I Really Want to Make a Kung Fu Fighting Reference In Here Somewhere

Guess who has the most awesome blog readers in the whole wide blogosphere?  I do, that's who.

You guys are really, extraordinarily good at making complete asses of yourselves.  Really, I am in awe.  And I have to give someone that (fast as) Lightening Online t-shirt for making the biggest faux pas (which I will always pronounce as Foe Pahs, thanks to my darling step-mother, who thinks that's really how you say it.  Maybe she should get the shirt.)

In true, blond, Pisces me fashion, I find myself unable to pick a winner, so I'm leaving it up to y'all to decide.  I have narrowed it down to 3 categories, with two entries in each:

In the Menstrual Disaster category:

Mutha, who was asked at the UHaul counter to show her receipt.  (I'll admit, this one's my favorite.)
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.

Special K, who had the quintessential junior high slasher chick nightmare happen to her.
OK In the 6th grade I was the first girl to start her period. It was a horribly heavy non stop thing I finally had to get shots to stop it. They gave me some hospital ones, you know, the ones after you have a baby? Except I didn’t have a baby and I was 11 years old.

The boys in my class found them, stuck scotch tape on the backs of them just to stick them ON THE HALL WALL SPELLING MY FIRST NAME!!!!!!!!

In the Poop category:

DCUrbanDad, who is really lucky she married him later.
Had an unfortunate sharting accident in college whilst trying to impress the ladies in college.

Was actually heading to the library with my now wife for an all night exam cram session.

Had to let one out after a dinner of enchiladas. I thought it was going to be fairly benign but boy was I wrong.

Ended up going commando the rest of the evening and threw my boxers away in the men's room.

Secret Agent Mama, who shit in a ditch once. Seriously.  More noteworthy; On her honeymoon.

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 confidently.

Oh, he told everyone.  EVERYONE.  And as luck would have it, every woman in Secret Agent Mama's entire family has done this on their honeymoon.

In the Just Awesomely Stupid category:

Mrs F, who set out to walk with her newborn baby about a mile to a friends house.
When number one son was a few weeks old, I was running round to a friend’s house for coffee (also new mother). Remember those paranoias you used to have? About forgetting the baby? So, before I left the house I had a little mental checklist: Keys? Yep. Diaper bag? Yep? Baby? Got it. Looked in the hall mirror - Mascara? Wow yes.

Friend greeted me with snorts of laughter and “Think you forgot something?”. Ran through mental checklist….. nope, got everything.

Except clothes. Utterly naked from the waist down. Naturally, I had shoes on.

Matt's is really long, but I can't find a good way to edit it.  He's on a treadmill, at a crowded gym, watching the Waco, Texas stuff going down on the TV, when....
I jerked my attention back as my left foot ran off the left edge of the motorized belt. Immediately my right foot tried to correct from the rapid change in speed and my ankle rolled a bit. My entire body was lurched back and I panicked. Without thinking I grabbed ahold of the little handrail in front of me, but it was too late. I heard a collective gasp from the hundreds of people watching behind me as my body laid itself out, white knuckles gripping the bar, legs and feet outstretched behind me, dragging on the treadmill with toes pointed. My shoes made a deafening “BRAP BRAP BRAP BRAP” sound as they dragged on the treadmill, capturing the attention of the few people who were not watching at this point.

My body gave up and I let go. My chin slammed onto the belt and I was jettisoned back off the machine into a large rack of dumbells with a loud crash. My face flushed and my heart raced as people begin to laugh. In an attempt to salvage what was left of my dignity, I quickly and confidently scrambled to my feet and raced back to the treadmill, jumping onto it with gusto. The belt was still moving at the same speed that it had been when I had fallen off. I realized this a moment too late and begin leaning forward, flailing my arms wildly around in a large windmill pattern, trying to right myself. For some reason, my breath was coming out of me in loud grunts as I was doing this, like “UH, UH, UH, UH!” Another roar of laughter went up from the crowd. Eventually, I stabilized myself and continued to run, the eyes of a thousand laughing faces burning tiny holes into the back of my head.

And now it's up to you.  Vote for your favorite, and the blogger with the top votes on Friday morning needs to send me their address.  Which I will use for evil.  *wink*

(If you're reading this through a reader, I don't think you'll be able to see the awesome poll thingy. Click through to vote.)

I'm Not Wearing Anything Under It, I Swear

So, a long time ago, someone that I know and love had a contest on their blog.  A "show me your boobs so I can send you this t-shirt that's circulating about the world" contest.  Let's just say, I took that a bit too literally.  Yes, one mommy blogger has my tatas slapped all over her family webpage.


But I digress.  The t-shirt made its way here and there and eventually landed in the lap of ZoeyJane.  She had a contest to give it away, and I totally entered that contest, not realizing it was a contest; I just like fill in the blank games is all.

Yep, I am finally in possession of that t-shirt.  No, I am not linking you to the booby shot.

It's the Lightening Online travelling t-shirt, and it's going around as far as we can all get it.  I will mail to to whoever wants it next.  To enter, all you have to do is tell me the most humiliating thing you've done in public in the comments.

Like, say, submitting a picture of your boobs to win a contest for a t-shirt, not winning said contest but still having your booby-shot shown on an insanely popular mom blog anyway.

Or, say, turning around at your desk in the 10th grade to talk to the mega-popular chick who sat behind you, who you had no business making eye-contact with let alone discussing protein synthesis with, and mid-sentence you sneeze, which wouldn't be a big deal if it weren't allergy season, in New England, causing you to sneeze out 2 tons of ectoplasmic residue all over that girls desk, science book, hand for Christ's sake.

Or, something like going to school in 9th grade wearing white pants and realizing in the middle of 2nd period chemistry that you've put your maxi-pad on upside down and just as you suspected, the adhesive strips aren't nearly as absorbent as the padded side is.

Make me feel better about myself before Wednesday, and the t-shirt, she's yours.  Join us, won't you?