go to Vegas I am met with an incredible amount of humiliation. This happens whether or not I’ve been drinking copious amounts of alcohol. The first time I got a spray tan at the Wynn I walked my happy ass right up to the counter and announced I was there for my tan. I was immediately pointed to the glass doors I had just walked through to the spa counter. I’m not sure why the treadmills, workout clothes and smell of sweat weren’t an indication that I was in the wrong place but those gym workers sure were nice. And yes, like an idiot I looked back and saw them laughing their asses off.

The same trip I was at the Encore playing blackjack when I saw Bobby Bones. And I had been drinking, and was feeling super hot because I had my amazing spray tan, both of which made me feel like I should say hi. (I should tell you that I used to work in radio and my primary station I was the first one they were syndicated on so I felt that the fact we had met a couple of times made us friends. I was not some rando stalker.) Most. Awkward. Hello. In. My. Life. First of all, he had no clue who I was. Second of all, I tried to make it better by reminding him who I was and he politely acted like he remembered me. Not helping was my husband who spent the remainder of the trip reminding me what I douche I looked like. The re-enactments of Bobby’s blank stare were humiliating every single time. This is the primary reason if I see someone that I know but I haven’t seen in a while or don’t know well, I avoid eye contact at all costs. If I’ve done this to you, I apologize but I’ve been severely traumatized.

The last time I was in Vegas I managed to lock myself out of the room at 3:45am. Wearing nothing but my thong and a t-shirt. And I’m not talking flip flops, either. I may, or may not, have had one too many red bull vodkas and had to have wings RIGHTTHISVERYMINUTEORI’LLDIE. Those room service carts are awkward and heavy and hard to maneuver. Especially when you are drunk and your hands are covered in wing grease. So I problem solved by pushing the cart with my hips and holding the door with my greasy hands. One final push with the hips and the cart went flying into the hall. However, I wasn’t prepared for such swift movement from the cart and my greasy hand fell off the latch as I flew out the door. Click. I rang the doorbell no less than 547 times, pounded on it until my hands were red and hurt like hell. I sat on the floor and kicked the shit out of the door. No answer from the guy who claims he wasn’t drunk just really tired. LIES.

Apparently 3:45 isn’t a popular time for people in Vegas to go to sleep because not a single person got off the elevator in 45 minutes. I had two options: sleep outside the door like a hooker who had been kicked out of her room or walk through the casino to the front desk where I could look like a hooker who’d been kicked out of her room to everyone I passed. I’ve never been so conflicted in my life. I’d given up all hope and was about to head to the elevators when I heard a little cleaning lady at the end of the hall. If I’d ran half this fast  when I was in track, my record would have been astounding. State champion. She refused to let me in my room (it may have been the fact she got a good look at my ass, may have been the grease, we’ll never know) but she called security for me. I emphasize for me, not on me.

Apparently security does not view a drunk, pantless girl as an emergency so I sat in the doorway for another 20 minutes until a very attractive security guy in a suit showed up. Of course. Send the good looking guy. Just my luck. The first thing he asked me, after I picked myself up off the floor, was if I had any identification. This guys was no super sleuth. “Seriously? I’m standing here in my t-shirt and underwear. Where exactly do you think I have it stashed?”  Reluctantly, he unlocked the door but held it open with his foot while I grabbed my room key and license. It’s a painful realization to know you look like a hooker who’s john won’t pay for services and throws you out of the room, folks. Thankfully, I never saw the security guard again but I was fully prepared to be met with shame, pity and disappointment, should we come face to face ever again. Clearly, not my first rodeo. I know that look. Well.

All of this leads me to yesterdays disaster. The first thing I’ll tell you is that I don’t sleep in a bra and second of all, it’s never been a high priority on my list of things to do before I take a shower. With that said, I grabbed my cup of coffee and sat on the porch while the punks ran to the bus stop. They got half way there when Ryder stumbles and completely eats it (he obviously get his grace from me). I tried to yell to see if he was okay because I’m standing there in a white tank top, no bra, and the last thing I want to do is run down the street like that, but he’s crying and I can tell he needs his mama. So I took off like the wind, running like Adam Levine is at the finish line waiting for me. My oh-so-kind neighbors witnessed my punk going down so by the time I reach him, they’re standing there ready to administer first aid.

Listen, I’m pretty sure she didn’t pay much attention to my boobs but he’s a guy so let’s face it, there wasn’t any eye contact between the two of us. It is very hard to comfort your kid and attempt to cover your chest without looking like a complete idiot so I just did the best I could do and knew that once again, I looked like a total douche.

I’ve learned a valuable lesson from my latest escapade – when your feet hit the ground in the morning, throw on a bra. Every. Single. Day. Or don’t, but know you’re taking a risk that something will happen and your creepy neighbor might get a good look at your boobs. There will be no further driveway time for the children because the last thing I need is face to face contact with him. Furthermore, I will be wearing my sunglasses at all times to avoid all eye contact with the entire human race.

I could go on and on with humiliating stories but quite frankly, I’m tired of reliving these awesomely embarrassing stories all over again. If you want to laugh your ass off we can plan a night out because there is a 145% chance I will deliver. My best advice is to keep your Vine handy because you will get some really good shit.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go put on a bra because today I made a bad choice to live dangerously.

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