Zoeyjane

Well, you know I don’t need that teeshirt back, but might as well share.

Today, as I’m walking out of Pacific Centre with a certain someone who used to blog, I get ready to light up a cigarette. Cuz well, we’ve just left H & M and that place is stah-ress-full. And before I’ve even walked past the coffee shop that is 20 feet from the exit, I light up. Inside a mall. It seriously felt like everyone in the world snapped their heads around to stare daggers in my direction.

Worse than that, though? When I went through my very baggy pants phase in grade nine.

It was the weekend, and my dad was nice enough to give me a ride up to the local library so that I could go and smoke pot borrow some books. He pulled up across the street from the entrance just as a bus pulled up to the intersection behind his truck. I had to dash across the street before the bus passed, since waiting would have taken all of a minute longer. Directly in front of the bus, my pants fell down. And directly behind me was my father, who’d gotten out of his truck so that he could laugh and point. Did I mention that I was a) wearing a thong and b) the bus had to wait for me to bend over and pull up my pants? And that this was directly across the street from my soon-to-be high school?

Yeah, that day sucked.

Zoeyjanes last blog post..On 7pm

rachel

LOL :-) This comment section could very well prove to be the greatest read ever :-)

Let’s see. I have a penchant for skirts and flowy dresses. I love them.
I live in a very windy city.
There is a very high possibility that I just might possibly have flashed my 80 year old neighbor and his pastor as I was putting my kids in the car. The wind might possibly have blown my skirt up around my ears.
I’m just saying.

rachels last blog post..Snickering Doodles for Mouthwatering Monday

Maria

Don’t you love the new collage feature at Picnik? Yeeaahh. You did a good job with it! I have never done anything humiliating in public. I mean, I can’t remember anything, and I’m sure if it was *that* humiliating that I’d remember it you know?

Hmm…

Marias last blog post..The Barometer of My Ever Increasing Filth

Mutha

Hemoglobin Horror:

Ok, I was at U-haul, returning a truck. Must have been eight big old fat men sitting at the counter. I had to give the young guy working there my receipt so that they could check in the truck.

I checked my pockets. Nothing. I went to my car and didn’t find it. Suddenly, I remember where I had put it. It was in my purse, which I had left on the counter. I ran into the store yelling, “I know where it is!” I reached into my purse, saw the pink paper, shouted, “Here it is!” and pulled it out with a flourish.

There, dangling onto the end of it, was a maxi pad, which had somehow gotten stuck to the corner of the receipt.

Ahem. It wasn’t fresh, I had wrapped it in TP, because the rest room didn’t have a trash can and you can’t flush those things.

Can we talk humiliation? They would not touch the receipt.

Muthas last blog post..Good Monday

BusyDad

Just like OHMommy, my front teeth are fake. All 4 of em (kickboxing related). Anyway, that entire process took a couple years because it required the extraction of my loose teeth, the grafting of donor bone (bone from dead people) into the existing area and the insertion of anchors (i.e. screwing anchor bolts into your bone). I had all in all about 5 surgeries related to that process. The first few surgeries went fine. No swelling, no pain afterwards. On the day I went in to insert the anchors, I had a client meeting about 2 hours after the procedure. Since I had no after-effects from the other surgeries, I did not reschedule my client meeting (me giving a status report to about 10 people, all upper management). So I went to the meeting as usual. Halfway into my presentation, I tasted a little blood. Then a little more. Then I saw the looks of horror on all the people’s faces as my mouth went from normal to not only a bloody mess, but a swollen bloody mess. After completing my presentation with lots of iced tea sipping (blood is way easier to swallow when you dilute it) and napkins, I went to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. I literally looked like Homer Simpson (with a bloody mouth). My upper lip area protruded like a caricature. I stayed that way for a good 4 days or so, afraid to leave the house.

BusyDads last blog post..Smart Ad Execs Choose Cartoon Network

Momo Fali

I have so many stories to chose from! I’m a klutz AND I put my foot in my mouth a LOT. Humiliation is my life. I guess I’ll go with the most recent, which is also going to be my next post…

Last week at the beach, my daughter and I were jumping waves when I got slammed by one from behind. I had my sunglasses on top of my head and felt them get ripped off, so I immediately started searching for them. Suddenly, I felt a breeze and looked down to find my halter had come undone and my top was around my waist. I was standing there topless, facing a beach full of people. Happy Labor Day folks!

