I had a busy night over on the FaceBook last night. I put up my seahorse drawing, and by the time we were done talking shite, me and two friends racked up 190 comments.
Only four were about the actual drawing.
The rest, well. Bird started it by offering up embarrassing stories. She put up three then asked if I had any. I said I couldn’t think of anything, not like hers, anyway! I suggested that another friend (who had commented on the actual drawing first and was, of course, being notified of these new comments) might remember some dirt on me, as we’ve been friends since I was 12 or 13.
Well, she didn’t have anything on me either. I’m sure I had to have something, but just couldn’t come up with anything I did publically that I found embarrassing.
I have a private, in my own house story, but only one other person ever knew about that one.
Not to say that my history has been boring, oh no. I did things on purpose to mess with people, though. I pierced my ear in class with a huge safety pin, and bled everywhere. More disturbingly, I once sat in class and pricked holes in a finger, then spattered blood all over my desk in pretty patterns. I think I was trying to creep out the only kid in the class that was stranger than I was. I guess I was goth before there was goth. I wasn’t embarrassed, and I didn’t get in trouble for either incident.
I did get in trouble for painting one eye – just one – in heavy black and white professional clown makeup. I can’t recall if they made me wipe it off or not, but I do know I irritated the powers that be.
It was a bit like that.
Once I borrowed a dress from a friend and put it on before school. Maybe I was way taller than my friend and therefore showed too much leg, but the school administration stopped me cold and wouldn’t let me go to class. They called my mother to bring me ‘proper’ clothes. While I was waiting for her, I could hear the women in the office talking about me. They called me a whore, and made nasty comments about what I probably had been doing with my boyfriend before school started. It was the first and last time I ever wore a dress to school.
Still, I was ANGRY, not embarrassed. Sorry that my mom had to leave work and bring me clothes, too. Ya know what? I’m still a bit pissed off.
My sister told me recently that when I was very young, I would hiss and growl like an angry cat. At other kids who picked on me on the schoolbus. Yeah, a bit odd.
I just went back to the FB comments; we spent three hours talking! Too funny. Two of us in Ireland and one in Florida, and what great craic. The best part of it all was how much it helped them both. Bird because she’s had it really rough lately, and has had huge life changes to deal with. But, a listing of embarrassing moments made her remember what a free spirit she is at heart, and that she doesn’t need a ‘bucket list’ because she has lived. My other friend because she’s a bit lonely and isolated out in the sticks of Florida; her son is grown and gone and her family lets her down too often (but she keeps trying, what a massive heart she has). She said she laughed and snorted through the whole three hours.
You never know what will come from a simple post on the ‘net, do you? I think I’ll save the rest of my thoughts on that topic for another time, though – too much to tack on to the end of this one!
So, go on, what’s your embarrassing story?
heretherebespiders 
A simple journey ends up an amazing trip…kinda like this post. Nice
Aawe, hissing and growling like a little kitty! 😛
My embarrassing story?
Never wear (loose) bikini tops while playing volleybal in the water.
Oh no! Well at my age, I’d barely care, but as a teen/20-something it would be mortifying.
I love the web of words you weave. Loosely, a relaxed feel — but wow you catch some mighty juicy flies . . . .
Ooo, but look at you with two spider-related references in one comment! Thank you, that is a high compliment indeed 🙂
Oh, I only have one embarassing story….. It all started the day I was born….:) Only kidding. I was kind of the weird one too. In a tiny Irish town in the late 80s. Not sure if I came with added rhino skin or if if sort of grew naturally.
I donno, I think my story started then, too! I don’t mind, though, I wouldn’t be who I am without my trials and many, many, errors. I’d say you were born with the skin – its a very hard skill to learn.
What a cozy “giggles-making” place your blog is. I’m in denial about the most of my embarrassing stories, I know it because every time I try to remember one I remember either something sad or something that makes me want to hiss too.
I so understand the little you about hissing. A good way to express feelings that is.
Sounds like you had a great time on FB 🙂 I don’t use it but it’s cool to hear how much fun people sometimes have there.
I used to talk cat as a second language. I still can, but my volume is so loud I don’t do it much! I was actually attacked by a cat once when I said too many bad things about him – he chomped my ear 🙂
I resisted Facebook as a fad for a long time. I still feel that way about Twitter, I don’t get the point of it. But when you live 3,000 miles away from family and friends, it is a good way of keeping in touch for free. The blog is different, at first I just told close friends, and I still haven’t told everyone on FB – but I’m finding the blogosphere is a whole new world. Next post is about that!
hehe, I ignore FB for the same reason that you use it.
I actually found myself visiting your blog several times a day hoping for a new post ( and that is when I’m actually subscribed to your blog, I guess I think I can be faster than subscription)
I’ll be waiting for your next post 🙂
I hated FB until it showed me that I have many lovely friends and has introduced me to someone as wonderful as socks. Not to mention reconnected me with “lost” friends such as Spiders. Without it I would be lost and forgotten in AK sense so many people I know apparently can’t email, text or call.
Not that it doesn’t annoy me at times, but over all it’s been a boon. That’s not even mentioning the whole Ineeda thing.
As for embarrassing… I resisted going on my recent hunting trip for a while. One of my reasons was having to squat to use the bathroom for at least two weeks. I’m not the most stable person now due to my back problems and drugs and I just knew how bad things could go. After a week I was proud of myself. Despite wearing long johns under my pants and a jacket most of the time, I was doing good. Then dad made a “toilette”. Just a bar tied between two trees. It was a tad tall for me so I sort of had to hop up and lean forward to brace myself on another tree. I was still good. Then one day I was doing my business and realized it sounded wrong. Yep, instead of peeing into the hole I peed into my paints. And there wasn’t much I could do about it. They were a new pair and I only had one more pair to last the rest of the trip, which hopefully was only one week. So I had to wear my pee pants back to the camp fire and dry myself. There was nothing to do but laugh about it and tell people why I was sticking my butt in the fire.