Thursday, June 17, 2010

I'm ridiculous. What's new?

From my crappy cell phone camera.

Remember how my middle name should really be Grace? I am the world's least graceful individual, and I find new and interesting ways to prove this daily.

Some days, I just walk into walls and poles, spill liquids and foods or trip over concrete. I do one of these things every single day. Every.Single.Day. I am not exaggerating.

Some days, I take my graceless-ness to entirely new levels. I wish that I could conjure up some old memories, but I block most of these instances out. Maybe you have some memories that you'd like to share.

But today, I'd like to share an experience from yesterday. Yesterday, I pulled off a very public moment of humiliation - go me!

I had a meeting in Manhattan. I waited for the train to pick me up, and as usual, I stood close to the end of the platform for no good reason. I pulled out my Blackberry, and voila, like magic, my phone jumped from my hands and onto the track... probably 6 feet below me.

Now, had this been my crappy, personal cell phone, I would've just pretended that it never happened. I probably would've said to the person standing next to me, "Look, some idiot dropped his cell phone! Looooser!" I would've gone about my day and gotten a new phone. Our "New Every 2" just came around, so I'm due a new phone anyway.

But nooooooooooo, I had to drop my work-provided, brand new Blackberry Tour... my lifeline to email, work stuffs, facebook, bbm. Bad news bears. Double bad news since my Blackberry had just been replaced thanks to a software problem, so I really couldn't afford to destroy said new phone.

So once the bad boy jumped, I gazed down at the tracks and started cracking up. There was my pretty bb split into 3. Panic set in as I imagined the train sucking up the phone and spitting it out demolished as the train sped away. I went into the station, told the attendant and was told to wait... so wait I did. Only for 30 minutes, though, which seemed short to me. All the while, passersby passed by and chuckled at my foolish dilemma.

My knights of rescue exited the train wearing their bright orange MTA vests, very inconspicuous... Thanks. One hollered, "Is it you?" with a chuckle. I confirmed his suspicion and asked that he not judge me. And then he saved the day by walking down on the tracks to retrieve my phone.

When he brought me the pieces, I immediately inserted the battery and affixed the back... all the while praying to anything and everything (Oh, almighty Grilled Cheese...) that my little bb would work. I chatted with the MTA Hero for a moment... in that brief moment, he pegged me, "You're not from New York, are you?" I hear this statement-question frequently. My attempt to fool him was half-hearted, as my concern was with my little bb, so he saw right through me. "You from the south?" "Well, I grew up in Arizona but was born in Nebraska." "Ooooh, I see." On any normal day, I would've said, "Oh, I see? What's that supposed to mean?" But I was just too grateful to be sarcastic to my train-track-walking savior.

We parted ways, and I checked my phone. It didn't work - argh. It showed signs of my aforementioned software problems. I brought it home and gave it time.

During this time, I called the colleague that I was supposed meet with to let her know that I wouldn't make it... so we discussed over the phone. While chit-chatting about my most recent flub, I looked down and saw a wondrous thing occur - my little bb came back to life. All of the sudden, Paul's face smiled up at me, and the little red light blinked with urgency to alert me of a new message of sorts (bbm or text or email or gmail).

Huzzah, I say! This is potentially one of the dumbest things that I have ever done... but the only real consequence was the public humiliation I endured while waiting as the train passed me 10 times, and the new hordes of subway-riders watched me wait and wait and wait some more (and heard me blabbing to Paul, Donella, Angy and Larry about the events that just occurred on my crappy cell phone while trying to find a contact number to tell my colleague that I wouldn't make the meeting).

Oh, and I guess that there's the consequence of blogging it for all the world to see... Alas, it take much more than this to embarrass me. Sometimes I wonder if anything could embarrass me.

And before I forget, I thought of one big misstep (literally) from college... one that nobody I know was there to witness. Freshman year, second semester I took the huge beginning-Psych course with 499 other kids in the Social Sciences building. I hated the class; when I went, I sat in back so to be the first to exit. Well, one day, I jumped out of my seat, ran to the door, through the hallway and then down the stairs. I was the first one out... with 499 college kids following me. On the second or third step, something happened, and I tumbled the rest of the way down. It wouldn't have been so bad except that 499 kids watched as I tumbled. A few came over to dust me off and ensure my well-being... but most just chuckled and kept on walking. Awesome. That's what you get for never going to class... that and a C. (Good thing I retook the class senior year... Boo-yah, A!)

(I searched the interweb for a photo of the Social Sciences building to show the steps but no dice.)

Tuesday, June 8, 2010

I wear my sunglasses...

Driving to Baltimore last week, I heard a random country song... Something about - if I could go back and just say yes to whatever my dad told me to do, I'd do it. You know the whole adage - parents are always right. Blah, blah, blah.

As it turns out, the adage and the unnamed country singer are dead on.

For years, my mom has told me to get prescription sunglasses. For years, I have worn sunglasses over my regular glasses... and have looked classy while doing so, no doubt.

That is until this year. I am a grown up. I have prescription sunglasses... And, by golly, my mom was right. These new sunglasses have changed my life. I feel like a normal person.

The cherry on top of this 'my mom was right' sundae? I told our friend, Trevor, about my new sun specs, and he went out immediately and purchased some... Guess what? Within five minutes of wearing, his life was changed too.

The moral of the story: prescription sunglasses are all that, a bag of Ruffles with ridges and a bowl of sour cream and onion dip. If you wear glasses but not prescription sunglasses, you're missing out!

Tuesday, June 1, 2010

3 Years of Awesomeness...

Happy Banan-iversary to my dearest. 3 years as Mrs. Paul. Life is great.