Social Graces

As of late, I've been incredibly confused as to what it was I had been feeling.  I was silently and viciously attacked without my knowledge, and I refused to show anger over it.  For that I was accused of being a sociopath, to which anyone out there who has ever dared to read my blogs would know that to be incredibly false. Anyone who's ever known me in person would know that wasn't true.  I'm filled with deep emotions that I must try to control lest they control me.  I just know not to get angry over petty things because it doesn't do anyone any good.

I've learned a lot since moving to California in 2002.


1.  Nice towels are worth spending a few extra dollars on.
2.  People only want to know you if you can do something for them.
3.  A drive along the coast will cure just about anything.
4.  Traveling is worth every cent we can afford to spend on it.
5.  Life is lived outside of four walls and two rooms.
5.  Everything out here is measured in time, not miles.
6.  There's not a person in the world who won't lie to your face.


Social graces within the workplace dictate that names shall not be named.  I am personally guilty of that action, and for that action alone, I apologize.  I apologize to my boss.  I apologize to his wonderful wife. I apologize to those people I named. HOWEVER - what I told was true so I will not apologize for having said it.

As several people lately will attest to, when I have a problem with someone in particular, I go directly to them - not to everyone around them, people who know them, neighbors, roommates and total strangers.  Those would be the actions of a coward - someone who feels it's necessary to hide within the shadows.  I'm not a shadow dweller.

After posting a blog recently, I was accused of being extremely egotistical by someone who claimed to not know me and refused to put anything but "Anonymous" for their name.  To clear THAT one up, I never said that everyone in the world wanted to BE me.  What I said - if you can understand plain English please feel free to go back and read it again here... - was that I've known so few people who actually loved me.  People who claimed to love me were actually obsessive people.  I draw them to me like flies.  They don't realize they are obsessed with me, and perhaps they aren't at first, but that turns out to be the case.  Not every one of them want to BE me, but what I said was "People wanted to be with me, be like me, be around me or just BE me."  I stand by that.  Now - stop posting anonymously and your comments might actually be posted.  *wink*

Those who obsess over others usually do for those reasons - am I wrong?

So I'll leave you with these final thoughts on the matter before I get back to writing about my regular program of stories, travel adventures, upcoming excitement and joyful times...

Don't obsess over others.  It leads to no good.

When you break social graces, it's ok to apologize.

Any time I have a problem with someone, I go to them. If you don't hear it from me, I don't have a problem with you.

And finally - Life is too short to spend time with people who suck the happiness out of you.  They aren't worth the time, so why give it to them?  People, it's time to move on.

Wired Shut

While I was White Water Rafting down the middle of the Colorado River, my mother was getting surgery on her jaw. I wasn't there for the surgery so I don't know what the rest of the family was going through - only what happened once I got back. It's a memory I had forgotten long ago until my memory was jogged while writing my story about the White Water Weggie.

Dad had to do all the cooking in the house for a while. Mom was on some incredibly strong pain killers. Her jaw had been broken in two places and moved forward a quarter of an inch on both sides. The doctors said her lower jaw had stopped growing when she was about 7 years old. The surgery was necessary.

She was on a liquid diet while the wires held her jaws clamped together. She could barely mumble out the words she wanted to say, and for the first few days upon my return she had to write everything down on a notebook and have us read it. This was more than unpleasant for her. She was miserable. Even her liquid diet had to be taken with a syringe. I won't go into details about how it operated, but everything had to somehow end up behind her wired teeth.

Laughing, or even smiling, was incredibly painful for her. She smiled quite often when I was young. She still loves to laugh. This was one of the hardest tasks bestowed upon the family, not to say or do anything funny around her for a total of 6 weeks. When a family is as strange and funny as mine is, I'm sure you can imagine how often we had to walk away from her in order to stop from causing her pain at something we had thought of or wanted to say.

We all pitched in around the house. My brother and I did the laundry (except the unmentionables they hid in the bedroom until Dad had a chance to take care of them), we would cook on the occasion Dad was gone and it was just us taking care of her, but most of the time he did the cooking while she was laid up. We would get her books from the book shelf, fetch the TV remote, grab fresh pillows and blankets and just take care of her the best we could. After all, she had always done that for us when we were sick.

