April 25, 2013 by kmwelden
Well, based on the recommendation of—I don’t know—ten thousand of my closest friends (okay, maybe not ten thousand. Maybe ten. Still too many? Eight? Ok, Five. I have five friends; thanks for rubbing that in), I’ve finally begun watching MTV’s Awkward. Normally, I’m not one to watch MTV except for that one season I got addicted to the Real World… and the weekends they have Laguna Beach marathons… and at 2 AM when True Life: I Have a Fetish is the only thing on that isn’t an infomercial. Okay, so maybe I watch MTV more than I’d like to admit. Sue me.
Anyway, if you haven’t seen it, the main character is this girl, Jenna, whose high school life gets a lot more awkward after “an accident is misconstrued as a suicide attempt.” Those words in quotes are from Wikipedia. I didn’t know how to say it clearer myself, and four years of undergrad have made me woefully wary of plagiarism. It bleeds into other aspects of your life, people. So Jenna is always getting herself into these super uncomfortable situations that normally, as a viewer, I would never watch, because I hate watching stuff that makes me cringe. I get enough of that in my real life. But this show is witty, well-written, and laugh out loud funny, so I’m making an exception.
One of the main reasons that people have recommended this show to me is because- in case you haven’t figured it out yet- I am horribly awkward myself. It is a true gift: one that gives my friends an unlimited supply of laughter. In fact, while I was writing this post I texted some of them asking about my “most awkward moments,” and I was overwhelmed with their responses. I literally did not know they could type that fast.
I think it’s just good sense to laugh at yourself. Personally, if I didn’t, I would spend a lot of time crying over the stupid shit I do. So I’ll get the group started and share with all of you, my faithful readers, some of my own awkward moments. Feel free to laugh at my misfortune. I promise that I’ve already beat you to it.
- My favorite bar in Murrells Inlet is called Hot Fish Club. It’s this outdoor gazebo-type structure, so there are benches all the way around, but no walls. Once, I was sitting on the railing, just kicking back and having a normal conversation with my homies (I don’t know why I just said homies, but I’m not going to change it now). We are mid-conversation when I manage to fall backwards out of it. From what I understand, my friends looked away for a split second and looked back, only to find me completely missing from my seat. It was about a six foot drop to the ground, and I landed squarely on my back. It was unbelievably painful, but I was so embarrassed (and maybe a little inebriated?) that I jumped up immediately and without looking back, sprinted to the parking lot, where I laid flat on my back on the ground behind a random car so no one could see me. I laid there until one of my friends came to find me, flat on my back and in excruciating pain. I had back pain for MONTHS until I finally went to see the chiropractor. That was a fun injury to explain.
- I am a chronic Facebook stalker. This isn’t awkward in itself; if someone tells you that they don’t stalk people on the Internet— run. That person is a liar. What is awkward is when the object of your stalking sees you being a complete creep. In my days as a Writing Lab consultant, I have had millions of awkward encounters with strangers. I have made it an art form. Once, a nice looking young man came in with an Art History paper. I was his consultant, and the entire consult I was so enamored with him. This guy was so nice and so good looking and so smart, that obviously I couldn’t resist not figuring out every detail of his life. So right after he left, I plucked his whole name from our files and found his Facebook page. I was probably about six months into his life (picture wise), when I hear a noise behind me. I turn around, and of-effing-COURSE, he forgot something in the lab, and here I am blatantly looking at pictures of him. He looked at the computer, looked at me, and then looked at the computer again, as I frantically tried to close the tab that basically shouted “This girl is a nutcase! RUN!” on the slowest moving computer in the universe. I turned red, gave him whatever it is that he had left and promptly put my head in an oven. No surprises here: I never saw him again. The upside: I didn’t get fired for violations of privacy or what not. Also: I’m not sure what possessed me to do it, but for some reason I found that an appropriate story to share at a writing lab staff meeting on “Difficult Consolations ” That went over really, really well. There’s no faster way to make people feel uncomfortable than by telling a story in a professional setting that is A) unprofessional B) borderline illegal C) makes the teller look really, really weird. There were no sympathy chuckles.
- Over the holidays, I went to see Les Miserables, along with roughly 80% of the rest of the world, apparently. We got there late and the theater was packed, so we ended up sitting in the third row. The third row is only okay if you’re under the age of thirteen or if you have a condition where it behooves you to sit with your neck cranked towards the sky. Regardless, I was not feeling the third-row Anne Hathaway performance, and I felt kind of sick the whole time. When we were leaving the movie and all of the old women were dabbing their eyes (RIP Jean Valjean), I was overcome with the sudden and immediate urge to vomit. Sometime after the age of middle school, I think people learn how to control their heaving, but I guess I never got that lesson (I feel like that’s a constant theme in my life—where was I when _______ was taught?!). I was standing still, waiting for the huge crowd of old ladies to pick up the pace, when I blew chunks. It wasn’t a dainty barf, like my dear friend Katherine is so famous for. It was projectile vomit. I aimed for the wall, but I am sure there were casualties. My sister saw the scenario play out, and being the Superwoman she is, she grabbed a hand (the other hand was holding vomit that I was trying to stop from getting everywhere… a futile effort) and charged me through the crowd of elderly people and into the fresh air, where I proceeded to continue to throw up by the dumpsters while the rest of my Les Mis compadres filed out behind me, looking quite judgy, if you ask me. Though I suppose it’s only natural to be judged when you’re covered in popcorn-vom.
There are so many other things I could say (the time I stopped every Indian man in Clemson to take a picture with me and made an Aziz Ansari collage… the time a pastor showed up at my door and I had no choice but to answer it in a towel… the time I wiped out in front of an entire tour group of old women…), but I think you get the picture. I do a lot of embarrassing things.
Moral of the story: don’t ever be weirded out about laughing at yourself. That just makes you the weird one. But if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go bask in other people’s awkwardness for a little bit. MTV.com it is.