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  1.  (9780.1)
    Continuing from the Terrible Jobs and Worst Roommate threads, I feel the need to add stories that gloriously celebrate some of the most humiliating things that have ever happened. These are the tales, that as we drunkenly sit around the fire pit, the bar, the bong, we continuously try to one up who's had life shit on them the most, yet can sit back and laugh our asses off at it.

    These tales can encompass pretty much any hysterical story from our pasts, and may include current and former relationship stories, as long as they don't descend into "my fucking ex is a [insert expletive] stories."

    My first tale of non-greatness, begins when I was seventeen, within a week of my parents kicking me out of my home. My folks had worked their asses off, and slowly but surely, we ended up moving out of the ghetto and into a very nice sub-division. We moved there in the winter of 1996, and by the summer of 97, I was out on my ass (due to my own teenage irresponsibilities).

    I had been dating a girl in the neighborhood for less than a week, and had continued to date her as I slept in my car or on a buddy's couch. One night she wants to throw a party for... I think it was a Miss America pageant. Of course, I wore my lime green leisure suit (because I had recently seen Swingers, and thought it was "money"). Well, my girlfriend at the time was unimpressed with my suit and decided all of the guys needed to be in drag. They dressed my best friend in some hideous dress, but they didn't have one to fit me.

    Somehow, I knew, back at my folks' place, there was a dress I could borrow from Mom. So my buddy drove me down the street to my folks' place, and I knocked on the door. No one was home. I tried my key, but they had changed the locks. I had only been gone one week, and that really pissed me off. So, thinking very clearly now, I decided to break in. My bedroom was on the second floor, and several times, I had climbed out my window and sat on the roof to smoke. So I went in the backyard, climbed a tree and got on the roof. Only the bathroom window was open, so I climbed in there.

    I ran downstairs, and flipped the porch light on and off, to let Jason know I had made it inside. I ran up to the guest room closet, and found my bounty: my mom's navy blue polka dotted dress. I threw it over my shoulder and headed to the bathroom.

    What I didn't know, was as I flipped the front porch light on and off, my parents were pulling up the driveway. Already confused as to why my best friend is sitting in his car in front of the house, and wearing a dress, my parents were surprised to see the lights flick on and off.

    They open the front door and yell my name. I'm halfway out the bathroom window, when my wallet chain catches on the window crank. I'm stuck.

    Mom comes upstairs, and sees her teenage son, wearing a lime green leisure suit, a chicken-hawk haircut, and the ugliest dress she owns over my shoulder, and I'm climbing out onto the roof.

    "Billy, get off the roof, and give me that dress!" my mother yells.

    "You don't get to tell me what to do anymore, Mom!" I scream back.

    I jump off the roof, and hit the ground running. I get in my friend's car, and we burn off.

    Years later, we laugh about the story, and I'm closer to my folks than ever. But the one thing my folks still don't believe is that I was stone cold sober. I wasn't drunk, I wasn't high. I was just really, really stupid.
    • CommentAuthorMaC
    • CommentTimeApr 20th 2011 edited
    Oh god this thread is going to be dangerous when I am drunk.
    • CommentAuthorRenThing
    • CommentTimeApr 20th 2011
    I think we were thirteen when this happened, my best friend and I. We'd been hanging out at his house all day and I decided to crash out there as I often did (we'd known each other since preschool and our families were very close).

    Overly-caffeinated and sugar-rushing like mad, it was getting later and later and we couldn't fall asleep. If we went downstairs to play video games we'd get yelled at and this was shortly before he got his first PC; nothing to do and we were seriously bored. It was about getting around midnight when my friend asks, as a typical thirteen year-old boy with access to powertools might, "Want to light something on fire with a blowtorch?"

    How could I resist?

    Our sacrificial object was one of his Yanni CDs (if you ask him today he'll deny ever owning them) but we crept downstairs to his garage. He roots around in his father's tools and pulls out a small tank of propane (like you might use for a camping lantern) and the oldest blow torch nozzle you'd ever seen. It was the kind of nozzle you screw directly onto/into the tank and control the output of the gas by a knob on the side. It was rusted, pitted, and had some alarming holes. I asked him where he got it and he said it used to belong to his grandfather. I said it looked like it.