Mom was in the living room one day when I started to hear this gurgling scream coming from the back of her throat. I was standing in the kitchen at the time getting her a drink. I had no idea what was going on, but I went charging into the living room, full steam ahead. She sat there with tears rolling down her face holding her jaw on both sides.

"TRN IT UFF!" She screamed at me behind clenched jaws. "Trn it uff! Trn it uff!" She screamed over and over, trying to kick the TV remote over to me. She was sobbing!

Without even noticing what it was she had been watching, I switched the TV off as quickly as possible and sat down at her feet, wanting more than anything to make her feel better. She was obviously in agony.

Suddenly her eyes lit up and she giggled. That made her scream again and the tears once more rolled down her cheeks. Then she giggled again, which made her cry again. It was a wicked cycle she went through for a good ten minutes. It wasn't funny, and I hated seeing my mother in pain, but her occasional giggles made me want to giggle, which I knew would be even worse because everyone knows giggles are infectious. Finally I had to excuse myself and walk back into the other room. There, I burried my face in a hand towel and giggled to my hearts content. By the time I went back into the room, she was doing much better. She looked up at me and whimpered "I'm sorry," as best she could through the mesh in her teeth.

"What happened?" I asked innocently enough. I shouldn't have. At the mere thought of whatever it was, she giggled again and the whole viscious cycle repeated once more.

Weeks after the brutal mess was taken out of her mouth, she told me what had made her laugh so hard that day.

"Manda, you know how I don't like vulgar comedians?"

"Yeah," I said, knowing even the "S" word or using the word Hell too often would drive her insane.

"What I was watching that day was by accident. I was flipping through the channels and I came across this comedian talking about how he once knew a guy who had all of his fingers on both hands cut off in a saw mill accident."

"Well that doesn't sound funny at all!"

"He said that the guy took up being a thief because he couldn't find a job since all he had were two thumbs. He said the guy would steal donuts all the time." She mimicked the action he would have needed to use by holding her thumb up in the air, stabbing through the center hole of an imaginary donut and holding it proudly over her head." Finally he stole donuts from a shop that all the cops ate at all the time, and it made them all mad so they arrested him.

"Well, he decided later on that he was going to clean up his act and go straight. The problem was that he still couldn't find work with only two thumbs. He couldn't dig ditches or type or do anything for anyone without fingers. Frustrated, he decided he'd start over in another town. Without fingers though, he couldn't grab a steering wheel and so he couldn't drive. Instead, he decided to take up hitchiking."

At this point I was already grinning ear to ear over her hand movements describing the donut thief. While continuing the story, she had carefully folded all of her fingers inward, making sure to poke ther thumbs out as far as possible. She looked like Fonzy from Happy Days. Suddenly she started laughing hysterically.

"Hitchiking?" I asked.

"Yeah - he was great at flagging down the cars with that thumb sticking out" she waved her hand through the air again mimicking the actions needed, including stabbing at an imaginary door handle with her thumb, "but once they got pulled over he couldn't get the car doors open! Finally he got frustrated and yelled at them 'Oh Hell, just go on!'"

My mother roared, and her laughter made me light up as bright as a Christmas tree. I laughed right along beside her. I always loved to hear her laugh.

She swore that day she would find out who that comedian was so she could watch the show again, but try as I might I can't seem to find it anywhere on the internet, to purchase or watch on Youtube. I can't help but think that would have been a great birthday gift for her this year.

If anyone out there has any
information on the comedian
I'm talking about, please
contact me with a link - either
on facebook or by leaving a
comment below. Any and all
help is greatly appreciated.

Blind Mans Bluff

Mike and Travis were twins that had my heart from the day we met. I was in the 5th grade and the brothers had different classes. Mike was in my class while Travis was in the rival 5th grade room. It goes without saying that Mike had my undivided attention. When Mike asked me to 'go out' with him, it was still at the youthful age when kids didn't hold hands. We just called each other boyfriend and girlfriend.

I doted on Mike. He was a bit chunky and short while Travis was tall and lean, but they had identical faces and I adored them both. They were sweet and handsome, kind and genuine. They were also rather popular in class. Both were considered to be the class clowns.

When Valentines Day rolled around, Mike and I had been 'going out' for about two months. He didn't want anyone to know, including his own brother, because I wasn't one of the popular girls. He was afraid it would damage his reputation. I found out on Valentines Day that he also had a crush on another girl in our class.