Audubon Ron

Not interested in the shirt, not interested in your boobs, not interested in telling anyone my most embarrassing comment and having to relive that ALL OVER again. I’m only interested in your head, which is kind of like a boob. Actually, more like a melon – a round juicy gourd fruit with a tough rind and SWEET juicy flesh. cucumis melo lanatus Shaniones.

Hit me, yo!!!

Audubon Rons last blog post..The Conventions, What Does It All Mean?

Natalie

Hmmm, well, I’ve already written about my most embarassing moment on my blog, but here’s a summary (For the record: I’m sure this is not my most embarassing moment, but I tend to block out most things that humiliate me)

I liked a guy that worked at Circle K because he was hot, not because he had goals or a bright future. I wanted him to like me, too and I wanted to show him I was older than I looked (Haha, yeah, that was in my 20′s, now I LOOK my age). ANYWAY. So I decided to go in and buy beer one day so he would have to ask for my ID. I was a student at the time, so I bought the cheapest beer I found.

Him: that will be such and such (dollar amount).
Me: (flirty smile, wink) Aren’t you going to ask for my ID?
Him: You’re buying O’Douls.

That’s the last time I stepped into that Circle K.

And then there was the time I was running across a field in sixth grade in my totally rockin’ 80′s zip up jean skirt (the kind where the zipper is what held it together) and the zipper broke.

Or we could discuss the time I announced something about “what you can do with bananas” to my entire cube farm. Fortunately, most of the details of that are blocked out of my head. All I remember is the laughter and the heat in my cheeks.

Natalies last blog post..Very Random Things

JG

Tease.

Zak

I have two pretty embarrassing moments and unfortunately, they both carry the same theme.

When I was 20, I went to Amsterdam and did such a variety/plethora of drugs I’m sure I damaged my brain. We had been out all night and we couldn’t seem to recall where our room was. We were wandering the streets and I peed my pants in front of a McDonald’s. I mean, like a lot. We finally found our room after the sun came up. I don’t think anyone really noticed, but even though I was out of my gourd I remember being mortified. That is pretty much the only thing I can recall about going to Amsterdam and it is the first thing I think of when someone asks me what Amsterdam is like.

Last summer, when I was huge pregnant with my son, I was at Babies R Us having an epic shopping trip. I had a cart full of baby items and was trying to make a decision about crib sheets. I was crouched down in front of a shelf looking at the different colors and I sneezed and peed all over my Mimi Maternity cargo pants. I peed so much that while I was rushing the hell out of there, the pee was squishing in my ballet flats. I left my entire cart in the sheet aisle. Mortifying.

Zaks last blog post..One Of These Things Is Not Like The Other

One Moms Opinion

I’ll play along, but I’m so not next in getting this t-shirt. Some of those stories were too much. Glad I already drank my coffee today or my laptop would be toast.

1990: A get together with friends shortly before I separated from the military and came back to the states. Party on base at a club. Just a few drinks and hanging out with friends, trouble was I had forgotten to eat first. Noticed what the surrounding crowd was eating and thought the fried chicken sounded good. I had already had two beers on an empty stomach. Ate an order of very greasy chicken and drank another beer or two.

Decided that I needed some air. Hurled all over the place the moment that I got barely into the parking lot and decided to drive my ass home. Problem was that I neglected to grab my friend who I was staying with. His wife had to turn around and go get him and wasn’t happy with me.

One Moms Opinions last blog post..Working women…What is Fair?

Sleep Deprivation Ninja

You can sneeze ectoplasmic residue on my hand anytime. Ninjas are immune.
Now, I’ve got to use my ninja sleuthing skills to find that photo of you… if it’s out there, ninja will find it.

Sleep Deprivation Ninjas last blog post..100 Word Challenge: Fusion

Sleep Deprivation Ninja

well, the awesome picture of you looking totally high is easy to find :)
http://flickr.com/photos/carrisablog/2683512860/

Sleep Deprivation Ninjas last blog post..100 Word Challenge: Fusion

Lori B (mamanuggle)

Oh, embarassing?
Like when I showed up at Thanksgiving dinner at my parents house with pink and blue sdye treaked hair that would not wash out?
You know, dye that penetrated my platinum blonde hair after hours in the mosh pit at the GWAR concert I went to the weekend before?
And the bruises and black eye that covered my body from said concert?
And the fact that I got so hot at dinner that I took off my hoodie to reveal a White Zombie T-shirt that had “Die F**ker Die” emblazoned on the back?
And that my 75 year old grandmother (may she rest in peace) chose that time to read said T-Shirt to my parents and ask what kind of values they had instilled in me?

