I have discovered Confessions of a Pioneer Woman, Ree, who seems to maybe live on a ranch, but otherwise to be quite normal. Anyway I haven’t come across any mention of outhouses yet. She also blogs (oh does she blog, with pictures) about her cooking. I’m starving.
Today she’s having a Wii (that’s dubya I I, right?) giveaway, and she only had two million entrants at one hour to closing, so naturally I felt bad for her and entered. As we (all two million and one of us) described in the comments section, here’s my most embarrassing moment that is relatively fit for public consumption:
When I was thirteen I went to math camp at the University of Utah.
I learned about the Fibonacci sequence, played my final piano recital (after that I gave it up as a dead-end talent-wise), switched from Pepsi to Coke (a new vending machine contract was negotiated mid-week), and snuck out with friends to swim in the fountains on campus.
Check a few off the old life to-do list.
Boys weren’t allowed in our dorm rooms, so we only snuck them in once, or maybe twice.
One morning my roommate (Andrea — don’t worry, I didn’t put her name in on the other blog; wanted to preserve her anonymity, you know) snuck some in while I was in the shower. It was really early, like 9:40 or something, so he lay down on her bed to snooze while the others left for breakfast.
I came back from the shower and dropped my towel, turned around, and . . . jumped in the closet.
Luckily it was the short sidekick boy rather than the tall hot one (Lincoln — didn’t list him by name either, same reason) who (years) later asked me out on my first date.
If only I’d known then what I know now — I had one fine body at 13!!
My favorite story was from a man named Aaron. I wish I could link to him and give him credit, but he didn’t leave a link. Maybe he doesn’t even have a blog of his own. Weird. Well, it’s on the internet, so that’s fair use, right? I’ll paraphrase a bit just to make sure (so if it sounds kinda choppy, don’t get mad at Aaron):
When I was young my mom would never buy me underwear with characters on it…only [tighty whities]. So, when a friend came over to spend the weekend . . . I . . . stole a few pairs of Snoopy underwear. And wore them for a few happy weeks.
Until my mom walked by me one day while I was wearing shorts and had my feet propped up on the coffee table. She saw my colorful underwear and knew it hadn’t come from her.
I had to knock on my friend’s door, tell his mom what I had done, and hand her a brown lunch sack with her son’s stolen underpants in it.
What a great mom to teach honesty like that.
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Those are awesome. I love little boys in their tiny underwear. I figure I need to enjoy how cute their little bottoms are now while they are little because soon enough, thinking my little boys have cute bottoms won’t be appropriate.
I had to laugh out loud at Aaron’s story. That was hilarious. I laughed at your story too, though not as loudly because I had heard it before.
i’ve never heard this story before. so was he asleep? did he see you? did you have to kick him out? discerning readers want to know! oh, and – you have 1 fine body now too. have you told everyone you are running a 10K tomorrow?
For the record, I (Andrea) have no memory of this alleged sneaking in of this short boy into the dorm room. Wait–maybe that makes it worse. Also, as in interesting side note, when Lincoln did ask Shannon out, he accidentally asked me out first, on the phone, thinking I was Shannon because he got our names or our phone numbers mixed up (it was two or three years after we met him). Now that was embarrassing, but made a good joke for Shannon and me for a while.
Really, your story would have been plenty embarrassing if you would have stopped it after “I went to math camp.”
Really, your story would have been plenty embarrassing if you would have stopped it after “I went to math camp.”
wish i’d thought of that! too, too funny. though i am not ashamed at all to say that if i could run away to math camp right now, i would. and i’d be happy to allow no boys (or girls) in my dorm room.
i don’t remember the part about Lincoln asking you out by “accident.” probably i blocked it out as otherwise i’d have had to acknowledge that he really wanted to date you, but got stuck with me through some terrible twist of fate? (for him, not you, i mean)
how’s your beautiful baby?
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kids and their cute buns are certainly one of the good things in life!
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the sidekick boy (can’t remember his name, though as i recall, Lincoln turned out to be pretty shallow; sidekick boy is probably really successful somewhere today, applying the fibonacci sequence to celebrity tracking or something) never admitted to seeing anything. smart boy.