Glutton

I am sitting in a meeting.  Actually, I am running the meeting.  One of the women there is talking about how stressful her project is and how much she has on her plate.  (I am not trying to be mean, but I have to inform you of this so the story makes sense.  This woman is pretty large).  I am looking at her as she is talking; feeling bad about how much responsibility she has taken on and say, “You are such a glutton” and continue on with my meeting.  While I am talking, I can’t shake the feeling that an awkward silence has fallen over the room.  I have become way too familiar with this feeling.  It hits me what I said.  I meant to say, “Glutton for punishment.” Oh dear!  I can’t go back and fix this one without calling attention to her weight.  I finish the meeting and thank her for her hard work.  Yet, another victim that will never be the same because of my impulsive mouth!

Boogers Make Me Feel Embarrassed

I’m at work and in charge of implementing a new software program (this makes me sound smart.  Don’t worry, I’m not.) for the company and teaching everyone to use it properly.  I set up a lunch meeting with one of the senior people I work with – we’ll call him Boogie - along with 2 IT guys. 

I arrive first.  Let me paint the picture of this meeting place.  We are in Boogies office, which he keeps VERY tidy.  There isn’t one thing on his desk except his computer off to the side.  I sit directly across the desk from him – me on one side, he on the other, and a clean, clear desk between us.  So, we make awkward, at-work, small talk while we wait for the IT guys arrive. 

It isn’t long after I begin small-talking that I notice he has a booger in his nose.  I know that this happens – and everyone gets them, blah blah blah.  But, this was no ordinary booger.  This thing takes up his entire right nostril.  And as he breaths, it vibrates in and out of his nose.  So, I talk, and words are coming out of my mouth, but all I can think about is the monster coming out of his nose.  And, I know he knows that something isn’t right because he keeps batting at his nose and sniffing and stuff.  I make my side of this conversation stop because I am so scared to keep talking for fear the word “Booger” will come flying out of my mouth like that gas commercial.

He starts talking, while still continuing to touch his nose.  Well, one touch too many sends this booger shooting straight out of his nose and onto the pretty, clean, clear desk.  It is laying there between us as if it is interested in joining our conversation as well.  We stop talking, look at it, look at each other and then look down at it again.  My face starts to feel very hot.  Boogie then starts talking again, tries to act smooth (too late), picks it up and flicks it into the trash can as if this was not at all embarrassing and he was totally comfortable with the whole thing.  So, he attempts to keep talking while looking at my face, which was a bright shade of fuchsia.  He finally just stops, swallows his pride, looks down in shame and says,

“Lolo…Why didn’t you tell me I had a booger?”

I burst into the loudest laugh you’ve ever heard since I need the emotional release in a major way. I laugh until tears are rolling down my face.  I laugh too hard and for too long.  I’m not sure what he is doing because I am too busy swimming in my own relief.  With that, the other 2 IT guys walk into our meeting and I force myself to gain composure.

We all start eating our food, mine being a peanut butter and jelly sandwich which I am shoving into my mouth to stuff down my embarrassment and laughter.  It’s time for me to start teaching software implementation to them – which feels so unsuitable at this point, but anything to change the subject is good.  So I put down my half-eaten sandwich and begin to teach.  But I feel like I have peanut butter all over my face.  I start talking, but feel paranoid about the food on my face.  Conversation:

Me (while wiping my face with my hand):  Whoa, sorry guys - I feel like I have peanut butter all over my face?!  Do I?

Boogie: No Lolo, you don’t.  And don’t worry, if you had something on your face…I would tell you (he says with a knowing grin and a wink).

The Girl in the Yellow Dress

Rewind to last night…I was at a bar in Austin that had a really cool back porch area.  They had a section to the side that was for hula-hooping.  How fun is that!  You know where I was hanging out!  I saw a guy a sort of know (let’s call him Hoop) hula hooping with a girl in a yellow dress.  She had been slightly over served and her dress was a tad bit short.  This is not a good combo in the hula hopping section.  Let’s just say I saw her underwear a few more times than I needed to.  She and Hoop were laughing and talking.  I thought they had just met and were really hitting it off!  Good for Hoop!

Back to present day.  I am at a tailgate party talking with my sister.  Hoop walks up with a friend, we will call him Jo.  We tell of our shenanigans the night before.  I proceed to give Hoop a nudge and say, “Well, well, you and the girl in the yellow dress last night.”

Hoop says, “What?”

I say, “You totally could have gotten laid last night!”  (I need to stop right there and tell you that I don’t think the phrase “get laid” has ever come out of my mouth before.  It’s not really my style and more of a thing best left for dudes to say.  I still don’t know why I hurled it out)

Hoop says, “Um.”

Feeling so confident and funny, I continue my hilarious banter and go on to say, “Ya, you know, the one in the yellow dress, the drunk girl who you were hula hooping with that kept flashing her underwear for the world to see?!”

(Pause)

(Pause)

(Pause)

I don’t understand how on earth he doesn’t remember who I am talking about.