When the class got done handing out all of the Valentines cards to each of the other students, we all got back in our seats for a fun activity. Mike stayed a little long at Summer Sparks desk, though - and my curiosity got the better of me. I watched as Mike pulled a little black velvet box out of his pocket and set it on her desk before walking away. The teacher asked all of us to take our seats, looking directly at Mike as he did.

Summer opened the little velvet box and her jaw fell open. I had to wait until recess to find out what was inside, but when I found out I was furious. Mike had given her a small silver ring made entirely of entwined hearts. I wanted to slap him across the face!

Patience took hold of me though. I knew I would get my revenge. I just had to wait and be patient.

The following week as we were walking to lunch, I asked Mike if he wanted to play Blind Man's Bluff. He asked what that was and I explained the game.

"You have to walk with your eyes closed and I will guide you by putting my hands on your shoulders and tell you what's coming up. Then you do the same to me. You go first."

"Ok," he said, blindly trusting me. He still didn't know I was aware of the ring he had left on Summer Sparks' desk. He closed his eyes and I stood beside him, my hands on his shoulders.

As we walked slowly to the lunch room, I guided him over rocks and pavement, grass and tree roots. Just as I could tell he was starting to relax and truly trust me, I did something despicable. I walked him straight into a brick wall, nose first.

Mike fell backward, landing like a lead weight, heaped on the ground. He fell with a thud, right on his bottom. His eyes popped open, flooded with tears. He reached both hands up to his face and held his now bleeding nose. For a split second, I felt badly about what I had done. Then the image of the velvet box entered my mind and suddenly remorse didn't exist. I felt justified.

"Oh," I exclaimed with false worry, "are you ok, Mike?" I clasped my hands over my mouth to cover the smile I felt working its way onto my face.

"Whadya do that for?" he asked, stunned. Suddenly I exploded. What good was my revenge if he didn't understand why I had sought it in the first place?

"Why'd you give Summer Sparks a silver ring with hearts all over it?"

Mike's jaw fell slack. He stared up at me, incredulous.

"Are you kidding me?"

"No. I saw the ring. Why did you give Summer a ring and just gave me the same paper Valentine you gave all the other girls in class?"

"My brother won that in a quarter machine. He's going out with Summer. I didn't give it to her, Travis asked me to drop it off at her desk! Travis gave it to her!"

Shame and remorse kicked in full force - and I never sought revenge against anyone ever again.

Camp Thousand Pines

I think I was in the 5th grade when I went to Camp Thousand Pines for the first time. I remember pulling up in the bus and having all the girls in one group, the boys in the other. It had been a hard year in school for me that year, having just lost my best friend, Louise Pritchard, when she moved away. I've never stopped looking for her.

The bus pulled up in one of the most beautiful places I had ever seen. Little cabins were dotted through the woods with a central hall in the dead center of it all. The kids all piled out and began to scatter in multiple directions before one of the teachers bellowed for them all to freeze where they were and reassemble by the bus.

One by one we received cabin assignments. There was a teacher or parent in each cabin, but that didn't stop the girls from giggling and the boys from trying to pull practical jokes on one another at night. Parts of the trip turned out like the practical joke events in the original "Parent Trap" movie.

We went on night hikes. We met the local Native American tribe and they came to teach us how to do the traditional Rain Dance. I discovered my allergic reaction to bees. I had a metal ladder fall on my leg and sprain my ankle and we all took turns in the kitchen preparing a meal for the other kids before taking any food for ourselves. We even learned how to curl our hands and place our lips in the correct position in order to call the squirrels. I can actually still do it.

We told ghost stories out by the fire at night, roasted marshmallows over the open flames and enjoyed root beer floats while chatting about life in general. Though it seems as if Camp Thousand Pines has changed a lot since I was last there, my memories of the place before technology, live on just as they were.

Boo Hag - a Ghost Story.

You know how they say some folks are lucky at cards and some are lucky at love? Well, that fit Bobby Hansen to a ‘T’. He was the best poker player in the county, but somehow he couldn’t find himself a bride. Oh, he proposed to several girls, and even got accepted by a few. But they always got cold feet a day or two before the wedding, and it was bye-bye Bobby.