    Now, when it came to actually burn the CD I refused to be anywhere near him because I didn't trust the equipment in the slightest. All manner of insults were lobbed back and forth but in the end he was at one end of the garage and I was at the other, sitting on a stool. I had the naive thought that if the tank exploded I might be safe. Ah, youth.

    Anyway, my friend puts the CD on the ground (problem 1), lights the torch (problem 2), kneels down on the ground (problem 3) and starts running the flame over the CD (problem 4). Now, unknown to us (although unsurprisingly) the nozzle had a leak, a small hole right above where it screwed into the tank that directed a small trickle of propane out and over my friend's hand. As he kneels and lowers the torch, the flame curls upward at the end and the motion of drawing the torch back and forth over the CD causes the flame to waver. I don't know if it was the rising heat that did it or his hand very briefly touched the tip of the flame but moments after he starts trying to melt the CD his hand catches fire. This causes him to jump to his feet, lit torch in one hand and the other covered in flames.

    I, of course, do the only thing a thirteen year-old best friend would do in that circumstance: fall off the stool, arms wrapped around my sides, pissing myself with laughter as I watch my friend jump around the garage, flapping his arms as he tried to put out the fire.

    Thankfully it wasn't that bad, the flames just burned the top layer of skin and all the hair up to his elbows, nothing worse than a sun burn. Once the propane on his arm burns off he turns off the tank, walks over to my prostrate form, and kicks me in the gut. Despite the pain, I can't stop laughing and now I'm making these odd sucking noises as I try to breathe around the pain in my stomach, which just makes me laugh harder. I finally get myself together, stand up, and ask to see his arm to see how bad he's hurt. For some reason the sight of his red, hairless arm set me off again and I got punched repeatedly while I tried to apologize for laughing. His mom came downstairs pissed because we woke her up and she sent us up to his room to sleep.

    He still gets pissed that I didn't help put himself out.
    • CommentAuthorRenThing
    • CommentTimeApr 21st 2011
    GWAR Ruined My 21st Birthday (part 1)

    Well, sort of.

    Some people have really great twenty-first birthday stories. They had wild adventures involving driving cross-country to Las Vegas. Or maybe it was just as mundane as hitting a row of bars and clubs and getting trashed on free drinks bought by people they’d never see again and then waking up next to someone they hoped to god they never saw again. Mine is not one of these stories.

    A few days before SDCC 2001, I got a call from my friend E. E is a rather interesting character. She's alternatively worked in tech in the Bay Area, has piloted tall ships up and down both coasts, has been in the circus, and, as I learned on the phone call, used to help do special effects and was a part-time roadie for GWAR many, many moons ago. It seemed that GWAR was going to have a booth at SDCC that year and her helper flaked on her at the last moment. She knew I'd been to SDCC before and was wondering if I wanted to go.

    Now, I was ok with that mostly. My birthday would fall on the Monday after Comic-Con and I did have some plans for that evening but if she promised to get me back in time to spend some time at a bar with some friends I'd be ok. She promised and sweetened the deal by saying I wouldn't have to pay for my room, badge, or food while I was down there. Reassured by her promises and backed by my charitable spirit (which has since been exorcised), I agreed and she picked me up early Wednesday morning.

    On my way down I learned that it wasn't really GWAR so much that was putting on the booth as GWAR-related and we’d be sharing a room with a former member of the band Hunter (aka TechnoDestructo), his girlfriend, and their two-year old son. I also found out that the “former” part of the band was contested; it was sometimes described as “left because of artistic differences” and “kicked out for being an ass”. I also learned that I shouldn’t mention the band as much as possible to avoid Hunter’s “temper”. Either way, I was about to spend a weekend in a dark, baby-diaper scented pit of drama. Whee.

    One of the first things that immediately became apparent as a large hole in E’s plan was food. As in mine. As in I generally eat meals a day and I guess E didn't really consider that. So, after Thursday evening (with eleven meals left to go on the trip, eight if I decided to be nice and have a late breakfast/early lunch), E admitted she didn't have that much money and stopped paying for my food. With $60 to my name, the rest of the trip was looking...hungry. Thankfully, I know some people down in San Diego who were also attending SDCC who helped me out so I didn't starve, but I did zero out my bank account.

