I didn't know things like that happened in real life...

In my last post, I mentioned an incident wherein a would-be suitor showed up at my workplace four days before my wedding, and asked me to abandon my fiancée and take up with him instead. Truthfully, I hadn't thought about the episode in years, but several commenters indicated that they thought the story needed to be told here in its entirety. JD, suzicate, and Kathy , here ya go.

(Note: Names in this story will be changed to protect, well, me. I don't want the fellow in question to Google himself, find his name on my blog, and track me down.)

"Ben" was a co-worker at a crummy job where I made no money, but had a lot of fun with all of the other broke 20-somethings. He made me laugh, and we became "work friends," but I never considered dating him. After a while, Ben began inviting me to play (ahem) Dungeons & Dragons with him and his friends. When I told him that D&D really wasn't my thing, he set up a couple of group outings with some of our co-workers. Oddly enough, all the other people cancelled at the last minute, leaving me alone with Ben. I was annoyed about the deception, but too polite to just leave. On the second outing, Ben suggested that we walk around a small pond in the shopping center where we were supposed to meet our friends (danger! danger! romantic setting!!). Ben then proceeded to tell me that he was in love with me, while I fervently wished that I could just die on the spot. If you have never been in the position of being the recipient of an "I love you" that you have no intention of returning, consider yourself fortunate, because it is dreadful. I was still praying for death when Ben swooped in for a kiss, and I nearly tumbled into the pond, trying to back away. Most. Awkward. Moment. Ever. (And I have a double-major Awkwardness and Embarrassment, with a specialty in Public Humiliation.) Needless to say, I deployed the "I care about you as a friend" speech, posthaste. Ben told me that he wouldn't give up hope that I would change my mind someday. A couple of months later, he found another job, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Moved on with my life, which included meeting and falling in love with Mr. Nerd.

A little over a year later, Mr. Nerd and I are in the final stages of preparing for our wedding. I was sitting at work, about four days before the wedding, when the receptionist called to say that I had a visitor at the front desk. Not suspecting anything amiss, I opened the door to the reception area and nearly fell out when I saw Ben and Ed waiting. (Why did he bring his friend? That was weird, and I never thought about it until now.) Ed left us alone, and Ben said he had heard that I was getting married in a few days. When I told him that was true, he asked me to reconsider. Ben said that Mr. Nerd was probably a nice guy, but he could make me much happier if I would give him a chance. He also asked me if I was really sure that I was in love with Mr. Nerd.

Stunned? Incredulous? You have no idea. My love life had always been pretty lacking in drama, and now here I was, face-to-face with this odd guy who was asking me to abandon my fiancée DAYS before the wedding, and pick him instead. I think pre-wedding stress was the only thing that kept me from kind of flipping out. Those last couple of weeks before the wedding had been so exhausting that I was just too out of my mind to respond normally. I think all I could say was, "I love him very much, he makes me happy. I appreciate the gesture, but I am getting married this weekend." Turned around, walked back to my desk, explained what had just happened to the dear friend with whom I shared an office. And then freaked out a little.

Looking back on it nearly 14 years later, I guess it was a little flattering to have a guy make a Grand Gesture for my sake. Please don't get the idea that I was some kind of temptress leaving a trail of broken-hearted Bens in my wake, though. He was 26, and probably had not had much attention from girls. I just happened to be the one who was nice to him. Since I had been on the opposite side of many (MANY) such unrequited crushes, I really hated the thought of hurting his feelings. When things like that happen in the movies, it seems all dashing and romantic, but I was kind of mortified by the whole thing. I don't know, maybe it only works if the Grand Gesture is followed by a bus ride with Dustin Hoffman.

(awkward t-shirt comes from here)

It's hard to believe I haven't broken my head yet

Do you ever feel like you're having a "clumsy day?" For instance, the other morning in the shower, I managed to drop my shampoo bottle, conditioner tube, AND razor. A clumsy day.

Except that I wasn't just having a clumsy day. I have a clumsy LIFE…and it's all the time. I fall off curbs, walk into walls, bump my knees and elbows, and hit my head with alarming frequency, so I'm always a mass of bruises. At least twice a week, I burn some part of my forehead, neck or ears with a flat iron, so I'm usually sporting a visible scorch mark. Thankfully, my clumsiness doesn't result in any sort of major injury, at least most of the time. I have done a few unbelievably klutzy things in my life, though. And, since I'm running low on blogging material this week, why not trot out some (more) of my embarrassing tendencies for public consumption? Here, in no particular order, is a little rundown of the more memorable episodes.