After the third time, Bobby was mighty discouraged, and his Pa felt real sore for him. They worked together in the family grocery store, and Bobby would sometimes sit on top of the pickle barrel and tell his Pa all his woes. And his Pa told him to hang in there, because a nice lady was on her way. Neither of them believed it, but it made both of them feel better to hear it said. Well, the day after their latest talk, the old woman who poled her barge through the swamp to deliver milk and eggs to the grocery store had a long talk with Bobby’s Pa. Seems she had this daughter who was hankering after a husband with a good steady job, and the old woman thought Bobby would do the job nicely. She suggested they introduce the pair at the next dance, and Bobby’s Pa agreed.

The night of the dance, Bobby’s Pa insisted that his son dress in his best. Bobby was dragging his feet a little, remembering all those women who played him false and not wanting to go, but his Pa dragged him out anyway. Well, the moment Bobby clapped eyes on the dark-eyed, red-lipped girl from the swamp, he was head over heels in love. Her eyes sparkled like the sunlight on the bay. Her skin was as creamy as new milk. Her voice was low and sweet.

The pair cuddled and cooed and waltzed the whole night long, and come sunrise Bobby was all for bringing his new love before the visiting priest who delivered his sermons in the grocery store (since there weren’t no church in that vicinity) and getting married right away. Well the girl was willing to get married, but not by a priest.

“Let’s just go to Beaumont and have the judge marry us,” she said to Bobby, and he was so smitten he agreed, though it would have been quicker and easier to just walk a mile down the road to see the priest.

By the next evening they were wed, and Bobby brought his pretty bride to the nice little cottage he rented just down the road from the family grocery. It had a nice front porch with a swing, a big bedroom on the second floor and a big attic with a window that could be made up into a second guestroom should his new mother-in-law care to visit from her home in the swamp.

After fixing him a nice dinner, Bobby’s new bride sat awhile in the rocking chair near their bed while Bobby yawned and watched her fondly. She cuddled under the blanket and knitted and hummed, and Bobby’s eyes grew heavy. He didn’t wake up until early morning, when his new bride crept into bed all hot and sweaty and fell asleep at once. When he asked her where she’d been, she wouldn’t answer him. Bobby was mighty sore that his bride had snuck out on him on their wedding night, but when she got snappish and her eyes blazed like they did when he questioned her, he grew frightened and backed down.

Life took on an odd pattern for Bobby. During the day, everything was perfect. His wife was sweet and pretty and loving. She kept the house sparkling clean and cooked him wonderful meals. But each night she refused to come to bed after supper. Like their wedding night, she sat up singing and rocking and knitting until he was asleep and did not come to bed til just afore dawn. She was always sweaty and cranky when she came to bed, and went to sleep before Bobby could question her.

Bobby was very confused and upset by this behavior, and finally confided in his Pa one morning after opening up the grocery store. Bobby’s Pa was awful worried. The visiting priest had gone on to his next parish, and there was no one they could consult but the local conjure woman. So he sent Bobby to her with a couple of chickens as a gift.

The conjure woman knew all about hoodoo magic and was an excellent herbalist. Local folks went to her when they were sick, on account of the doctor lived nigh on twenty miles away. When she heard Bobby’s story, she told him to pretend to go to sleep that night and watch what his new bride did. Then he was to come back and tell her everything. Bobby agreed.

The next evening, he pretended to fall asleep while his bride rocked and sang in her chair. Then he followed her up to the attic and watched through the crack in the open door as she sat down at the spinning wheel and spun off her skin, leaving only pulsing red muscles and blue veins. She was a terrifying sight and she sprang through the window and flew away into the night. Bobby ran out to the privy and was sick after he saw her. Who, what was this monster he had married? He was still trembling and in shock when his bride, looking like a normal person again, crept into bed at dawn, and he had trouble behaving normally at breakfast.


Part 2: Video created by a Reader
As soon as he could get away, Bobby ran to the home of the conjure woman and told her about the spinning wheel and the terrible skinless creature who flew away from his attic. “A boo-hag,” the conjure woman said at once. “You’ve married a boo-hag.”

“What’s a boo-hag?” asked Bobby. “A Boo Hag is a witch and a shape-shifter,” said the conjure woman. “She lures men into her trap and then delivers them to her Boo-Daddy, who eats their flesh and gnaws their bones. And that’s what she’ll do to you if you don’t get rid of her first.”