    Now, I will admit before this trip I was pretty much completely ignorant of what GWAR was. I’d heard they were a metal band and that it stood for God What an Awful Racket but this was not actually the case (GWAR is what a comic book monster once shouted in some comic one of the founding members had read as a kid). I was also ignorant of their fanbase. GWAR-geeks, I'm pretty sure, are the evolutionary step before Juggalos. They came in faded t-shirts, some of them wearing their very own make-up, some insisted on being called by their Slave Pit names. The fervor and fanaticism of some of them was a little disturbing but, looking back, no worse than Twilight-fans.

    And then there was Hunter. TechnoDestructo himself. The supposed (another alleged claim) creator of GWAR. And he dressed up in costume. I’m sure the costume would’ve looked in a poorly lit venue with a lot of smoke while on something mind-altering. As it was, Hunter, all one hundred and seventy pounds of very pale flesh of him, dressed up in his costume which consisted of a big robotic arm with the bastard son of a wrench and a vice on the end made out of PVC, shaped foam, and latex paint and a spiked cod piece. I’m not sure if it had a back. I didn’t have the guts to look. As the apparent bitch of the booth, I learned that one of my jobs was to lead Techno around the floor of the convention while soliciting people to pay $5 to take a cheap Polaroid with the former GWAR member. All the while, in between the five pictures that were paid for all weekend, he’d mutter about how he was going to have a come back and “Show them all”, during which I felt a little pity for this man in his pointy, plastic diaper and crudely done make-up, clinging to a dream long dead.

    Now, you’re asking yourself, probably, how this all fits in with my 21st birthday. After having to endure the pitying, horrified looks from the crowds at the Con as I had to lead Hunter like a badly behaving puppy, after having to sleep on the floor and trying to sleep through Hunter’s snoring, after having to lie every time I was asked, “Do you love GWAR?!” by some GWAR-geek and reply, “Oh…from the bottom of my soul…”, after having to eat Wendy’s for the fifth time in a weekend, after having Hunter’s kid (who wasn’t that bad) throw his toys at my head ALL the time, after being surrounded people happily spendspendspending away and me being broke...

    After all of that, don’t you think I could have used a nice, stiff drink?

    This is what I was looking forward to. Looking forward to going out with friends, getting some drinks, having a good time. It would be fantastic. This, this was the thought carrying me through the weekend. This was not to be.
    • CommentTimeApr 21st 2011
    Last night I let the dog out into the back yard. I was drinking a beer and, in my usual way, was dressed all in black. The dog goes around the house, up the alley to the gate towards the street to bark and sniff after she does her business. I'm down the alley w/beers in my hands, whistling for the dog. A couple walks by the gate, pets my dog...

    And thinks I'm whistling AT THEM. A dark, shadowing figure down the path, glaring at them, drinking from a beer bottle. Good times...I thought it'd be a little while longer until I established my reputation as the neighborhood creep.
    • CommentAuthorMaC
    • CommentTimeApr 21st 2011
    How to meet people on the internet.

    Just a small bit of set up before I get to my largest and most questionable experience meeting people online.

    Throughout my high school life I met a lot of people through the internet. I was a part of an online forum that was built around Friday the 13th movie fans after going on an horror movie kick my freshman year and finding the the board. Met a lot of cool internet friends, a lot of whom I met at cons and ended up becoming IRL friends with the ones who lived close enough to me to see frequently. Each time we hung out we got more people to come and hang with us. Finally I ended up meeting a bunch of my favorite online friends at a big Fango convention in NJ. We all got along really well, drank, had fun, and my friend Blake even preposed to his wife there! It was nice! The good feelings sparked an interest in doing this again, but bigger.

    That led to talks about campe 2. Before I had come around to this forum the users had apparently rented a campsite to have an F13 camp, which basically meant get drunk on a big camp site for a week. The fun we all had kinda inspired everyone to make this happen again. So we did. In august of 2004, I had been outta high school for just over a two months. Flew to Missouri and met with 30+ people, some I knew from online. Some I had already met. Some that were my real life friends I hung out with frequently but had met through the board.

