Good morning! Thank you zillions for the feedback on how to spruce up my blog. I received a few super-helpful comments and e-mails. I hope my "blahg" (ha!) transformation will be complete within a few weeks. There's lots of work to do to get there, but that's why I always ask the barista to sneak in three shots of espresso into a double-shot drink. Zing!
Is anyone in the mood to cringe this morning? I have a couple embarrassing stories to share, if so. (Did you miss some? Check out other horrifying stories here and here.)
Story #1 happened a couple weeks ago. My co-worker - the bubbliest person to ever exist - walks in, her head hanging and her bottom lip quivering. She's the girl you could never say a bad thing about, even if you wanted to, because she's just that sweet.
She's clocking in, really worked up and brushing the hair out of her face with her sighs. Our boss comes up and hugs my co-worker, and I hear her mumble something about a wreck. Eventually my co-worker collects herself and joins me.
Me: "It would really cheer you up if I told you how many tickets I've been issued and how many accidents I've been in. I'm so sorry about your wreck!"
Her: Blank stare.
Me: "Oh. I --"
Her: "What? I wasn't in a wreck, silly!" (She actually called me 'silly', which I found rather endearing.) "I ran a red light and it really scared me. Thankfully the other car honked and I missed them completely!"
Me, in my head: "Oh, yeah. I mean...I've pretty much never been in a wreck, either."
And the story above helps transition into this story, if not only to serve as an explanation for why I don't currently have a car (another story for another day). Okay, story #2, but a back story first. The back story will also embarrass me, so the story is two-fold and double the fun for you guys.
I spent the majority of my junior high afternoons at a friend's house watching his band practice. One evening at dinner I was like, "Moooom. I need to learn guitar because I want to impress all the guys at practice." After weeks of whining and convincing, she bought me an acoustic Fender Stratocaster. Oh yeah, baby. And signed me up for lessons, too. My mom was and is a total saint. I would have been like, "Shut up, zit-face and go do your chores." (I'll make a great mom.) Fast forward to age 17. I'd taken lessons and knew a handful of songs, but I had stopped hanging out with the band guys after school, so my interest had reached a plateau. I did have a new boyfriend, though. And that new boyfriend needed a Christmas gift.
You must be thinking, "Oh, no she didn't! She gave him her super-sexy, expensive guitar!" Worse. I pawned it. And even worse? I was only 17, which meant I couldn't legally pawn it. I had to have one of my best friends, who was 18, pawn it. And I got like $70 for it. (I'm still so sorry, ma!) (Please don't stop reading, readers! - I'll prove to you in some post down the road that I'm not completely heartless.)
Then, for my 20th birthday, my now-boyfriend gifted me with a brand new acoustic guitar. I had told him about my glory days playing a little AC/DC during my old friend's band practice and then bashfully had told him about pawning my golden beauty. So he got me a freaking guitar! I opened it and he was like: "Play!" And I froze up and was like "Uh, wait. Is a C# like this or like this?", demonstrating with my fingers. He was like "Huh? I thought you knew how to play." And I was all, "Where is the nearest hole I can crawl in?"
Fast forward again to present day. Last week I secretly bought guitar lessons. I say secretly because I think my boyfriend only gets on the computer to mess with his Fantasy Football team; he doesn't read the blog. (Gasp!)
I went to my first lesson this week. How did I get to my lesson, though, if I don't have a car?
Normally I would bike. Alas, I don't have a soft-case or a strap, and I wasn't about to bike through town one-handed holding my guitar. I had no other choice except to walk. (We have poor public transportation, FYI.)
I walked through this freaking college town carrying a guitar and nothing else. I looked like the biggest wanna-be on earth.
Before I left, I almost practiced my "I am aware I'm the biggest douchebag on the planet" face in the mirror. I refrained, though once I was actually doing things like waiting at the crosswalk holding nothing but a guitar, I just put on my best: "Yes, I'm a total douche" face and soldiered on.
Oh, and also? Guitar lessons went great. I remembered how to play a C minor, too.
Now it's your turn - share your embarrassing stories with me!