The conjure woman told Bobby to get himself some blue paint. As soon as the boo-hag left the house that night, he was to spread blue paint on every window frame and every door frame and make sure it was two coats thick. A boo-hag couldn’t fly through a window or door that was painted blue. And if she didn’t get back into her skin before dawn, she would be trapped without it, and be revealed for the monster she was. So he was to leave one tiny window unpainted, and keep it open a sliver so the boo-hag could squeeze through. Then he was to fill up her skin with salt and pepper, which would burn her up from the inside out. And Bobby promised to do exactly as the conjure woman said.

That night, Bobby lingered over his dinner, looking with sad eyes at the pretty woman sitting opposite him. He knew she was really a monster inside, but it was so nice to have a little wife in his home. He hated like anything to see her go. But he didn’t want to get eaten by a Boo-Daddy, and that was his fate if she stayed. So he went up to their bedroom and pretended to fall asleep while she rocked and sang and knitted. Then he followed her quietly upstairs and put salt and pepper into her skin after her ugly red-muscled blue-veined figure had flown out the window to her Boo-Daddy. He spent the rest of the night painting over every door and window frame with blue paint, leaving only one small unpainted window open in the cellar. He nailed it up so that it would open no further than a crack, just as the conjure woman instructed him. Then he hid himself behind a large chest of drawers up in the attic to wait for the boo-hag.

Just before dawn, the boo-hag came flying up to the attic window. As soon as she touched the blue frame, she gave a shriek of pain and rage. Bobby listened as she flew around the house, testing each window and door and howling like a banshee when it burned her skinless hands. Then she found the little window in the cellar, and he heard the thump as she landed beside it, followed by a painful whimpering sound as she squeezed and squeezed herself through the narrow opening, her skinless red muscles and blue veins tearing painfully against the rough wood.

The boo-hag ran up three flights of stairs into the attic and squeezed and squeezed into her skin as fast as she could. She just barely got it on when the first light of dawn shone over the horizon. And that was when the salt and pepper did their work, burning the boo-hags body from the inside out. With a scream of agony, she flung herself out the attic window. The glass shattered everywhere as she tried to fly away, tearing at the skin to get it off. But it was too late. She exploded into tiny pieces right over the swamp, and the alligators had them a mighty feast of cooked boo-hag for breakfast that morning.

So Bobby was once again without a wife. But bachelorhood looked much better to him after that, and he never went looking for a wife again. ‘Course, after he made a pile of money in oil, the girls started chasing him. But that’s another story!

My 4 Most Embarrassing Moments

Yesterday I posted a story about a time when I scared the pants off of someone... Well, turn about is fair play, as they say - is it not? As a moment of lapsed sanity and against my better judgement, I'm going to tell you all about a time or two that life got the better of me and had me eating Humble Pie.

In life, we all have the moments when we see an attractive man or woman who's attention we want to get. More often than we would care to admit, we've tripped or done something incredibly embarrassing and left the object of our attention doubled over in laughter. Honestly, that happens to me about 80% of the time I try to get a man's attention. It's no wonder I'm so shy - I know I'll do something stupid.






One of the most horrifying moments I've ever lived through was at Universal Studios CA when I was just a kid. Mom and I were waiting to get on the tram ride through the back lot (back before the entire park changed into nothing but lame 3D shows seen from standard theater seats and City Walk didn't exist). She saw this great, realistic statue of Frankenstein. I remember the statue towered over my dad. Today's translation in my memory would be around 7' tall. Its hands were as big as John Wayne's. If the statue was real, it could have palmed a basketball like an apple. The statue scared me a bit, but I had no idea why. I was around 8 or 9 I believe.


Mom asked me to stand next to Frankenstein for a photo. She pulled out her camera, played with the focus for a minute, and aimed at me. It's a good thing the camera strap was around her neck, because suddenly she screamed and dropped the camera. She reached forward and snatched me by the wrist, yanking hard, just about the time I saw a big green hand come to a rest on my shoulder. I screamed and looked up at Frankenstein, who looked straight down at me, smiling. The "statue" was no statue!


I screamed and ran into my mothers arms. Instinctively we ran a few steps away like a mother bear and her cub running from a panther. Then my mother turned around, ready to do some damage - again, like a mother bear. My heart pounded and her 'be warned' "wooo hoo hoo hoo..." that began incredibly high pitched died out slowly at a normal octave. She shoved me behind her and I watched from under her elbow.