    Our rally point was a hotel at the Hilton a day before we were to head to Camp. The gist was everyone would meet at a Hilton near the airport and we'd stay there a day, riding the shuttles back and forth to meet people and bring them to the hotel to party. After most of the people had arrived and the son went down, the booze came out. My friend Ryan and I consumed a $12 bottle of awful cheap shit Vodka. I was underage, hardly ever drank before, and not even a little responsible.

    It went real bad, real fast.

    I remember kicking a wall really hard outside the hotel for some reason,it hurt my foot. Then I started walking back into the hotel. My next memory is waking up without my wallet in a room that smelled of vomit. Alone. I fell out of bed, because when I tried to stand up I felt a horrible throbbing pain in my foot and was still pretty drunk, so I collapsed. Lying on the floor, with no clue what the fuck happened, I crawled to the door of the hotel room and passed out again. After awhile I heard sounds outside and opened the door and dragged myself halfway into the lobby, where my friend Brenna was. She saw me and came over and I asked

    "Brenna was I bad?"

    "Yeah sweetie you were awful"

    Then it was explained to me just what an awful drunk monster I was, through stories, pictures, and video. Our friend Chuck had video of the earliest event since my black out. Apparently I made it through the door of the hotel and back inside, but that's where everything went wrong.

    I was shown a video of myself, lying spraled out on the lobby of the hotel room laughing and cackling and screaming about how awesome being drunk was. While my equally drunk friend Ryan stood over me with his hand extended saying "Mike take my hand. Take my hand Mike! Take it and get up!" while I rolled and babbled.

    After I got up Chuck forcibly got me into an elevator and took me and Ryan back to our floor. Where Brenna made us promise not to drink anymore. Well hah! We snuck around her and polished that bottle of vodka off and went back to the lobby. Where there was a Christianity Convention.

    Chuck described me as Godzilla stomping through Tokyo. I waded through this gathering of exceptionally religious people, drunk, shouting obsenities, staggering, babbling. Just a fucking mess. The fled from me in droves until the hotel manager confronted me.

    I apparently told him to fuck himself, that if he kept coming and bothering me with his shit I would break him in half. And when he persisted I said "Don't you get it I could snap my fucking fingers and you would die!", an empty threat, as I am incapable of snapping my fingers. He took it to heart though, and left to call the Police.

    My friends brought me upstairs and hid me in one of the rooms. Which might have worked if I hadn't still been yelling and standing and trying to orchestrate an escape. In a desperate bid to weaken my power they seperated Ryan, my drunk sidekick, and myself on opposite sides of the hotel. Without an accomplice adventuring outside of the hotel room wasn't too appealing to me, so I settled into the hotel room after more badgering and desperate pleading to get me to shut up and not get arrested. Nonetheless being seperated from my partner in crime left a void I needed to fill, and I was told that I violently and psychotically demanded towels. Lots of white towels.

    It was around this point that the cops showed up.

    Things seemed hopeless. I was obviously drunk. Loud. Obnoxious. And underage. and from out of state. My friends shoved me between two beds in the hotel room and buried me with towels, which appeased me enough that I lied down in my tomb of linens and babbled about getting super powers or being a mutant while my friends got the Man off my back.

    They explained to the cops that they were sorry. I was stupid. Had too much to drink. But they had put me to bed and I wouldn't be allowed to roam free again. The police were content with that explanation, but assured my friends with a gentle pat on the taser he wore, that if he had to come back to this hotel he was going to electrocute someone(me) for his trouble.

    Thankfully he didn't come back. But my wonderful friends(some of which I had only known for hours) had to deal with the rest of the fallout from my mistakes. Yes, with the danger of being arrested gone it was time to start throwing up.

    And boy, did I. In unison, on opposite sides of the hotel, Ryan and I began to purge the alcohol that we'd poisoned ourselves with. I guess we developed a psychic bond of irresponsibility and poor decision making skills, because we went off at the same time.

    Other then the puking the rest of the night was uneventful. I guess we threw up until we passed out. Ryan lost his wallet somewhere, mine had been secured away before the worst of the night began. I got a lot of stares while we waited in the lobby of the hotel to head to the campsite, where I spent a week with 30 people from all over the world drinking singing karoake and getting up to all kinds of drunk shit out in the wilderness.

    And I spent like $100 on booze for the people who kept me from getting arrested and choking to death on my own throw up.

