Today's Moment of Awkward: My Beautiful Cervix

Going to the gynecologist is pretty much always awkward.  You're in a cold room, in a tiny dressing gown and some woman (preferable, I can't even imagine how awkward it is with a man) is fondling your breasts and poking things into your vag (yeah, I said vag).  But sometimes it's more awkward than usual.

My gynecologist came into the room, asked me the normal questions, then told me to lie down and spread my legs.

Gyno: Sorry, the implement warmer is broken in this room so this is going to be more uncomfortable than usual.  Hahaha.

Umm, maybe it's just me but that doesn't seem funny.  Is this what torture feels like?  I don't want to get too graphic here so let's just say she used the cold implements and it is, as promised, even more uncomfortable than usual.

Gyno:  On the plus side, you have a beautiful cervix.

Me:  I hear that a lot.

This she doesn't find funny.

Me: It's actually been called the Mona Lisa of cervixes.

Gyno:  Please remove your top so I can check your breasts for lumps.

Me: Yes, ma'am.


P.S.  Let's try to ignore the fact that the above picture is from a movie about a girl with teeth in her vagina.

Today's Moment of Awkward: ID Photos Are Bad For a Reason

I hand the bouncer my ID.

Bouncer: Wow, this is a really good picture of you.

Me: Yeah, for an ID photo it's great.

Bouncer: Not just for an ID photo. (He eyes me)  This is a really good picture of you, period.

Me: Ok.  I get it.

Bouncer:  You don't even really look like this.

Me: Thanks.  Thanks a lot.

Life Lesson Learned: I Am Not A Prima Ballerina

I would like to start this out with something that sounds pretty vain: I have a dancers body.  Now let me clarify. I have the body of a dancer who gave up on her dream of dancing at least ten years ago and has since let herself go.  But at one point, probably around age 14, I had a dancer's body.  And to me that means I am secretly a prima ballerina trapped inside the mind of a total klutz.  That is why there were several years where whenever I got bored I would try to give off the vibe that I was a ballerina until someone asked about it.  That sounds super weird, but in reality it was super duper weird.

Freshman year of college we had to help out for a certain amount of hours on Junior and Senior films.  Since I had no technical skills yet this meant that I mostly carried stuff and then stood around.  So I pretended to be a ballerina.  Whenever I was just standing around I would do it in second position.  Sometimes I would put my foot on my leg, kind of like Tree pose in Yoga.  Do ballerinas even do that?  Who knows.  Finally one of the upperclassmen asked me if I was a dancer.

Me: What?  No.  HAHAHA.  Why would you think that?  WHY?

Upperclassman:  Ummmmm....

So when I heard that a ballet style workout class was becoming popular I had to try it.  In LA Cardio Barre is to the 2010s what Jazzersize was to... when was jazzersize?  was it even a real thing?  Anyway...  there was a groupon deal for ten classes, so of course I snatched it up.  Now I can have pretty good posture when I want to but my hand-eye-coordination and ability to remember choreography are nonexistent.  Most people who have taken a Cardio Barre class would say "That's fine Jessie, you don't need really need those skills for Cardio Barre".  To those people I say "You have underestimated my lack of skills".  Even after five classes I was consistently a beat behind everyone when they changed positions.  Still, in my mind at least, I was rocking it.  I was somehow sure the people next to me were like "This girl must have a background in dance."  It turns out they were not.

There was an older lady, probably in her 50s or 60s next to me, and in all reality she probably did have a background in dace.  (Bitch.)  And so throughout the entire class she decided it was her job to teach me what I was doing wrong.  (Bitch.)  Now I'm sure she had the best intentions (bitch) but she came off as a total bitch (bitch).

Old Dancer:  You should straighten your leg more.

Me: (silent hatred)

Old Dancer:  You're arching your back too much.

Me: (silent hatred)

At one point she started touching me and trying to realign my body.  DO NOT TOUCH ME!  YOU ARE NOT THE TEACHER, is what I screamed inside my head.  Outwardly I forced a smile and a seriously passive aggressive "thank you".

After 60 minutes of this class was over and I was ready to kill somebody.  I tried to make a quick getaway without eye contact, but the old dancer foiled that plan.  She tapped me on the shoulder.  I only didn't punch her because she's old and also because I don't know how to punch.

Old Dancer:  I'm sorry if I was being intrusive.

Me:  Yeah, I mean, you're not the teacher, so...

Old Dancer looked PISSED.

