Ouch, My Pride.

My mom is a bit of a long-winded storyteller. She’s a person captivated by details, and sometimes those details get in the way of moving the plot forward, already. It’s an adorable nuisance. In many ways we (always begrudgingly) become our parents. I worry that I too will go the oral route of Dickens and Tolstoy; I’m already guilty of re-telling certain stories over and over…

…However…

Some are so perfect in their ridiculousness that they border the stuff of cheezy sitcoms. They deserve a constant presence, if merely in the backs of our minds, as we go about our life experience. Ya know, they’re the stuff of regular-ol’-boring-life comedic gold.

So I must admit: I am a clumsy motherfucker. I lack grace, hand-eye coordination, the ability to walk and chew gum simultaneously, all that jazz. I loved to listen to music on my way to class back in undergrad, but the moment I would get really into my jam and start that swagger, God or whoever would bitchslap me down. I’d either trip or spill coffee on my shirt…usually both. One morning I giddily thought a cute guy was checking me out… turns out I had a smear of crunchy peanut butter on my cheek.

But oh, those pale in comparison to the following tale of woe. To the gods of awkwardly timed farts and Jennifer Lawrence stumbles, I humbly submit:

It was July 4th weekend, many moons ago. My sister and I bounced down I-95 in my crappy Mitusbishi Galant lovingly dubbed Gunther. We were headed to Jax Beach to spend the day with her bestie. For those of you who don’t know, Jax Beach gets kinda cray-cray during this holiday. House parties abound, all are welcome, as long as you’re on a bicycle (the J-towners get openly mocked by the beach cruiser crowd). The plan was this: bike ride up and down the strip, get shit-faced, and eventually ooh and aah at the evening fireworks display before passing out on the beach. Simple, uncomplicated, guaranteed fun, no? Not when you “eat 4 sandwiches” (Where my HIMYM fans at??!) on an empty stomach. Not when you haven’t ridden a bike in like 10 years. Not, in short, when you’re me.

Like a typical whiny sibling trying to keep up with the big kids, I clumsily teetered along on my borrowed wheels. My sister and her friend were quickly moving ahead, and my high-induced paranoia and stress were beginning to peak. I sped up to try and overtake them. Big mistake.

Picture, as I often do when recalling this memory, an out of control bicycle, its riders’ legs sticking straight out at a near-perfect 90 degree angle… as they crash headfirst into a wooden light pole…

Next, turn your attention to the 2 surfer brahs standing right there, their slackjaws exclaiming a surprised, “Woah…. are you ok man?”

Cut back to me, face ablaze, stuttering “Oh, I’m fine”. And then *cringe* as I have to straddle my front wheel to unbend the handlebars before hobbling away in shame.

And no, thankfully my sister and her biffl had no idea. The fewer witnesses, the better.

*Sigh*

Hey… don’t you feel better about your day now? My humiliation is your salvation. You’re welcome.

Current Jam: “Look What Happened (The Last Time)” LTJ

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