    And I remember nothing. Everything was explained to me the next morning as I sat on the floor in the lobby half drunk.
    • CommentAuthorRenThing
    • CommentTimeApr 21st 2011
    GWAR Ruined My 21st Birthday (Part 2)

    Monday we leave, having packed up the night before. I bid a farewell to Hunter, his gf, their kid, and E and I leave. It is then, at this point, that she tells me that she has to pick up a custom piece of piercing on L.A. It's a full, one piece spiral that will go through many holes in her ear along the outter conch of the ear down to the lobe. It would look nifty. It would be short. "Like half an hour, tops."

    Two hours later she walked out of the backroom, slightly both pale and flushed at the same time, piercing in place. When she sees my blank, accusatory face, she realizes we're supposed to be going. It is now twelve thirty. We are still in LA.

    "Oh, hey, I want to take you to lunch, on me, for helping me out."

    I am taken to Long Beach. It takes us an hour. The lunch is Hooters. I am not impressed.

    "Oh, hey, I want to go say hi to some friends, it's not to far from here."

    Another hour passes. I am not amused.

    Traffic on I-5, despite the fact that the Grapevine was clear and 101 passes my house. Traffic for three hours. The rest is all just miles and miles of I-5 but when you get to the end it's 11:30 at night, I'm tired, swetty, and pissed off. E is sorry, apologetic. I am uncaring and angry.

    After bidding her a very terse farewell. I go inside and do my best to shower the road funk and the day off of me. Half an hour after I'm done, my dad comes up with two bottles of beer and we open presents. My friends were sacked out from work and, well, who wants to go drinking that late on a Monday (unfortumately, most of my friends were trying to be responsible adults at the time)?

    I blame GWAR for a sucky 21st birthday.
      CommentAuthorJay Kay
    • CommentTimeApr 21st 2011
    One story comes to mind--what it lacks in some of the epic shit you guys pulled of should be more than made up for in embarrassment.

    It was about three years ago, and I had just graduated from high school and was starting my first semester in community college. I was living with my parents still, because I couldn't live on my own, and it was so close to the college anyway. But anyway--it was Halloween, and my next door neighbors' children and their friends wanted to tee-pee some houses in the neighborhood and asked their mom if they could do it. She agreed, but only if they had a chaperone.

    Guess who had that job. This guy.

    My mom, who had informed me of this, was just as confused as I was, but willing to play along. Before I went, though, she told me this: "If you get caught--RUN. Don't even worry about the kids. They're minors, and you're now a legal adult." The more I think about it, the more I wonder if she was genuinely trying to give me a warning, or if she was fucking with me.

    So I got a bike and followed the six or seven kids on this strange, parent-sanctioned criminal adventure. You have to understand that I was probably the most boring teenager on the planet. Never went to any parties, never really drank that much (and only in parties and stuff that my parents were part of), my weekends were spent mostly being home and dicking around on the internet. So I was an utter novice at these kind of ventures.

    So we got to the first house, with no decorations and completely black inside, and I decided to be the lookout, made no bones that this was their dumbass idea. It didn't really go well for them, since they only had maybe six rolls of the stuff, just enough to maybe cover one of the trees.

    Then the front porch lights went up, and the door sprang open.

    I rode away like a bat out of a very lame hell. I don't think I've ever pedaled that fast before or since. I looked a few times and saw some of the kids riding behind me, which was enough for me as I rode back--I was sorta worried about the others, but I figured they would get off light because they were, like, twelve, and in my fear and adrenaline-fueled mind, if it got as bad that I was going to have a criminal charge as an adult, it wasn't going to be for something as stupid as this. About 20 minutes later the rest came back--apparently a few of them were slower than us and did their best to blend in the shadows in the irrigation ditch, had to steal back their bikes from this guy's nose, and then THEY pedaled away like bats from hell.

