requisite awful moments

over coffee this morning i read the following article on oprah.com by leigh newman: "the 5 heartaches everyone needs to have only once."  you can click to read the article here.

after having read through these 5 moments, i have determined that while we may only need to have each example only once, i have had countless opportunities to experience these suckers.  if i had to guess, i'd say that several of them are burning memories (more than once) in your past as well.

you know.  the "f my life" and "ohmygoodnessiwanttodie" situations in which hiding in the bathroom, under your covers, or in a hefty glass of wine will only get you so far. 

i have re-worked the 5 "heartache" moments in more general terms below, and included examples of my own moments of shame and shittiness. 

hopefully you'll get a chuckle.  thinking back, the only way i survived is through an ability to heartily laugh at myself and my past idiocy.  and the understanding that, while situations such as these are bound to happen again, eventually, yes - we will laugh about it later.

here you go:

Situation 1: you loved them, they did Not love you back.

amy's experience - oh, the horror.  the heartache.  the crying-into-your-pillow nights and the endless, repeated analysis you put your friends through...when what they really want to say is, "he's just not that into you."  there doesn't have to be a reason they're not into you - be it a friend, a man, etc.  sometimes what you think is "incredible chemistry" is actually incredible, one-sided attraction.  and you're that one side.  it sucks.

i once loved (or was it obsession?) a man who, without a doubt, did not feel the same way about me.  i essentially prostrated myself before him, to the dismay and shock of my friends, and turned myself into the unsolicited mat upon which he could tread.  he doesn't call me? doesn't treat me like a lady?  treats me like arm candy that is easily disposed of and traded for the next pretty item of momentary interest?  i made up excuses.  i knew that, once given enough opportunity, surely he would see that we were destined to be together.  that our "chemistry" was so strong, it was undeniable that whatever momentary hurdles might stand in our way (timing, stress, diarrhea...whatever), it was crystal clear that i was the only woman for him.

(buzzer sounds)  yeah...wrong!  i humiliated myself, to him and others, and appeared more than desperate to attain a love that would never be returned.  it sucks.  we all do it, at some point in time.  it hurts.  sometimes physically.  and we remember it.  hopefully, this learning experience helps us to avoid future blindness in one-sided affection in the future.  sometimes...it takes several tries.  eh.  we'll get it right some day. 

Situation 2: you let an opportunity pass you by and seriously regretted it

amy's experience - i was studying abroad, 21 years old, traveling around nicaragua with some of my girlfriends.  we had landed on my favorite place in the world - ometepe, a little island in the middle of the freshwater lake nicaragua.  it.was.stunning.  we were staying in a remote hostel, one which could only be reached by a massive suv, and after checking into our open-air room decided to join the other visitors in the communal dinner, included in our super cheap rate. 

and that's where i met him.  i don't even remember his name.  he was from canada, he was handsome, and i had an immediate attraction.  he sat beside me, we talked, and we made a plan to kayak together in the wee hours of the morning before i was leaving for another nicaraguan city with my girlfriends.

the next morning i woke up, full of anticipation and worry that he just might stand me up.  i had nothing to fear.  there he stood, handsome and tanned, waiting beside two kayaks with a cup of coffee waiting for me. 

we took off, slowly paddling alongside one another with easy conversation.  we paddled around a tiny island about a hundred yards out, and then stopped to lay back and just float as we watched the sun rise.  it felt like magic.  there was definite chemistry.

we paddled on back, sat by the water, held hands and talked about how we could get in touch later.  in a rush, and per his request, i quickly told him what city we'd be in and where we could meet - time, place, etc.  a fool, i gave him no other contact information (email, phone, etc.).  and then, with my friends, i took off for mainland nicaragua. 

i was floating.  i was so excited.  and then plans changed.  i had the option of standing my ground, ensuring that i arrived at the proposed meeting spot, or going with the flow to appease my friends.  i chose the latter.  and i never saw him again.

i am twenty seven now, and still think about that guy.  the mystery canadian, the handsome kayaking partner, who (for all i know) was left waiting around while i never showed up.  i still kick myself for what could have turned into an exciting, romantic, if fleeting experience.

but i learned from it.  i came back from study abroad and started taking chances.  that's how i met my current boyfriend.  after one missed opportunity after we first met (never said i was perfect), the second time around i made sure that he knew exactly how to get in touch.  we've been together more than three years now.  i am so thankful i went out on a limb.  and still kicking myself for letting the canadian get away.

Situation 3: you didn't do your homework

amy's experience - this has happened too many times to count.  especially in college.  showing up in class, or in lab, getting put on the spot only to give a dumb "uh...uh..." clearly bullshit response.  it has happened in my professional life.  submitting proposals i thought looked spot-on, only to realize later i had not read and researched the full extent of the prospective clients need.  it's humiliating.  makes you feel incompotent.  and, for a while at least, teaches you to get your shit in order before you may be put on the spot.