Or are you referrring to the time when I got so hammered at a company-sponsored event at Pleasure Island in Disney World that I let me collegue and sometimes boyfriend do body shots off my navel in front of 3000 of my nearest and dearest co-workers?

Or perhaps the time my parents found me passed out in a 33 gallon trash can in the halls of my dorm, reeking of Mad Dog and vomit?

Um, yep. All me.
I think I should get the T-shirt just for being me.
And that I lived to tell about it.
Thank God I’m reformed!!!!

Lori B (mamanuggle)s last blog post..Impending Dread – return to work

ms picket to you

PS: i didn’t marry him. or maybe i should say: he didn’t marry me.

ms picket to yous last blog post..Pssst, Are You Sleeping?

Gina

Man – there are so many, it’s hard to narrow it down (I’m always humiliating myself). I guess I’ll go with the one that would only make me laugh at 40, but at 15, I wanted to die. I was running late for the bus and my mom drove mt to the stop, which was at the top of a long hill. It was the middle of winter and the roads were very icy. The bus was getting ready to leave the stop as we were driving up, so my mom started honking her horn and flashing her headlights to get the driver’s attention. Of course, it got everyone else’s attention, too. So with everyone watching me, I got out of the car and started walking to the bus. But then I slipped on the ice. And then I fell. I know, yeah, yeah, we’ve all done that. But then I started sliding. Down the hill. And since the road was so icy, I couldn’t stop. And I slid. And slid. And slid. All the way to the bottom of the hill, near my house. FOUR BLOCKS. Everyone was yelling out the bus windows and then to add insult to injury, my mom got out of the car and was asking if I was alright. And she was in her nightgown. I tried to refuse to go to school that day, but she wasn’t having it. She made me change and drove me to school, all scracthed up and pride hurting. I remember it like it was yesterday.

Ginas last blog post..WTF, Dog??

Jill

I got nothing. I do so many ridiculous, embarassing things in public (like trip and fall or run into things) but I immediately banish them from my brain so they don’t crowd out all the good stuff (like the lyrics to “Talk Dirty To Me” and “Livin La Vida Loca”).

Jills last blog post..What’s in a name?

krissy

Well, you want stories? I’ve got stories. Nevermind the fact that I too entered a contest and had my boobs on showcase. I will link you to mine though. http://firecrackermomma.blogspot.com/2008/06/my-boobies-need-some-love.html

Now, my most humiliating story. Umm…how about being pregnant and visiting my obgyn. I was in my usual get-up; ugly hospital p.j’s and feet in stir-ups waiting to be molested. I had eating mexican food earlier. I had gas. The doctor came in and began his molestation on me. I farted. Loud. And it smelled like hot garbage. The doctor left the room abruptly and I heard him gag. If I didn’t love this doctor I would have never gone back.

Or how about being completly drunk of my ass, standing on a table dancing and singing and well……flashing my twins. And while I was dancing with my girls out, some guy tried to put a dollar in my jeans. The table couldn’t bear the weight and we went down. All the while, my buddahs were exposed. I continued to sing and dance while my friends tried to pull my shirt down. I was drunk….I was young(er), and I was having fun. Know shame for the wild gals.

If you would like more stories….I have more stories. You would never talk to me again. And I once had a kid blow snot into the back of my head. A green booger hanging from my hair. All the kids laughed. I was shamed.

Okay, I gotta stop. Hope you consider me Lady!

krissys last blog post..The Moment I lost my brains…..

tenakim

I am so sad for all of these people! And I saw your boobs (or at least your hands covering your actual boobs)- I thought you were very brave- you’re my hero. I was “ashamed” for having sent in a picture of my rack for that same contest (was very proud that I came in third, though!)- if my husband knew- he’d die!

tenakims last blog post..Not so Great Party Update!

rebecca

Oh, so many stories! I feel like I’m in HS again. Of course I was virginal in HS, so my story is took place during college.

I had a friend who started an “alternative” university-wide paper. It was the 80s and the word “alternative” was hot and it hadn’t yet become the thing to release a sex tape. So anyway, she had this bit where she sent people on a date and then interviewed them. The interviews were sexually charged to the point where you thought you might get preggo just reading one. Making fun of her one day, I drafted my own farcical responses. She thought it was hilarious because I used to be like that – funny. So, she published it and overnight I was the campus slut who had sex with her boyfriend as he drove down the highway.