    So yeah, there's that. I think I may have a few other stories--again, nothing epic like some of you guys, but probably still a bit funny.
      CommentAuthorHEY APATHY!
    • CommentTimeApr 21st 2011 edited
    Central Park New York 11 am on a trip with the art college. Filled a 2 L water bottle with straight vodka and drank it,3 pm beer for lunch in a bar ( couldn't afford food), 7 pm hit a gallery with free vodka on ice in fancy glasses, 9 pm back to the hostel to smoke, er, um, cigarettes. 10 pm Sat on a bed to take the lenses out of my sunglasses so I could still wear them at night. 11 am the next day I woke up in the exact spot with my lenses and glasses still in my lap. A young girl came into the room looked at me funny and said hi. I’d never seen her before but she lifted her pant leg revealing an unmistakable collection of black & white ink drawings that were all over her body...then I saw the video

    I'd been out on the town destroying subway ads with a marker, screaming at NYC passengers to stop buying shit, obsessively smelling my friend Margaret's hair, pinning little buttons I made with images of bombs on classy (possibly frightened) New York lady types and on the police officers I was scolding for being fascists (NYC cops are freaking cool, I am lucky!), then I ran head first into a street lamp knocking my self out cold. I was carried back to the hostel by a fairly androgynous bi-sexual and the young girl I’d apparently been flirtatious with/ used as a canvas, where I proceeded to rampage through the rooms critiquing my classmates on both artistic merit and what I thought of them personally. oh man oh man the highlight of this part of the misadventure being the removal of a sheet hung from the upper bunk bed intended to give two lovers their privacy while I yelled out “ this seems awful suspicious”

    Now none of this was that out of the ordinary for me at the time but damn when you can’t remember anything at all it is terribly frightening, shameful and very embarrassing ( as @ MaC probably knows). I never felt so sick as I did while wondering what else they’d gotten on film but at least I didn’t offend anyone I actually cared about and I NEVER DRANK AGAIN.
  2.  (9780.10)
    Alright, so one of my most embarrassing things that ever happened to me was the time I lost my virginity.

    I was 18 (yeah, I was saving myself for someone special) and dating this kinda butchy girl named E, and I kinda stole her from a buddy of mine. Well, she had been seriously (emotionally) wounded by a series of previous relationships, and each time we got... "physical" she would get scared, and push me away. I was very understanding and sympathetic, and also clueless, so I didn't push her at all. Now I say we were "dating," but in reality (and we had this conversation several times) she forcefully made me understand (and I quote) "We are not dating. This is not a relationship. I am not your girlfriend. You are not my boyfriend. We just hang out together, and whatever happens, happens." Which was fine with me, I just thought she was hot, and we kinda clicked, and I was willing to deal with all of that baggage because she was willing to make out with me.

    Three months (which is SO LONG when you're 18, a virgin, and trying to get laid) of that, and it started getting old. I started going out without her, and trying to meet other people. Which, technically is fine, since we weren't dating. So I'm out with one of my buddies, getting something to eat, and we run into this crazy industrial music/redheaded dreadlocked guy, I'll call "G." He was with a couple of his buddies and this girl, K. K and I started flirting, and we headed out as a group. I drop my buddy off at his house, and head to G's place.

    Inside, we drink and smoke a little, and somehow me and K start "wrestling" or something, I dunno. The next thing I know, I end up in this girl's bedroom, and clothes are coming off. We're naked, and she says something about having sex. I admit to her that I'm a virgin. She is fine with that, and fixes it.

    The next morning, she is getting dressed and going to work. Somewhere in the apartment, I can hear Insane Clown Posse and "Great Malinko" or some crap, and to this day this is why I can't stand that crap. She says I can stay there and she'd like it if I was there when she came back; I could hang out with her roommates. Ok, cool. She leaves.

    I get up, get dressed and walk into the living room. There are three guys in the living room. I kinda know G, and one of the other guys, but I'm not what you would call friends with them. But I have to tell someone. "Guess who's not a virgin anymore?" I say proudly. One of the guys laughs, but no one says anything. I didn't know it at the time, but K (the girl) and G (dreadlocks) have been dating for like a year or more. I walked into his apartment, went into his bedroom, and fucked his girlfriend on his bed, while he was in the other room. He never said a word.

    I messed around with this girl for a couple days, in this guy's apartment, and never had a clue. She got kinda creepy on me, and wanted to meet parents and crap, and got really possessive. I backed away gracefully and stopped answering her calls.