Suddenly she burst out laughing. All of this had taken place in somewhere between 1 and 2 seconds. I think somewhere in the beginning I screamed as loudly as I ever have.


Frankenstein felt terrible. He told my mother he was sorry where nobody else could hear him (characters aren't supposed to speak) and he tried to shake my hand. Still terrified beyond belief, I remained hidden behind Mom. She coached me out and I shook his hand. I tried to dash back behind her again, but she wouldn't hear of it.


"It's just a man in makeup," she said to me, as if she never yelled or panicked along side me. "I still want a picture."



I turned and looked up. As my eyes scanned from their natural view level of his belt buckle, I took in every inch of the massive towering tree trunk before me. My eyes grew wide, I'm sure. He reached out to take my hand so he could walk me back to the original posing point, and I screamed again. Finally he made a very smart move and squatted down. He still towered over me, but he was no longer taller than any human I'd ever seen in my life. I grew a little braver and hugged Frankenstein when he gestured, and everything was ok.


Somewhere in a box buried in the back of a closet in a large house in Northern Utah, there's a 3 inch novelty button with a picture of Frankenstein and myself inside.








Back when AOL chat rooms were all the rage, I used to get into the rooms all the time. One girl in particular had a signature that she used every time she signed out of a chat room. She would say her goodbyes and then put in the following text:


3...
2...
1...
POOF!


Just like that, she would be gone. She would sign out for the night and that was that. One day I decided to mimic this idea. I wasn't having a lot of fun online that day and decided to go play with Cookie instead. I hit the 3 and then the ellipses and pressed enter. I hit the 2 and entered the ellipses. I hit the 1 and then the ellipses. When the time came, rather than type in pooF, I ended up typing "poop" and pressing enter before I noticed my mistake. The very busy chat room fell silent. Not a single line crossed the screen. I typed in "oops" and pressed enter.


The chat room erupted in uncontrollable laughter. Every line filled with LOL or ROTF or the sparsely used ROTFLMAO. I laughed until I hurt. To this day, if I'm having a bad day, all I have to do is think about that one idiotic moment and how I made people all over the world laugh, and I can't help but at least chuckle to myself. It never gets old.








While I was living in Arizona, all of my friends in the neighborhood apartment complex had decided to have a BBQ at the pool one day. I was late coming home from work because my employee evaluation went better than expected. I had been given a raise and asked to stay late in order to receive an appreciation award. (I still believe it was the creepy old guy trying to get into my pants).


When I got home, I jumped into my swimming suit and grabbed my things to run to the pool with. I gathered my cigarettes, lighter, towel and sunblock, bundled them all up inside my towel, and took off. I couldn't help but notice that my very good looking neighbor down the way was standing out on his half circle upstairs balcony smoking a cigarette. I strategically pulled my lighter close to the edge of the towel so that I could drop it at the precise moment I chose.


I took off for the pool, jogging down the sidewalk. I didn't exactly have the figure of the Bay Watch babes, having just bounced back from starvation, but I still wanted to get his attention. Boy, did I manage that!


At the precise moment I wanted to drop my lighter, only about 10 paces before his balcony, I nearly lost my footing. The lighter slipped loose and flew through the air. It bounced off his patio just inches from his fingers and landed in the grass far off to the right. I wasn't concerned with getting to the BBQ anymore. I just wanted to get out of sight. I knew without looking that the handsome neighbor was looking right at me, wondering what I was doing. I jogged out into the grass to retrieve my lighter from where it landed.


About a yard before I reached the lighter, my foot slipped in the wet grass and everything I had went flying through the air. I landed on my backside and slid through the grass as easily as if it were a slip and slide. Cigarettes rained all around me, my towel ended up in the bushes, and my sunblock opened on its way south. When it landed, a stream of lotion came squirting out with force, shot through the air, and landed in an arc over my head and streaming through my hair.


I was facing away from the balcony, and even the lotion gluing my hair around my ears couldn't stop the sound of laughter coming from behind me, but it didn't sound like it was coming from the balcony.



