Keyboard Confessional #03

I mentioned before in Awkward that I find amusement and humor in a number of odd situations. I went on to detail the sort of situations in which I can be made to feel uncomfortable. In hindsight, I feel that I have wasted an opportunity to become more personal with the few visitors that I have. The purpose of Xalpharis.com has always been an outlet for my opinions and thoughts, but it became quite clear that those which spend any amount of time with these missives prefer to read the autobiographical content. All I can to say to that is… fuck that, I control what is added to Xalpharis.com.

Anyway, as I was saying; there are a number of situations which stand out in my mind when it comes to embarrassment, and I’m willing to share some of them with the audience. Certainly none of the memories in which I do not come across as the heroic sonofabitch that I am, or where I would be made to look stupid. Wait, that would defeat the purpose of this entire exercise. Goddamnit, I suppose that I have no other choices in this matter.

One of the earliest examples of being embarrassed beyond belief happened when I was five, and it likely involved one of the first friends I had ever made outside of my brothers. Having started kindergarten shortly before, I befriended a little girl whose name I do not recall and arranged to speak with her on the telephone one weekend. It seems odd now to consider a five-year-old on the telephone with a lady friend, but it is entirely possible that I was a charming mothatrucka even then. This was not lost on my Uncle Jim, who occupied the attic at that point in time. It was after breakfast, and he (not in an unkind fashion) made a comment as to my girlfriend.

The shit was on, my friends.

To the best of my recollection, I denied it vehemently, but I hadn’t raised my voice at any point. Then my stepfather entered the fray and also started to hassle your humble scribe. My patience wore away faster than sobriety in the Lohan household. Stomping out of the kitchen, I muttered and plotted the ruination of them all. I vowed I would never speak to them again and I would make them pay. How to express my extreme irritation…

I snatched a pair of socks from a laundry basket (the washer and dryer were located off to one side of the kitchen for most of my childhood) and threw that soft, white and near-weightless object like I had a future with the Atlanta Braves. Much like the Atlanta Braves’ perennial chances of success, my projectile footwear was snatched from the air and defeated. I’ll be damned if my uncle didn’t throw the socks right back in my direction.

Despite the six feet of space between the two of us, he missed his target. It is not like he wound up and attempted to throw a .55 MPH fastball, but I was absolutely delighted at his inability to connect. I celebrated, naturally. “You missed me, you missed me, now you got to kiss me!” I sang with a touch of malice in my eyes. I am almost absolutely positive that I did not wag my finger at him, but I would not bet that this was the case for currency.

You know what the sonofabitch did? He kissed me! He darted across the kitchen, snatched my tiny ass up, and planted one right on my fuckin’ cheek. I could take the jabs about having a girlfriend in stride with no damage to my pride, but this was too much. I fled in tears and dove onto the couch. I buried my face into the couch pillow and I trembled with rage and embarrassment. I couldn’t believe he would do that, and I vowed to have revenge.

It would seem that a good time was had by all but yours truly on this particular morning.

I scrambled off the couch and climbed onto the armchair. When he ambled out of the kitchen, I leaped out and I kicked that motherfucker in the face.

Come to think of it, I never did anything about it. Probably for the best, as I did invite it upon myself with both poor behavior and a verbal invitation. Even done with in a taunting fashion without a single moment’s thought as to what it actually meant, I suppose that I did deserve to be embarrassed.

I have yet to utter that particular rhyme since, and that may have been an abject lesson that was best learned sooner rather than later.

(I will still have my revenge. You can bet your sweet ass on that.)