    About a week later, someone told me that she was G's girlfriend. I felt physically ill. We weren't friends, but we hung out at the same places. I had to tell him I was sorry. I ran into him a while later and tried to explain myself. He laughed and said he knew how clueless I was about the whole thing, and that it wasn't my fault. That was the only reason he didn't kick my ass. I told him he still could if he wanted to; I deserved it. He was very genial, and explained how he was glad he found out what kind of girl he'd been dating, that she could make her own choices, he didn't own her, but she had very visibly chosen not to be with him anymore, and he thanked me for that. We parted as friends, and I felt really stupid. I broke things off with the other girl shortly after that; she had made it clear that we weren't a couple either, but that had felt too close to cheating for me, and I stayed away from relationships for a while after that...
    • CommentAuthorRenThing
    • CommentTimeApr 22nd 2011

    Alright, so one of my most embarrassing things that every happened to me was the time I lost my virginity.

    Oh god, you didn't even need to say any more.

    I know how awkward it can be to have sex with a woman with her boyfriend in the next room (they had an on-the-level open relationship that I knew about and was cool with) but at least he didn't try to join in with you (unlike my situation).
  3.  (9780.12)
    @ goverment spy, like @ Ren Thing you already had me howling with

    Alright, so one of my most embarrassing things that every happened to me was the time I lost my virginity.

    • CommentAuthorSBarrett
    • CommentTimeApr 22nd 2011
    I first read that as "Alright, so one of my most embarrassing things that ever happened to me was the last time I lost my virginity."

    I was like..."How many times can you do that?"
    • CommentTimeApr 22nd 2011

    Well, there's a surgery for that if you're a chick. If you're a guy, just... act really awkward or something. No one will question it.
      CommentAuthormister hex
    • CommentTimeApr 23rd 2011

    I do my very best work when I'm drunk.

    Okay, Grade Eight - I'm, what, twelve or thirteen? and we're doing silhouette drawing in art class. Everybody in the class had to bring in a hat or some kind of head-gear and sit very still for a portrait on a chair on top of the desk/countertop-dealie at the head of the classroom. Thereupon, an overhead projector would shine on your profile, projecting it onto the screen behind. This was a mandatory assignment, no one wanted to do it, including me.

    So my Grade Eight teacher didn't like me very much (I was always reading comics in class, never paying attention, still getting the highest marks with virtually no effort - thus either calling into question my teacher's ability or confirming it, I'm not sure which - no wonder she didn't like me.) and so it's my turn to sit on the countertop-dealie, wearing an officer's cap. "Lean back, sir!" the teacher said (she called all the young men "sir"). So I leaned back. "More, sir! Lean back more!" So I did. And one leg of the chair slipped off and down I went. A roar of laughter went up. Concealed behind the countertop-dealie, I got up, the officer's cap clinging to the side of my head, like something out of the Three Stooges. I poked my head over the top, to show that I was alright (and hadn't broken my fucking neck, thanks for checking, teach) and the laughter was deafening. Even I thought it was funny. The teacher pissed herself, trying to conceal her laughter and show a modicum of concern.

    Yet another story in which I receive a great twatting blow to the head. I'm sensing a pattern here.
      CommentAuthorHEY APATHY!
    • CommentTimeApr 24th 2011 edited
    @ Sbarret - ..."How many times can you do that?" does switching it up for a first time sodomization count?
    (damn I'm reading Burroughs today and sure enough I had to talk up the sodomy)

    @ mister hex- I may have made some decent drawings while drunk, can't remember but I do know that it always destroyed productivity for a couple of days afterwards. ( maybe next Toronto meet up can have some preliminary coffees, I can't be around the booze it was a problem) also nice pen portrait I've known teachers like that ...