"I was having such a horrible day," he said from just a few feet behind me. "Not to make light of the grass stains on your swim suit, but my day just got a whole lot better." He gave me a hand and helped to gather my things. He asked if I was ok, and my shy side over reacted. I reached up to push my hair back behind my ear and felt the ooze of lotion between my fingers. Nearly retching with the embarrassment and shame, I hung my head, told him thanks for helping me, and ran straight back home. I figured the BBQ would still be going after dark. The grass stains on my bikini bottom and legs were NOT something I wanted to try explaining at a BBQ.








Last July I had a call to open a roof access at work. Just as I came around the corner to meet the A.C. repair guy and guide him to the stairs, my eyes locked with a GORGEOUS man I'd never seen before. He looked to me like Prince Eric from the Little Mermaid. He was riding up the escalator right in my direction. Still harboring some 'shy' side to me, I looked away and waited for the AC guy to show up. Then I looked back at Prince Eric - he was carrying a repair bag. Prince Eric WAS the AC guy.


Knowing my face was already red from being caught staring at him, I turned and told him over my shoulder "This way, Sir," and kept on going. I hit the door at almost a trot, leaving him panting up behind me. I headed straight for the stairs and bounded up two at a time. He stayed right behind me. At 6'2" he wasn't exactly short legged. He had no troubles.


Suddenly I took a false step. I felt myself starting to fall backwards and knew I would end up breaking my neck and landing in a heap at the bottom of the steps. My first thought should have been "Oh, I hope we have good workers comp," but in all reality, my only thought was "I knew I was going to do something stupid in front of Prince Charming." It was too late to fight the fall, I was half way down.


Arms reached out from nowhere and caught me around the waist. He set me back on my feet and just like that I continued climbing the stairs - as mindless as a robot or as steadily as a slinky in reverse. I made certain it wasn't obvious that my face was now purple from being embarrassed and my heart was once more thumping between my ears, threatening to give me away. I couldn't wait to get him up to the roof hatch and say good bye.


It didn't dawn on me until 10 minutes after I let him on the roof that I hadn't even bothered to say thanks. I snuck back to the stairs and half way up the ladder to the roof hatch. I attached a note to a step that simply said "Thanks for catching me on the stairs," and then climbed back down and split. I wouldn't show my face until I knew he wasn't around anymore.


We all do it, we just don't all admit to it.


Now it's your turn. What's YOUR most embarrassing moments?

Just 2 Good Scares

In my job there are often times that I have to protect areas that are off limits to most people. There are doors leading to back areas and hidden hallways that the kids like to explore. They traverse the hidden stairwells and find dark corners for doing dark deeds. In the are where I work, the parents see my employees as free babysitters. When their kids get into trouble, they would honestly not have to hear about it. That leaves me without a lot of leverage in most cases. I have to use what I have to thoroughly shock the kids into not repeating their offenses. In most cases, this means scaring them. Because of the pranks my brother and I would pull on one another as kids, this has been my field of expertise for a long time.


I had talked to, fussed at and down right yelled at a couple of kids practically all night last October 1st. I was getting tired of having to deal with this regular group of blatant trouble makers. When I heard them mention something about heading down one particular dark and secluded hallway, I decided to beat them to the punch line and really get their attention.


I raced through the back corridors and down a hidden staircase. I dashed to the hallway they had been talking about and ducked around the door. I stood there and listened. I held my breath, waiting for them to come around the corner. I heard nothing, but I knew patience was the key. I waited and waited and waited. And waited.


Just about the time I was going to give up, I heard voices walking down the hallway. It sounded like two guys and a girl. That matched the group I was waiting for. They came very close to where I was perched, waiting.


"I don't see the bathroom," the female voice said plainly. It was obvious they had no idea I was there, just waiting for them.


"It's down there," one of the male voices said. I knew he was pointing in the opposite direction from where I was hiding. The ladies room was at the end of the opposite hallway.


"Ah! Thanks!" I could tell from her footsteps that she was continuing down the hallway.


The whispering started then. I couldn't tell what they were saying, but it was obviously two males. Exchanges went back and forth, a full conversation at a whispered level. I stood patiently as still as a statue, waiting for the second they walked around the corner. I wouldn't need to shout or yell or scream. Just the mere fact I had beaten them there would be enough. I had it all planned out in my head. As soon as they walked around the corner, I would merely tell them "I don't think so, you're not to come back here again. If you do, it's trespassing and you'll be arrested for it." I was going to say it as calmly as possible, though I was starting to feel a little amped to say the least, knowing I was that close to catching them red handed. The whispering grew slightly louder and I knew they were coming closer.