Old Dancer:  Well no, but I take this class a lot.

Me: Then why are you still in Beginner?

Old Dancer: (hmph)  I was just trying to help.

Now Old Dancer looks on the verge of tears.  I'm beginning to wish I had punched her instead.  How did I turn into the bad guy here?  What if this is all she has in her life?  Correcting people at Cardio Barre is the only way she can feel superior at something.  And now I've ruined it.

Life lesson learned: I am not a prima ballerina.

Today's Moment of Awkward: Community Service Family Reunion

Two years ago I was sentenced to do two days of community service.  I'm not going to tell you what for (a girl has to have her secrets), but suffice it to say out of all the people I met there I had far and away the shortest sentence.  Most people were serving 30 to 60 days, often for drunk driving.  There was another boy who as a fraternity prank had been commanded to set a palm tree on fire.  When he was caught his fraternity brothers abandoned him and he was expelled from school.  He was pretty bitter about it.  There was a very quiet girl who was serving 300 days, a totally unheard of penalty.  She was the center of a lot of the community service gossip.  What had she possibly done?  I had no beef with her because she helped me pick out a prime trash-picker-upper-thingy, but I can't say I wasn't curious.  Eventually I found out that she had been the get-away-driver in a convenience store robbery.  She was supposed to do jail time but she was pregnant at the time and the baby daddy was the one who planned the robbery, so they let her off with community service after she gave birth.  Let's just say, I don't usually meet people with these sorts of problems.

During this time I also learned a lot about what people litter on the highway.  A shocking amount of it is porn related.  These are just a few of the gems I picked up along the road:

But the most awkward encounter of the day was on the transportation van.  I was seated next to a young Mexican kid who seemed incredibly nervous.  He was staring into his lap with a vengeance.  I asked him if he was okay and he pointed out a man who was about to get on the van.

Nervous Kid: That's my Dad.  I haven't seen him in four years.

Okay, I'm sorry, but WHAT?  That is insane!  This kid and his delinquent dad both have community service on the same day in the same location??  And they were both assigned to same van?  I tried to think of something helpful to add to the situation.  This is what I came up with:

Me:  Oh... wow.

So then of course what happened next but the DAD SAT ON THE OTHER SIDE OF ME.  I was sitting between an estranged father and son AT COMMUNITY SERVICE.

Estranged dad: Miguel, I...

Nervous Kid: Don't.

It took about fifteen minutes for the van to reach our destination.  It was the longest fifteen minutes of my life.  As we picked up trash the estranged father kept trying to get close to his son and the son kept moving on ahead.  But finally, at lunch, the dad bought the son some tacos off the food truck we stopped at and they sat down on the curb to eat together.  As far as I could tell they didn't speak a word, but it seemed like a step in the right direction.  Community service: Bringing Families Together.

P.S.  So... so far the only pictures I've put up have been porn and sex related.  That seems about right.

Today's Moment of Awkward: Lube Overdose

The idea for today's moment of awkward came from my friend Kyla who writes for the blog Once A Month 4 Ladies.  Check it out at: http://onceamonth4ladies.com

I had a roommate in college who... how shall I say this... I was not overly fond of.  I was even more not overly fond of her boyfriend.  There was nothing wrong with him, per se, but he lived in New Jersey and would come into the city on the weekends and the two of them would literally never leave her bed.  They would lay in the dark, all day long, and watch TV.  And smell weird.  They always smelled weird.  I could actually tell when he was around by the smell.  Gross.

This roommate, let's call her Bertha, always had an abundance of lube.  There was a giant bottle on her bedside table, there was another smaller bottle on her desk, another on her dresser and one in the bathroom.  Several months went by before my curiosity got the better of me.  Finally I couldn't take it anymore.

Me: Weird question, but... why do you have so much lube?

Bertha:  I stocked up at Costco.  I just use so much of it.

I'm already sorry I asked, but then again, what did I expect.

Bertha:  Feel free to use some if you need any.

I threw up a little in my mouth at that, but tried not to let it show.

Me:  Oh, um, thanks, but I don't really use lube, so.... I'm good.

Bertha:  Oh, I guess you've never had sex with anyone with as large a penis as my boyfriend has.

Okay, now I should have just let the conversation end there.  I should have swallowed my pride, and my vomit, and gone back to studying or facebooking or I don't know, anything, because even if I was sticking pins under my nails it couldn't have been worse than this conversation.  But for some reason I couldn't.  I couldn't let her imply that her scrawny, stinky boyfriend was more well endowed than anyone I'd dated.