Oh, he remembers.  

He says while pointing at Jo, “Well…this is pretty awkward because the girl you are talking about….um….that is his sister.”

I know my face turned a bright shade of red.  There is really no saving this.

Jo says curiously, “I kept thinking… I think my sister was the only one at the bar last night wearing a yellow dress?”

I bury my head in his chest and find myself completely speechless for….the first time EVER. 

I mean what do you say?  “I am sorry I called your sister is ho-bag”?  Ya, probably not.

Dingle What?

I walk into the kitchen at work.  A colleague is already there making coffee.  We have one of those Keurig single serve coffee makers.

He says, “You won’t believe what I just did!”

I say, “What?”

“I made a cup of coffee and forgot to put the cup underneath it.  Coffee spilled everywhere.”

I laugh.

He follows it up with, “I am such a dingle berry.”

“Excuse me.”

He repeats, “A dingle berry.”

Yep!  Thought I heard him right the first time, but asked again to clarify.  Not only did he use the term dingle berry, but he used it referring to himself!  I am almost 100% positive that he meant to say, “dingbat.”  The look on his face when he said it the second time made me realize he knew something was not quite right with what he had said, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.  It was too uncomfortable to correct him, so we both finished making our coffee without another word.  I hope he didn't go google it from his work computer! 

Men in Black

I am at work.  I am walking down the hallway and pass by two men I work with.  They are both wearing black shoes, black pants, black belts, and a black shirt.  Since I can’t stand silence, I decide to comment on this similarity, “Well, look, it’s the two black guys” while pointing both fingers at them.  Like the valet at the Ritz, I am getting blank stares back.  It finally clicks what I have said.  Are you ready for it?  These two men happen to be the only two black people that work at my company.  Let the backstroke begin!  “Oh, I meant, um, your outfits.  You both have all black on, see.”  Thankfully, one of them jokingly says, “Whatever Lolo, you were talking about our race” and laughs.  I proceed to nervously laugh too loud and too long at his joke and quickly walk away.

Chullet

I am walking back to my desk at work and see a crowd around a colleague’s computer.  I elbow my way in to see what all the fuss is about.  They are all giggling and saying, “Look at his son!” 

I see the picture that is pulled up on his screen and say, “Omigosh!  You gave your kid a mullet!” 

The colleague looks up to me a little defeated and says, “No, Lolo, he lost his two front teeth!”

There is absolutely no saving myself now, so I say, “Oh, how cute!” I proceed to ask a thousand questions about his son in hopes he will forget my original statement.  No such luck.

To celebrate my awkward moment, I found this post on Now Thats Nifty with a series of chullet (child mullet) pics....here is a sneek peek.

Red Heads

Sticking my foot in my mouth is one of my favorite past times.  Not really, but it happens WAY too often.

I am at a wedding that is basically a 5-year reunion for all of my college friends...some I see often, some not so often.  Well, one of the "not so oftens" and I are talking.  (Disclaimer:  I am about three drinks in and have a pretty good buzz kicking).  My memory completely fails me.  All I can remember about her from college is that she has red hair and her, then, boyfriend has red hair.  What decide to come flying out of my mouth?  "How is your fire-crotch boyfriend?"  SERIOUSLY!  I felt like Lindsay Lohan on Mean Girls experiencing a horrible case of word vomit. 

Let me tell you...This is not some inside joke between us,. I have never mentioned anything to her about her or her boyfriend's fire crotch before.  My comment is 100% completely random.   She is not the least bit entertained.  "Um, he's fine" and walks off.  I don't blame her.  I crawled into my hole the rest of the night. Not really, I am so used to the regretful feeling after such encounters, I have learned how to quickly recover and be the first one on the dance floor.

Chalk that up to another person fallen victim to my word vomit.

Gas-O-LINE

I am heading to happy hour after work and realize I desperately needed gas.  I drive to the gas station closest to my office (it happens to be the most expensive in Dallas, but whatev, too much energy to drive down to the next one).  When my tank was full, I pull out the pump and the gas is still going, proceeding to spray ALL over me.  Typical. 

Oh well!  To happy hour I go…nothing like showing up to the Ritz Carlton for happy hour smelling like a gas tank.  As I am pulling up, I realize I need to let the valet know why my car smells of gasoline so he won’t think my car is broken.  The Ritz knows what they are doing as far as customer service goes.  Five pretty attractive guys lined up ready for valet action are waiting for me.  My door is promptly opened.  I step out in my cutest pumps.  I scrunch up my nose with an embarrassed look on my face and as a serious as a heart attack say, “It smells really bad of gas in there” while waving my hand in front of my nose.  It takes me a second to realize what I have said.  Their look of shock and not quickly jumping into the driver seat clue me in.  “Gas-O-LINE” I belt out and quickly scurry inside and order the stiffest martini on the menu!

Yes, yes, the adventures of Lolo!  They will be new for you, but we have been living with them our entire life.