Situation 4: you looked like a disaster in public (humiliation!)

amy's experience - i am sure this has happened to me more often than i am aware, but the one situation that really stands out in my mind happened to me last summer.  in an effort to look my best prior to seeing friends, i went to get my already short hair-cut trimmed and perfected.  and i was in a rush.  my stylist not available?  give me the novice!  my hair would work itself out, and look just as i hoped it would regardless...right?  yeah, no ma'am.

i came back home in a shameful sulk.  i knew it looked bad, but was hoping it would pass by the notice of others.  i tested it on my loving boyfriend.  "ha, ha...don't worry, it's not THAT bad...my little mushroom head."  fuck.  the chick gave me a bowl-cut, for goodness sakes!

so i went back.  immediately.  to the salon, requesting a do-over.  what did that require?  more inches off.  shorter and shorter, until i had less of a bowl cut...and more of a boy cut.  i was horrified.  and had plans to show up to a sporting event with a couple of my beautiful girlfriends and their husbands in less than an hour.

so we went.  and my kind friends assured me that i pulled it off...my "cheekbones really make this cut work."  they were so lovingly lying to me.

even better - we ran into one of my pseudo-exes that night.  it was...spectacular.  horrifyingly so.

the hair grew out.  i learned to master the art of the bobby pin.  but i was humbled.  and now i am slow to judge those who are strong enough to brave the public eye when making a clearly acknowledged styling mistake.  and i never, ever cheat on my hair stylist.

Situation 5: you spoke (callously) without thinking

amy's experience - i wish it weren't true, but this one has happened more times than i can count.  and more times than i would like to (or could possibly) remember.  the times where i fondly compare my dog to a new mother's child.  when i imply that my sister's eventual children may end up obese.  when i told my color-blind boss that, yes, your commentary on this design is un helpful and just plain wrong. 

my current best memory of this has to be from a few weeks ago.  cuddling with my sweet (and sexy) boyfriend, i put my hand on his bum...and then i slapped it.  "hard as a rock, right!?" he joked.  and i responded, "a rock?  yeah, right...it's more like a marshmallow."  *silence....*  "a marshmallow?" ...i knew i said something wrong.  deep down, i know that one should never compare someone elses backside...or most body parts...to a marshmallow.  but i was joking - right? 

yeah...it wasn't funny.

i'd hurt his feelings, and spent the next ten minutes trying to dig myself out of a hole.  only to dig myself deeper.  "well, you know, in this position anyone's bum would feel like a marshmallow...er...you know i love marshmallows.  i love your marshmallow.  would i continually smack it if i didn't love it?  ...er...i'm sorry."

lesson learned?  no more comparing someone's body parts to fluffy food items.  ever.

(***for the record: he has a cute little man bum.  i do love it.  and it does not feel like a marshmallow.)

SO - now it's your turn.  share some of your own requisite awful moments :)  xo - aQ

...and i floss!

it's going to happen again.  they've got me booked.

after years of going to the dentist whenever the spirit moved me (which was definitely not a semi-annual event...), i've been roped in.

i'm due for my 6 month.  today.  2pm. 

and i am terrified.

before you judge me and imagine that i'm just one of those women who never grew up, let me explain.

in my youth, i always had a positive relationship with the dentist chair.  i looked forward to the new tooth brush, to the potential for stickers, to the positive feedback i was sure to get from the assistants and "the man" (or woman).  i did not hesitate to head in the direction of the gritty toothpaste and rubbery tooth-cleanin' machine.

but that was then.

as i have grown older, my teeth have grown weaker.  lamer.  pu$$ies.

what were once "pretty teeth!" with ne'er an issue, are now cavity-prone and worn from nightly teeth grinding.

i blame it on reality tv that permeates my dreams.

...anyway.

the last time i went in for a check-up, it had been over 2 years since my last appointment.  2 years, friends.  and shit, apparently, happens in that period of time.

i had 7 cavities.  i think.  it got to be so many that it was difficult to count.

i just closed my eyes, cursed and tried to visualize happy sex while i was drilled.

it still hurt.  a lot.

you know they use effin' giganto needles to numb your mouth prior to cavity excavation, right? 

it's true.

i don't like 'em in my arm.  i don't like 'em in my hand.  i don't like 'em in my bum and i certainly don't want 'em in my mouth.

fucking.needles.

it's the worst part of the dentist.  and, unfortunately for me, it's an inevitable danger each and every time i sit in that damn chair as an adult.

so let's get something clear.

i floss.  usually.  i brush my teeth with moderate vigor. 

something about this life has created a magnetic force between me and the dreaded sharps.  is it karma?  is it bad joo-joo? 

what have i done to deserve this torture?

but so it is.  and so i come to the office today, pre-dentist, prepared.