Me:  Umm, I mean my high school boyfriend was six foot six, so...

Bertha:  Well, men aren't always proportional.

Why?  Why is this happening?  Why can't I just stop myself???

Me: Oh he was proportional!  Maybe you just have an abnormally dry vagina.

Did I seriously just say that?  DID I SERIOUSLY JUST INSULTS SOMEONE'S VAGINA??


Yes.  Yes, I did.


Our relationship was never the same after that.  But she put most of the lube away.

Today's Moment of Awkward: Drunk Girl Sandwich

I was at a bar Saturday night and I got in line for the bathroom behind two drunk girls.  Standing in line you were pretty much forced to look at yourself in a giant mirror, and these drunk girls were not happy about it.

Drunk Girl #1: I don't get it.  I looked so good when I left the apartment, but now I look horrible.

Drunk Girl #2: Me too!  Is it the mirror?

Drunk Girl #1: No, I think I got fatter.

Drunk Girl #2: Me too!

They kind of turned towards me, looking for me to add something (What I'm not sure.  Was I supposed to agree that they looked fat, tell them they didn't look fat, or say that I look fat as well?  No idea).  I just shrugged.  The bathroom door opened and Drunk Girl #2 went inside, leaving Drunk Girl #1 with no one to talk to.  But me.

Drunk Girl #1: Okay, I have an idea.  I think I'll look prettier if I take off my lipstick.

She turns to me for an opinion.

Me: ... Okay.

She smears off her lipstick.

Drunk Girl #1: Is this better?

Me:  I... You... Yes?

That's when Drunk Girl #3 joined the line behind me.

Drunk Girl #3: You look great!  I like your ass!  Wait, I probably shouldn't stay that stuff.  But it's true.  Your ass looks amazing in that dress.

Drunk Girl #1: Really?  (On the verge of tears)  Really?!?  That's the nicest thing any one has said to me in a really long time.

Drunk Girl #3: Well it's true.  If I were gay I would totally want to grab your ass.

Drunk Girl #1: That's so sweet!

They are practically making out around me.  Drunk Girl #2 comes out of the bathroom, leaving the door open for Drunk Girl #1.  She ignores it.

Drunk Girl #1:  I feel like I was meant to meet you tonight.  I think this is fate.

WHAT?

Drunk Girl #3: We should totally become best friends.

Me: Umm, the bathroom is open...

Just then a male friend of Drunk Girl #1's comes up to check on her.

Drunk Girl #1: Ben, you have to meet this girl.  She's my new best friend.  She told me my ass looks good in this dress.

Now Drunk Girl #3 is sort of hitting on male friend Ben.

Me:  Bathroom...

Drunk Girl #3:  I am so happy I met you two.  I just sort of believe we're all going to be in each other's lives forever now.

Drunk Girl #1:  I know, I totally agree.

Me: Bathroom's open.  You're up.

Drunk Girl #3: We need to hang out more.

More than just this once, in line for the bathroom?  I subtly inch towards the bathroom, and slide inside.  They don't seem to notice.  I can hear them outside making plans for their life together.  This is my life, I am the awkward filling in a drunk girl sandwich.

Today's Moment of Awkward: Why I'll Never Grow Old

For two years I lived in an elevatorless building on the Upper East Side of Manhattan.  My roommate and I lived on the second floor, but there was an old woman who lived two floors above us.  This woman had three dogs (shit, this sounds like it could be future me) and the saddest life ever.  She was also rather obese, and always seemed to be carrying bags full of canned goods up and down the stairs for no apparent reason.

One New Year's Day my roommate and I were returning from our tradition hung-over bagel run and ran into our elderly neighbor laboriously climbing down the stairs.  She asked about our New Year's Eve and we gave the standard response you give old people about your New Year's Eve plans: "It was fun, just a small group of friends".

Then we asked her about her New Year's Eve and I haven't stopped crying since.

Elderly Neighbor: I wanted to watch the ball drop on TV but there was a problem with my cable.  I was actually on the phone with a man from Time Warner at midnight.

Us:  Oh no!  Aww.  How awful.  Etc. 

Elderly Neighbor:  No, it wasn't that bad.  At least I had someone to talk to on New Year's Eve this year...

Us: Awkward Silence.  Awkward Silence.  AWKWARD SILENCE.  HORRIFIED SOBBING.