Once a girl came to our house for a few days and I didn't want to meet her in front of my parents so I hid in my room for days.
It was one of those random nights on the beach where you meet a new group of semi-interesting people and through the magic of alcohol have an extremely awesome, easy going time. After playing "jump on the rocks", "run into the ocean without falling" and whatever other games one plays in the company of young drunks, we had moved on to "spin me till i puke". It's a simple game of lifting someone over your shoulders, and spinning - fast.
Anyways, we were all having fun, and this one girl, a little on the large side, had still not been picked up by anyone. Amongst the laughs and twirls and falls, her friend, a much smaller lass, is making a noble effort to try and lift her up on her shoulders. Catching this scene out of the corner of my eye - and without giving it a second thought - I blurt out "Ooh! Try me! I'm much lighter!"
Everyone just tried to pretend they didn't hear me say it, but I saw the look in the big girls eyes the moment the words hit her ears. It was as if she made an extra special effort to catalog my words in her library of self-loathing and insecurity.
So if you happen to be reading this, please understand that I was only thinking in terms of mechanical efficiency, you aren't even that big...
One of my more memorable unsmooth moments came after some mediocre sex with my loser ex. It's two in the morning and I'm trying to sneak out of his house without alerting his parents or waking his little brother who's sleeping in the next room. So, being the resourceful genius I am, I flicked a lighter, leaned over and began searching for my clothes. My long hair promptly bursts into flames and I nearly knocked myself out trying to slap out the fire.
Loser ex (startled from sleep): "What are you doing, what's that smell?"
Me: "I set my hair on fire! Am I still burning?"
Loser ex: "Unnnnngh....Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz"
I managed to NOT wake up the household, but wound up getting a pretty radical new hair cut.
The penultimate unsmooth moment in a horrible, horrible summer took place at a restaurant we frequented. I was sitting with a girl and a couple of her friends (and being ignored in favour of them, of course). Someone had ordered a beer, and the empty bottle was sitting in front of me, with the cap sitting upside-down on top of it. Without thinking, I reached out and nonchalantly flicked the cap off the top of the beer bottle.
Directly into the girl's eye.
The last unsmooth moment of the summer was when she invited me to hang out at the restaurant and I arrived only to find the booth full of her friends. I had to sit at the next booth. Alone.
I was at a club for some metal show and had drank every drop of rum I could get my hands on. This cute girl, with a smile so big you would have thought it was the happiest day of her life, approaches. Absolutely beaming, she holds up her purse in front of me. It's black and white, and kind of resembles a dalmatian. It has a picture of her dog on it (also a dalmatian). She tells me that's her puppy. I grin nice and big and say "Yeah, I make clothing out of my pets too". The look on her face immediately turned to one of pure horror. I thought it was very clever at the time, but it didn't exactly get me laid.
So over the past month or so, I met this one cute girl at an anthropology society meeting, talked with her a little, and found out we take a class together. Fast forward a few weeks, I'm eating breakfast in the lobby outside of the classroom when she comes up to me and asks if I'd like to study with her for the test that Friday. I say yes, we exchange numbers, and meet up the next day.
We start talking about the kind of anthropology we're interested, field studies/papers we'd read/written, etc.
Long story short, I unwittingly suggested she go down on Noam Chomsky.
I was in 8th grade, your typical socially inept dumbass. I had a huge crush on this very tall and attractive girl. One day my mom and I are out eating dinner with her, her mother, and grandmother for reasons that presently escape me. Things are going swimmingly. I'm minding my manners, maybe even shooting a quick joke out here and there. The waiter brings me the salad I ordered and I grab my dressing packet (didn't say it was a nice restaurant) and prepare to unleash a torrent of delicious ranchy goodness onto my leafy greens.
Here's where a basic understanding of applied dressing pouch physics could serve one well. I tore the corner of my pouch off and let her rip. Unfortunately, I only removed a very small piece, leaving the hole in the pouch microscopic. When I applied pressure, the gates of salad hell opened. Similar to bullet time in The Matrix, dressing came out like a damn fire hose and flew across the table. I will say I managed to get some of it on my salad but the majority hosed my crush's mother and grandmother.
I've never eaten a more awkward meal, and there have been some damn awkward ones.
The singer dove off the stage and crowd surfed in a sort of reverse funeral procession where the person being carried is the only one truly alive. Touching him I felt religious ecstasy and started speaking in tongues and requesting songs that didn't exist.
There's no easy way to put this, so I'll tell it like it is. Bouillon is died. He went missing before the weekend and yesterday I found his skeletonized remains at the bottom of the #3 soup vat during one of my swims. I thought the cream of mushroom soup had an especially nourishing taste, and a lot more clumps of fur and skin than usual.
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