Growing up in the Litfun/Reed/Cole household it became clear very early on that the weak do not survive. If you show weakness, you will be shoved behind the couch for hours desperately trying not to piss your pants while your siblings mock you and throw things at your face. Maybe even threaten to pee on you...just to see if that will break the seal. Death threats, red ants down diapers, broken legs, just to name a few, were a pretty frequent occurrence. When you're harassed and humiliated as a child, you handle embarrassing moments a little more gracefully as an adult. I blame my childhood traumas for fucking up my mental capacity for understanding when I should, or should not be embarrassed.
Example one: Walking into a bar, restaurant, party, someone's apartments, etc. alone really freaks me out. I get this moment of panic that I'll walk in and the people I'm supposed to meet aren't going to be there. Or I'm going to get slimed like I'm Miley fucking Cyrus at the fucking Teens Douche Awards and this new shirt that I spent my grocery money on will be ruined; and everyone will laugh. I'm completely in awe of people that can go to movies alone, even if they're sitting in the back touching themselves to the Twilight movies, I still give you props. Though the high five will have to wait until you wash those egg implanters off your hands.
However I am not embarrassed to walk into a party and yell, "Who do I need to blow around here to play beer pong?" I have even less shame over the fact that I kept my promise and got to hear my little brother tell my parents all about their skank of a daughter over coffee the next morning. It didn't even faze me that good old mom drove over to the brothel the next morning to check out my conquest and then critiqued him for 20 minutes. Thanks mom, I'll make sure to remember that next time. Or the next, next, next time. This would mortify most people, to me, it's just another Sunday.
Example two: Every time I go grocery shopping I feel like the cashier and the bagger are judging me. Sometimes all I want to buy are three bags of Doritoes, cheese, and beer. But as I look into my cart I start to think about what this looks like. What am I a 21 year old boy? So out of guilt I throw some vegetables in there, maybe a loaf of bread, orange juice, and batteries. I have so many fucking batteries in my house its ridiculous. I could supply the porn industry with enough batteries to keep those dildos going for months. I'll even admit that one time a cashier at Vons, who I hope dies in a car fire, commented on my purchases. That son of a bitch started saying out loud what he was bagging. I wanted to choke him to death. I wanted to go back in time and stomp his mother's cervix when he was still a fetus. Instead I made up some lie about shopping for my roommate and ran out of there so fast I think I trampled a toddler. Whatever bitch your mom should have stopped by the condom aisle two years ago, not my problem. Talk about a bitch slap to my self-esteem.
The grocery incident gave me a nervous breakdown. But I felt it was perfectly acceptable to take off my underroos in the back patio at a bar and pee in the dirt. Not the bushes, in the dirt like a god damn cat. The smokers stared and I didn't give one shit. I think I even asked one of them to hold my underwear and check my dress for pee stains when I was finished. At that point I'm sure they would have much rather watched me sit in the dirt eating Doritoes and chugging beers. Maybe even changing batteries in all of my appliances. Note: this has not been the first time I've peed in an inappropriate place, and I'm pretty sure that it won't be the last. Stay tuned.
Example three: Doing laundry in my apartment building scares the shit out of me. I'm freaked out for the following reasons (1) one of my neighbors will be in there the same time as me and wonder why my blankets are covered in vomit (my cat is Bulimic, I swear!); (2) I will trip and fall while walking with my laundry basket and my bras and underwear and godawful sweat pants will rain down on the apartments below me; (3) one of my neighbors will steal a pair of my underwear and be disappointed with their choice and throw them in the trash where I will find them. This is why I schlep my 5 trash bags full of laundry to Buena Park every few weeks. Because I am a fucking weirdo.
On the other hand, I will describe in full detail embarrassing shit that happens to me. To anyone. The first time I met my friend's boyfriend, literally within 7 second of meeting him, I told him how my ex-boyfriend had rejected me when I tried to seduce him with dinner and lingerie. To me this was a completely normal conversation to have with a stranger. I mean he asked how I was doing right? I also constantly over share with my poor neighbors. I can't ever answer their "How's it going question?" without a 4 minute monologue about waking up in a gutter or puking on my own shoes. Fortunately I think they find me entertaining since they haven't moved out yet.
Most people tell me they find my Facebook updates entertaining because they're offensive and out of control. I'm more than happy to tell you about my one-night stand but don't you dare fucking ask me to do my laundry and go grocery shopping with you. Too much, too soon, too far.
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