"What about over here," the husky voice whispered to the other. It sounded older than a teen, but it was whispered.


"Yeah," the other responded. He sounded much younger. "That's the perfect spot." They whispered a bit more and came closer to my hiding place. "Let me check it out," he continued, barely around the corner from where I stood. I told myself not to pounce on the kid when he rounded the corner and gently cleared my throat without a sound.


I saw the shoe first, or the tip of it anyway. I opened my mouth to speak.




"I don't think so," I said as calmly as a murderer in a 1980's horror film. I had rehearsed so much that once the words started to flow out, I couldn't seem to stop until I ended my first sentence - but by then it was too late. I had already succeeded in making a 40-something year old man scream like a little girl and bring his wife running out of the bathroom, still trying to fasten her pants. The other man stood in the hallway, howling with laughter, doubled over at the waist and holding his rotund stomach with both hands. I half expected him to sprout a long white beard and Santa costume.


My victim in the mean time was gasping for air, clutching the wall for dear life.


"Oh," he gasped, "my," he took another breath, "Hell," he managed to shake out. "You scared the $hit out of me!"


I was apologizing profusely, spewing the word 'sorry' as often as I could in a single minute. As soon as he composed himself enough to stand on his own without threat of a heart seizure, I started to laugh uncontrollably out of complete embarrassment. Still saying I was sorry, I was greeted by them telling me that it was OK and there was nothing to worry about. Laughing with all three of them, we walked out of the hall together. I was consistently apologizing, but paused long enough to ask what they were doing in the back corridor. I explained my situation and they were more than willing to tell me their reasons.


"I wanted to scare my wife," he admitted sheepishly. Walking beside me, his wife froze.


"What?!" Shocked, she glared at her husband. Both men paused to wait for her, and I did as well. "Then you deserve what you got!"


The friend that had been with them hadn't stopped chuckling the entire time. Now he roared with laughter again.


I was too embarrassed to tell anyone at work what I had done for a couple of weeks. When finally I did, it was after shift on another weekend night. I was out back in what was once the smoking area with my shift partner and one of the guys that had just started shift, briefing. By the end of my story, they were all chuckling at me as I acted out each person's reactions, darting to and fro, mimicking each emotion down to the confused wife running out of the bathroom with toilet paper in her hand.


Durring the telling of my tale, several times I heard the familiar squeak of the back doors leading to an "off limits" staircase. Each time I would pause my story and take off running for the back doors, wanting desperately to stop the little intruders. Each time I came flying around the corner hollering.


"THIS is NOT an entrance. You need to go around!" Each time I was successful in scaring the pants off of the kids and each time, they went around to another official entrance. Then I would return to my position at the head of the table and continue to tell my coworkers the rest of the story.


I had just finished telling the story when I heard the door squeak again. Once more I flew on silent wings to the corner and bolted straight at the doors. I didn't get out anything but "Hey!" when a high pitched squeal pierced the night air. He screamed without shame, eyes as wide as a saucer, truly scared beyond belief. A rather rotund janitor named Peter had been going back inside after having a smoke break. To this day I'll never forget the octave he reached while still retaining his stature as a 5'7" 300 lb. History Teacher moonlighting as a janitor.


"What the Hell, Amanda?!" He breathed, grabbed the wall and his heart, one in each hand, and gasped. "I mean, What the Hell?! It's not even Halloween yet!" I howled with laughter, clutching my stomach and bending at the waist like the last victim's friend. Breathless, I tried to explain to Peter what was so funny. I couldn't seem to force the words out of my mouth, so I walked bent over at the waist towards my coworkers and beckoned Peter to follow. Tears streamed down my face and dripped on the concrete as I walked. Peter followed, bewildered.


"What the Hell is she laughing at," Peter asked the other guys. At realizing who the high pitched scream had come from and knowing he didn't hear the story, the other two instantly burst into laughter, failing to tell Peter the story. He sat there for a good five minutes before we could get out the gist of the tale. By the time we did, he was smiling at me like I had sprouted a monkey's tail from my forehead.


I still jump around corners every now and then trying to scare the kids, but I certainly make sure they're kids first. Where would I have been if the Big Guy had a heart attack?!