“You two were awesome on the dance floor. You have some serious moves.”
— Everyone at last weekend’s wedding, to me and Eric, but looking only at Eric.
Category Archives: Being Awkward/Dumb Stuff I Do
Therapy
Therapist: “You seem irritable and agitated.”
Me: “Yup.”
Therapist: “Are you getting your period soon?”
Me: “JESUS, WHO ARE YOU– ERIC?!?!”
(silence)
Me: “Yeah I’m getting it tomorrow.”
Yeah That Was Fun For Us Too
You know you’re doing some serious adulting when someone sends you a wedding gift thank you note that includes this line:
I still have a scar.
(Landing smack on top of Eric, who was a mere casualty in my dancing-gone-awry, did help break my fall, though.)
Something Feels Off
I had to get rid of my bitmoji’s Hillary-inspired pantsuit because it literally makes ZERO sense with my current state of employment.
So here’s me as a chocolate cupcake with a drinking problem.
Because being honest about who you are is important.
Well You SHOULD
“Um, no, Ma’am. I’m sorry. We don’t sell anything like that.”
— Saleslady at Lester’s, when I explained that I’m babysitting my 1-year-old nephew tonight and would like to conduct an #ImWithHer photo shoot, and therefore will be needing a white pantsuit in his size.
Independent Woman
As I come in from my run…
Doorman: “Emily, you have a package.”
Me: “Oh great– is it heavy? If so I’ll come back for it later.”
Doorman: “Nah, not at all. It’s big, but it’s very light. Nothing you can’t handle.”
Me: “Oh ok cool. I’ll take it then.”
I just fell trying to push it across the hallway.
Confidence
“Always ‘like’ your own posts. It shows confidence in yourself and your popularity.”
— Me, to myself, alone in this dark room.
Isn’t it Ironic (the lost verse)
This weekend Eric and I went to a beautiful wedding at the American Museum of Visionary Arts in Baltimore, as one of my oldest and dearest friends was getting married there. We had just been to Baltimore the weekend before for Eric’s friend’s wedding, so I felt pretty confident in my packing-for-a-Baltimore-wedding skills and didn’t go through my usual anal-retentive, checklist-obsessive packing routine.
Big mistake.
An hour before the wedding, I realized that I did not pack a bra.
Not a huge problem, as my dress (and my boob size) didn’t necessarily require one, but I had never worn the dress without one. So needless to say, I was a little panicked and self-conscious, and I made Eric swear 50 times up and down that you couldn’t tell my boobs had no support. I also turned down his gracious offer to cup them in his hands the entire night. I don’t know, I just felt like that might draw even more attention.
Then we arrive at the wedding, my boob anxiety rising, and what is the FIRST thing we encounter? This.
A HUGE. FUCKING. BALL OF BRAS. 18,000 bras to be exact.
“Look, it’s 18,000 more bras than you’re wearing!” Eric yelled. Loudly.
And in that moment I couldn’t help but feel I was living out that Alanis Morissette song. You know, the one that goes “It’s like 18,000 bras in a ball, when all you need is one to wear…”
Or something.
But come on. That is ironic. Don’t you think?
I Require a Different Department
I had an issue with my computer so I called tech support.
Tech Support (after asking a series of basic questions): “And do you use your iCloud?”
Me: “I think so?”
Tech Support: “You’re not sure?”
Me: “Well…it’s just. What is the cloud? Like, really?”
Tech Support: “Ok I’m going to transfer you to a another department. You have an entirely different problem than the one you reported.”
Me: “Is it that I’m an idiot? Is that the entirely different problem?”
(long pause)
Teach Support: “No comment, ma’am. Please hold.”
Nope, that’s just food.
“You’re not pregnant too, are you?”
— Parent, to me, after hearing that almost everyone on my grade team is pregnant.
Because, as everyone knows, pregnancy is contagious.
And a completely appropriate subject to broach with someone you don’t know well at all.
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