    My art college drawing instructor really didn't like me either. We would hang our projects up on the walls before she arrived and she would randomly choose one to talk about, it was always mine ( i used to experiment with different styles so none of them were easily identifiable). Then on the day we hung our perspective drawings, which no one else had done successfully, the class some how divided and I found myself teaching half of the students how to do it while she gave me these terrible glances from the otherside of the room where she was trying to re-explain the technique to her half of the class. My ( kidnapped) students all got it right off.The next class she once again walked up to my work to use as an example. After she discovered it was mine she made a very very stern and strong announcement, sort of out of nowhere, that went like this "Now class remember not to take any of these critiques personnally, just because we like the drawings doesn't mean we like you " I think she meant to say the opposite to encourage people getting bad critiques but fuck her and her freudian slip I was a 20 year old socially inept insecure &terrified introvert, I was really embarrassed and slightly psychologically damaged
    • CommentAuthorGordon
    • CommentTimeApr 24th 2011
    Government Spy: thank you! I've been having a really shitty time recently and your story gave me my first genuine laugh in ages. As awful as it must have been for you, the big reveal at the end had me laughing so hard it started to hurt. I can just picture you jabbing your thumbs at yourself, all smiles as you make the announcement and completely oblivious to what you've trully revealed. Thank you for cheering me up!
  4.  (9780.18)
    I mentioned at some point, that I roadied during the Dylan/Simon tour in the midwest in the late nineties. This is technically a "job" story, but it is not a terrible job story by any means. It was a blast. How that came about was, I was hiding out at a buddy of mine named Noah's house, having recently heard drug dealers were after my dad. So I'm crashing on this guy's couch, at his parents' house, and he gets a phone call from an old girlfriend, do we want to go work as roadies for Ozzfest? It was the summer of '99, and Ozzfest had been around just a couple years, and still sounded interesting. Plus, I was unemployed with no place to live, and a pregnant girlfriend somewhere in Texas.

    So we were like "Hell, yeah!" We pack up my buddy's old blue beat up Duster, and head out to meet the crew somewhere in Iowa (I think, and to follow them up to the tour. When we meet up, they inform us that "Ozzfest is full up." We are kinda ticked off, after coming all this way (we did not have cell phones). Then they tell us that they're going up to Minnesota for the Dylan/Simon tour, and we can join up there, they pay is like $25/hr. We kinda shrug, and we're like "Yeah, okay, I guess we'll work for Dylan..." But really we're ecstatic.

    So we drive up to some fucking horse track in the middle of nowhere for the gig, and we end up camping the whole time we're there, like 30 minutes from the track. We have to actually build the stage, and put up metal poles and lots and lots of hard work, over a few days. On the actual day of the show, me and my buddy Noah get taught to set up sound equipment and set up the mic's. At the time, Noah, a kind of barrel chested roundish guy with a giant afro of blonde curly hippy hair, and myself, I looked like the sterotypical picture of a roadie, long brown hair, complete with bandanna, some unknown band t-shirt, a flannel around my waist, ripped up blue-jeans, and combat boots.

    We walk out on the stage, about maybe 30 minutes before the opening act is supposed to come out, and test the mic's. Y'know, "Check, check one, check two, etc." but as soon as we walk out, the entire race-track filled of hippies starts cheering. Screaming at us as loud as they can. Me and Noah look at each other, like what the fuck is all this? Noah was wearing a shirt with his name on the back, kind of like a jersey or something, and people start chanting "Noah! Noah! Noah!" and we start laughing in the middle of our mic check. I throw up the rock'n'roll devil horns, and then this massive chant starts, "STAGE CREW RULES! STAGE CREW RULES! STAGE CREW RULES!" Grinning like idiots, during our first ever mic check, we can't help ourselves. We start like doing air guitar, and just rocking out to the cheers of the audience. We must have looked like fools, but for those few seconds, and I have no idea how many people were actually there, it felt like the whole crowd was cheering for me and my best friend.

    Then, off-stage, our boss was yelling at us. "GET OFF THE STAGE YOU FUCKING IDIOTS!!! NO-ONE IS HERE TO SEE YOU!!"

    We slunk off-stage, and all the other roadies gave us shit for thinking we were rock stars. But then we became part of the crew, it was kind of a weird way to join in, and I'll never forget my 5 seconds of being center stage.

    @Gordon glad you could get a laugh. I still do. That's why I tell stories, and I still laugh about it. I've even won some bar/party contests for best "losing your virginity" story.
      CommentAuthorAlan Tyson
    • CommentTimeApr 24th 2011
    Oh man, govspy, that just made my fucking day. Thank you for that!
  5.  (9780.20)
    Man, I can keep going. There was a running joke about me being a "center of a hurricane" for all the weird/funny/embarrassing shit that's always happening to me. Right now, I'm trying to think which to tell next without just posting repeatedly and drowning other folks out.

This discussion has been inactive for longer than 5 days, and doesn't want to be resurrected.