75 mini-flossers sit in my desk drawer.  a bottle of listerine total care is standing alongside my laptop.  my toothbrush is at the ready.

like many folks, presumably, i am praying that some hard-core cleaning and disinfecting will hide any potential cavities that exist in my amy mouth. 

but my dentist is tricky.  in a high-tech kinda way.

he's got this mouth camera that actually depicts - in vibrant color - each and every crevice in your mouth in which problematic bacteria/tartar may reside.

so that's where the listerine comes in.  if it works, i am writing a heartfelt letter to johnson&johnson.

cross your fingers, friends.

i'm about to take it to the face.

mean girls

i remembered something important this weekend.  something i ought not to have forgotten, but hadn't been faced with in a quite a while:

mean girls are real.

for real.

bitches.

here's how i know.

over the course of the past few weekends i have been working on addressing an issue i now face.  on my face.  it's called raccoon eyes.

i spend one long day in the sun with sunglasses on my face, and i get this crap.  go figure. 

and so, i have been strategizing.  sans-glasses, i have attempted to allow it to naturally even out.  yeah, apparently the tanned area beneath my eyes likes to just get DARKER.  and so i have recently employed the latest tactic: carefully applying 30 spf with a q-tip to the tanned area beneath my eyes without allowing the sunblock to hit the white part.  it's tricky, but i'm hoping that when done appropriately it will yield the desired results.

we'll see. 

this does play a part in my mean girls story, i promise.

so i'm laying poolside with my toes in the water, sunblock strategically q-tipped on my face, when i hear the chatter (my eyes were closed, but my ears weren't...).  four women, bikini-clad with full-make-up and clearly styled hair, sitting to my right:

"oh.my.god.  i totally couldn't handle her anymore, so i didn't even text her.  if she asks, you did NOT see me today."

"i know, right?  so annoying."

"she's probably out running or riding her bike today.  she needs to.  she has no business being in a bikini yet this summer.  i don't know why her boyfriend is still with her."

"why is that guy even with her?"

"why do we even let her hang out with us?"

(snarky cackles)

"so, i think your guy might come back to the pool today.  you should ask him to help you with your sunscreen..."

"you mean the guy with the girl who was his wife?  yeah.  he was cute.  i hope he comes back."

"you are totally cuter than his wife."

"well, yeah."

(they flip through trash mags)

"oh my god.  i don't see any attractive people here at the pool today.  are we the only ones?  i thought you told me that hot guys lived here?  why are we even here?"

"those guys yesterday were hot.  and if we are the only hot girls, then it totally doesn't matter.  we can get anyone we want.  oh my gosh, you need a pedicure."

"i know, i totally do.  and i'm so fat."

"not as fat as those girls yesterday."

"you're right."

(insert amy thought: is it eavesdropping if they're speaking so loudly that it seems they want to be heard?)

and they blather on and on.  about how they recently got fired but are having their uncle lawyer write something up on his letterhead so that they give her good severance.  about how all of the guys in charleston wanted them when they visited there last weekend.  about how some girl's swimsuit was "so last season."  about the jumping ability of the hot (married) guys yesterday.  etc.

it was almost as if i was listening to a SNL skit in which they make fun of air-headed females with valley girl accents.  because that's what they sounded like. 

now, it's one thing if these girls are in their teens.  a natural time when mean-girl attitudes abound as insecure girls fight to find themselves in the social order of high school and early college.

but these girls were definitely in their late twenties.  definitely.  single chicks, on the prowl, full-on mean-girl attitudes.

what the hell is the point?

they seemed fairly well educated.  they were generally attractive (from what i could see through sneaky half-squinted eyes) but by no means knock-outs.  they clearly have girlfriends to spend time with. 

so why the attitude?

after about 30 minutes of listening to their drivel, i gave up on my task and stood to leave. 

girls go silent.

i threw on the exercise shorts i'd come in, put my hair in a wet ponytail, snagged my book and headed home. 

knowing that they had little else of substance to talk about, i can only imagine what they may have said of me.

"oh.my.god.  look at her face."
i'm working on it...
"her swimsuit is so NOT this season."
target 2010, bitches...
"i can't believe she came alone to the pool.  doesn't she have any friends?"
sometimes a girl just needs a little quiet time...
"she has a fat ass."
yes, i do...at least i have one!

...at least, that's what i imagined in my mind. 

i cannot imagine that those "ladies" (can you even call them that?) left the pool, and each other, feeling a glow of positivity and contentment.  i cannot imagine they left their get together feeling as if they had learned something new & valuable, strengthened a long-term relationship, or helped someone they cared about.

in my mind, i imagine that they looked down on me just as they seemed to look down on most of the other ladies they described in their mindless chatter. 

and i look down on them for that.

at the rate they're going, they may never get the real sense of fulfillment that i get from my ladies nights.  they may never know the treasure that is some quiet "me" time.  they may never learn to love others as they seem to love themselves, and laugh at their own flaws rather than pick on the flaws of others.

am i saying that i'm always innocent of bitch-talkin'?  no way. 

guilty party.  right here.

but i do have boundaries.  strangers ought not be victims. 

and i'm a lady...i do my bitch talkin' in private.

thank you to my girlfriends who provide me with conversations of substance.  who laugh with me rather than at me when i have raccoon eyes.  or crash my face into a wall and get a black eye.  or show up looking like a hot mess.

and to you mean girls: please stop fucking up my airspace.