Well, that was embarrassing, but I thought if I didn’t make a big deal of it, it would just fade away. No such luck, the next day there was an editorial in the legit paper asking, “Who is this person who would a) be such a slutty slut and b) put drivers at risk?” Uh, that would be me. An editorial page discussion of my need for a chastity belt and driver’s ed classes then ensued. And did I mention, I was a journalism student and had to work with these people? The worst part is that I’m a total prude!

So, it’s not like this was an anonymous band-aid horrific experience. It wasn’t over in a quick painful flash but lasted days in the collective mindset. Also, it’s not like it happened around some faceless strangers. This was published around my home town. One of my husbands friends has “archived” the events.

I married that boyfriend because telling my kids their mother is a slutty risk taking slut would be eased with the knowledge that I’m only that way with their father. Of course, that may turn out to be my kids’ most embarrassing moment.

rebeccas last blog post..Glue Batik with Family

Secret Agent Mama

Our Wedding Night:

“We wanted to thank you for coming and sharing in our special day,” I muttered up on the stage, “But, we have to go now. We’ve got a flight to catch very early this morning,” I said up on the stage as Michael and I said our goodbyes to our guests.

Everyone laughed and hissed. I even heard some ‘sures’ and ‘yeah rights’. We really did, though. We had an early flight to catch to New Orleans. We’d planned to have half of our Honeymoon in the French Quarter and the other half out at Michael’s parents’ house. We knew we’d probably not see them for a while, so we decided to take the opportunity. Plus, we’d be able to take a swamp tour and do other stuff like that.

We got off the stage and proceeded to the rented Lincoln Townecar. My father said he’d take us home to our apartment. We still had to open envelopes, count our monetary gifts, and decide how much we were going to take with us. For a moment we were going to make love on top of all the cash like Demi Moore and Woody Harrelson did in “Indecent Proposal”, but we were too tired to even consummate our marriage. It wasn’t like we hadn’t pre-consummated it, though. Many times over, daily, nightly, in tents, in gazebos, at my work, in a computer lab, in my parents pool….many times, many places! We were good until New Orleans.

The time we spent in the Quarter was awesome. We drank a lot, ate a lot, had a lot of consummations-of-marriage, and just enjoyed our days there. There was only so much to do, so we were happy to get in the rental car and head over Lake Pontchartrain to Michael’s parent’s house.

******

One morning, towards the end of our stay, we decided that we would go to this little place called “Raggs” for the best po’boys around. I was so excited as I’d heard so much about this place. We’d also planned to take our swamp tour that day. We’d eat lunch first and then go to the tour. Michael, always being prompt, made sure we had enough time to get to the sandwich shop, eat, and then drive out to the swamp tour.

Lunch as I can recall was fantastic! The shrimp were fried perfectly, the french bread was toasted to perfection and the mix of hot sauce and mayonnaise was delectable. Po’boys are one of my favorite foods because of this experience, but I digress. After eating, we set off.

Unfortunately, on the way, we encountered an accident. It was right in front of us and Michael quickly ran up to see that everyone was okay. Then we had to hang around for the police report since we were witnesses. We were sure that our swamp tour would leave without us. Finally we were able to set off again. We made it with only a minute to spare.

The swamp tour was a lot of fun. The guide was informative and funny. We even got to see some swamp gators. It was a perfect ending to our honeymoon. We were out, in nature, enjoying the sights, sounds, and smells of the wetland. After we were done we talked with the guide and other tourists some more, and then we were on our way again.

On the long ride home is when it happened; something that I shouldn’t even be speaking or typing about, really. It’s probably the single mostunpropitious event in the ‘history of me’. It’s one thing that, if I die first, Michael will recall in my eulogy.

There was a gurgle. I began to sweat. My bowels were clenching. I could feel the proverbial turtle peaking out of the shell. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore, “Michael! You. Have. To. Stop. Somewhere!”

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I have to poop,” I moaned.

“Seriously, right now? Why didn’t you go at the tour place?” he questioned.

“I didn’t have to,” I retorted.

“Come on, Mishelle! There’s no place to stop. If you haven’t noticed, we’re in a fucking swamp!” he chuckled.

