(Like, every-second-of-my-day-filled-with-things-I-need-to-accomplish-without-having-a-clue-how-to-accomplish-them kind of busy.)
(But no excuses. I still should have been blogging.)
So let's not beat around the bush. You don't want to hear about my time management issues. You want awkward stories. And I have one for you.
But first let me tell you this.
I've noticed a pattern in a great deal of my awkward stories lately. The pattern is that most of these stories are not only awkward, but ultimately consistently fall under the heading of "foot in mouth". I don't know what it is, but I have this enormous unrecognized talent of talking about people, places and things when those things are a) next to me b) right behind me c) right in front of me or d) on the phone with me.
It's like I can't be stopped.
This leads me to believe that I need to start paying more attention to what I'm saying and who I'm saying it to.
Or I just need to stop talking shit on people.
Okay, so onto our awkward story for today. (If I even have any readers left after this most recent hiatus into oblivion-dom.)
This story actually takes place only one month ago. Yes, that's right. I basically haven't learned anything from my past awkward experiences and simply continue to repeat my mistakes over and over again.
You got me. Yay for you.
So...a month of so ago Hubs and I attend an Iowa State Football game together.
(Yes, I graduated from KU but I am an avid supporter of Iowa State.)
(Mostly because it's in our pre-nup.)
(I'm just really easily swayed.)
(Which means I'll stand for nothing, fall for anything, etc. etc.)
Hubs and I generally leave the stadium at half-time to meet up with his family, drink more beer and lodge official complaints about the Cyclone's football capabilities.
This day is no different.
Following halftime, as we begin our journey back into the stadium, I am...um...inebriated. When I get to that point, I also get extremely
I just didn't want to do it.
As Hubs and I walk back to the stadium, I begin my incessant whining about the huge hill we must climb to get up to the actual stadium.
(Because some genius thought it would be awesome to place the football stadium atop the only Pike's Peak in Iowa.)
So there I am, acting like a 9 year old, bitching and whining about the trek back to our seats.
(And when I say whining, I mean all-out bitch fest.)
Something like this:
Me: UGHHHHH!!!!!! I don't WANNA walk up this ridiculous HILL AGAIN!
Hubs: (sighing) Let's just take the stairs then. It won't seem so bad if you don't have to actually climb up the hill. Stairs are easier.
Me: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! I hate stairs!! When I work out, I always avoid the Stair Master because I HATE IT SO MUCH.
Hubs: Well, we're taking the stairs anyway because I think it will be easier. And we'll end up near the concession stand that has the ice cream cones.
Me: Oh. In that case, let's take the stairs.
Okay, so, all this time that I'm complaining, the two gentlemen in front of us are quietly giggling. I ignorantly think they're laughing because they think I'm cute (I mean, c'mon. Doesn't everyone?) and they secretly wish they were married to me.
As we approach the stairs, I decide to really kick up my whining in the hopes that Hubs will give in and carry me up the stairs Gone With the Wind style.
I open my mouth to begin the mother of all bitch fests, when suddenly, one of the gentlemen in front of us turns around and says with a big smile,
"Come on! You can do it. It really isn't all that bad."
Just as I am about to inform the un-educated man that I happen to have a sore ankle and an ingrown toenail thankyouverymuch, I happen to glance down at his legs.
Or should I say Leg.
Oh. My. God.
Here I am, a perfectly capable person with a fully functioning body with all of its parts, and this poor man is standing on flesh and a stainless steel rod.
And he's beating me up the stairs.
After I turn three shades of red darker than the Iowa State shirt I'm wearing, I immediately shut my mouth and begin to climb the stairs silently.
Then I have a thought.
Should I overcompensate for my blunder by running as fast as I can to the stop of the stairs and loudly proclaiming my thanks to God that I have fully functioning limbs?
Believe me, I considered it.
In the end, I simply climbed the stairs silently while Hubs scratched his head and tried to figure out what caused me to suddenly shut up.
(Mostly so he could use it to shut me up in the future.)
There are many things I take for granted in this life, and after that little run-in with the man who wasn't afraid to politely show me that I'm a complete jack ass, my limbs will no longer be one of them.
The rest of the day, with each step I took, I thought about how difficult it would be to perform day-to-day tasks without one of my legs. And I learned that my life isn't so bad after all.
Until the next Iowa State game in which I will undoubtedly find something else to whine about.
Like having to carry my popcorn, soda, ice cream and peanuts in only two arms.