-Caught my foot on a parking-barrier rope while trying to jump it…on a dare. Resulted in a really gross rope burn and a moderately sprained right ankle.
-Slipped in beer spilled on a bar dance floor and twisted my right ankle; continued to dance on it, totally oblivious, for the remainder of the evening. Got home, took off my shoe, and burst into tears when I saw the ankle. Resulted in a severe sprain, two weeks on crutches, and several months to full recovery.
 -Jumped up from my desk chair, where I had been sitting on my foot, too quickly. Got my foot caught up in my skirt and fell. Resulted in (yet another) ankle sprain. To make things even more fun, this happened on my first day at a new job. I was too embarrassed to tell anyone, so I suffered all day in silence.
-Stepped in a hole, while carrying two 22-pound bags of ice. Resulted in a broken ankle (clearly, I'm not doing any ice skating on these ankles. They're probably weaker than matchsticks), three weeks on crutches, and two months of physical therapy.
-Tripped and rolled down that little slope-y bit of a friend's driveway. Resulted in two skinned knees and the ruination of a brand-new pair of jeans.
-Tumbled off an ex-boyfriend's back porch. Resulted in damaged cartilage and a big fluid pocket on one knee.
-Slipped and fell in the shower, after a too-liberal application of Clean Shower spray. Resulted in some kind of injury to my tailbone region that left me in tears for two days. (That's pretty rare. Even the broken ankle didn't make me cry.)
-Slipped on the curb after an ice storm and fell under my car. Resulted in a huge bruise on my hip/thigh that took about two months to heal, and a determination to find a house with an attached garage.
-Attempted to poke the lawn sprinkler in the drought-stricken back yard; felt a pop in my shoulder. Resulted in a torn tendon and ligament, five months of physical therapy, and an ongoing, (seemingly) endless series of sleepless nights.

See? Told you I was clumsy. Please keep in mind that all of these things happened to me as an adult. If I had included all of the moronic, where-was-your-brain clumsy things I did as a kid, this list would have been four times as long! So, how about you? Are you a klutz like me, or one of those lucky souls who seem to glide through life on a cloud of grace and fairy dust?





(Clumsy Smurf courtesy of bluebuddies.com)

The Car Wash, the Firemen, and Me

As I was approaching my car in the parking garage the other day, I noticed that it looks really crummy. We've had some snow recently, and the poor thing is just covered in crusty road salt-it's gotten so bad that you can hardly tell what color it is. While I was making plans to go to the car wash, I remembered another post-snowfall trip to get the car cleaned up. Let's just say that it didn't end very well.

My husband and I had bought our car about six months prior to the incident, and I was still deep in the honeymoon phase. I kept it spotless, and I was (obsessively) concerned that road salt might damage the paint. So, on a bright January day, I headed off to the automatic (touchless! no scratches, you know) car wash on my lunch hour to soap off a week's worth of salt. The temperature outside was only 26 degrees, but there was a sign posted that said the car wash operated down to 15 degrees. I paid, rolled into the bay, sat through the wash cycle, and waited for the front door to open so that I could head back to work.

Except the door didn't open.

Luckily, I'm not claustrophobic or anything, so I was pretty calm at this point. I peered out the windows to see if there was an emergency release switch I could activate to open the door, but then I realized that I didn't really feel comfortable with the idea of getting out of the car. You know, in case the car wash turned on somehow. I could just see the headline: WOMAN TRAPPED, SUDSED TO DEATH IN CAR WASH. Um, no thanks. I was still pondering about what to do when, in my rearview mirror, I saw a car pull up to pay for a wash. Saved! I was sure that the front door would open as soon as the person deposited their money.

Except the front door still didn't open. The rear door, however, did.

I could see the car-wash-wanting person behind me, gesturing and waving his arms. Apparently, he thought I was just hanging out in there, relaxing, instead of realizing that I was stuck. Eventually, he gave up and drove off...which provided me with the opportunity to try to back out of the wash bay. Saved (possibly)! As I backed up, I heard some sort of machinery whir to life, followed by a sickening scraping sound. I felt the car shudder, and I realized that the door had closed again. On. My. Car.

Oh, crap. Both doors are closed, my car is at least partially squished, and I still can't get out. I decided that my only option was to call 911. The fire station was right next door to the Car Wash from Hell, so I could see (through the !@#$ front door) the firemen streaming out, pulling on their gear. One of them pried up the rear bay door, found the emergency shut-off, and guided me out. They figured out that the front door had frozen to the ground, which was why it wouldn't open. One of the firemen asked why I didn't get out and activate the emergency switch, then looked very amused when I answered, "I was scared that I would get washed."

When I examined my car, I found that the rear lift gate was merely scraped, not squished, and the damage looked fairly minor. Unfortunately, the situation took a turn for the worse after I contacted the owner of the car wash. I (very reasonably) requested that he pay for the repairs. He low-balled his estimate at some shady repair place; I refused to accept it; and I spent two months fighting him. I eventually decided that life was too short to spend it dealing with greedy little people, and I cashed his paltry check.

Since I'm incredibly lazy, I still use automatic car washes, but now I make sure that there are no doors. If you're too lazy to wash your car, here's a tip: always take your cell phone, and, for Heaven's sake, watch out for the suds.