I’ll never forget the look on his face. It made me mad. I had to evacuate my bowels and all he could do was look at me with a comical grin? I was about to shit my pants and all he could do was question why I didn’t do it at the tour place? This was grounds for divorce, wasn’t it?

“STOP THE FUCKING CAR!” I screamed.

He pulled over with diligence. I scanned the backseat, spotted and picked up a random towel, opened the door, and in one huge leap I was down in the swamp ditch with my jean shorts around my ankles, relieving myself. I didn’t care that I could be attacked by a gator. I didn’t care that there could be any poisonous plants. I didn’t care that a snake might bite me. I just didn’t care about anything, other than pooping, at that very moment. I dumped, I wiped, and I left the nasty towel. I wiped my brow and my upper lip, both of which were sweat drenched. When I looked at Michael, once I got back into the car, I saw this look of sheer, utter amusement on his face.

“Shut! Up! And, I swear Michael, if you tell ANYONE about this, I will divorce you,” I quipped confindently.

We drove back to the house in silence. He’d try to joke about it and I stopped him with a direct, “Shut the fuck up!”

I did manage to remind him (rather threaten) to not recant the story. I was serious. I didn’t want anyone hearing this humiliating tale. Doing what I did, in front of my new husband, was bad enough. If anyone knew I’d surely be forced into living the rest of my days as a hermit.

We got into the house and heard rustling in his parents’ bedroom. His mom was home from work early. She had a massive headache but still had a pile of work, so she’d taken the rest of the afternoon to work from home, from bed. We sat with her, in her room, and told her about the eventful day we’d had. I looked at Michael a few times with a stern look, reminding him of my threat, and I was sure that he was scared straight.

“Well, Mom, we’re gonna go get changed and lie down for a few,” Michael stated.

We kissed her on the cheek and proceeded to leave the room.

“Oh, but Mom, really quick,” he said. “Guess what Mishelle did today?” he asked. And before she could even reply he said, in what sounded like slow motion to me, “Sssshhhhhheeeeee shhhhhiiiiitttt iiiiiinnnnnn aaaaaaa ddddiiiiitttttcccccchhhhhh!”

Oh My God. He did it. He told her. How could he? I quickly punched his arm and felt my face grow red.

My mother-in-law giggled a little and said in her southern drawl, “That’s awright, gurl. I shit in a ditch, too, when I was on my honeymoon with Mr. Mike.”

Lucky for my new husband that she made me feel better by telling me her story. When we got to our room I warned him that telling Mom was enough. No more souls would know this sordid saga.

******

Our honeymoon was over and my parents were picking us up from the airport. We had waited a while for them to get us because our flight came in just as a Bill’s game had let out, and there was crazy traffic on the interstate. Finally, they got there and we loaded our bags into their trunk. We piled into the back seat.

“How was it?” my father asked.

Michael quickly said, “It was so much fun! And, guess what? Mishelle shit in a ditch!”

Laughter filled the car. Except for me. I sat in disbelief.

“It’s ok, Mishi,” my mom said, “I shit in a ditch in Germany after I married your father!”

A peace filled me. I smiled. I’d made family history, and some day my daughter and daughters-in-law will make family history, too. Lucky for Michael that both our mothers shared this with me, or I’d probably be telling you a story about me and some guy named Tim, Jim, Bob or John.

Shit happens!

The End.

Ree

The most humiliating thing I’ve ever done in public? Um… emailed my boss offering sex in every room of the house thinking I was emailing my husband??? Does that count?

Rees last blog post..Maid of Honor – Past in Polaroids 5

Collette

I am too late? Okay, even if I am, I will give you the short of it anyway. It was my 21st birthday and my husband had pumped way tooooo much tequila into my tiny little body. It was much tinier then than it is now so I couldn’t drink nearly as much booze. So, we are at this bar I used to bartend at and I got, um, a little frisky. I took hubby into a back hallway which led upstairs to the upstairs bar. I knew it was closed on Sundays so we snuck up and started to, well, you know what we did. We were on the table, pants around our ankles and the bartender walked up to get something. He told us to put our clothes on and kicked us out. It sucked. Just 9 short months later our daughter was born. Yup, concieved on a table at a bar.

Up until then my most humiliating moment was in 8th grade when I was reading the homework answers out loud. The answer had the work organism in it and I accidentally said orgasm. It was horrible. I was so shy and I didn’t want to go back to that class.

I guess I lost a bit of the shyness between 8th grade and my 21st birthday, huh.

Collettes last blog post..2,920 Days