Archive | October, 2013

Getting Hands-On At Work

29 Oct

I used to work for someone who told me the secret to success was to roll up your sleeves and be “hands-on” at work.  As with all lessons in life, I learned the hard way that he did not mean that literally.

Before you get all judge-y, let me explain! The woman’s restroom at my office was designed to create “incidents” in the workplace.  The outside door opens into a narrow hallway with nothing but a mirror to the right.  A short distance away is the inner door which opens to the stalls.

Hands On_intro

I admit that I sometimes {cough} spend the 3 strides it takes me to get from the outer door to the inner door staring at myself in the mirror to my right.

{Open outer door, walk toward inner door}

First step:  Check to see if anyone is in hallway.

Second step:  Look at self in mirror; mentally criticizing outfit, hair and makeup choices.

Third step: While still looking at self in mirror, extend arms in preparation to swing open inner door.

Because I was so caught up with my critical self-evaluation in the mirror, I wasn’t really paying attention to whether or not someone was on the other side of the door.  Who cares about such trivial things at a time like this? {whimpering about frizzy hair}.

My hands missed the inner door completely and I fell forward landing firmly on my coworker’s BREASTS.

Hands On_handsy

There was that awful half-second pause before any reaction had set in where we locked eyes and looked down at what was happening.

My coworker let out a surprised squeal and threw her arms up.  I, on the other hand, let out a blood curdling scream and ran spastically backwards until I slammed against the outer door.

Hands on_Notamused

The closer she approached, the more desperate I became in my attempts to avoid her.  I think at one point I may have slapped her hands away as she attempted to comfort me?

I felt trapped in a glass case of emotion; instead I was trapped in this nightmare of a hallway as I stood blocking the exit while she stood equally blocking entry to the stalls.

{As a result of my scare, I now had a desperate need to tinkle – there was no going back out the exit!  Perfectly rational thought whilst in crisis.}

After some awkward shuffling made even more awkward by our attempts not to touch in any way, this mortifying moment ended when she feigned left enabling her to pivot around me toward the door… and freedom.

We never spoke of it again.

We’ve also never made eye contact again.


To Hug or Not To Hug (Your Gynecologist)

21 Oct

It comes as no surprise to my readers that I am a hugger.  I am an awkward hugger at times, yes, but a hugger nonetheless (as evidenced here and here).

Aside from being incredibly awkward 98% of the time, I am also a very loving, caring and loyal person.  As a result, I become emotionally invested in my relationships – ALL manner of relationships.

I have a friend… let’s call her “Elayne”… who thinks it’s weird that I am on such good terms with my gynecologist that at the end of each visit she walks me to the front counter and gives me a farewell hug.

My doctor is just so… awesome! She is a super warm, friendly, motherly figure.  She knows the names of all my friends and ex-boyfriends (not like there are a lot of them to keep track of or anything!).

When I sat on the paper-covered bed sobbing over my last break-up, she let me cry without judgment or making me feel rushed (although I don’t like to admit it, I know she must have other patients).  When I told her my job was stressing me out, she jokingly wrote me a prescription for a new job.  And when I told her I graduated from a Master’s program she jumped off her rolling stool and cheered.

Hug BubbleAwesome, right?

Not to Elayne.

She thinks my post pap hugs are weird.

I’ve tried for years to convince her of the awesomeness of my doctor by calling her after each visit.  And each time Elayne’s response is a variation of “SO awkward!” sometimes followed by her declaration that I am a “Fool!”

I am no fool! I AM A HUGGER!

When I told my doctor that I was moving to another state and would not be coming to her anymore, it was emotional for me.  I had always envisioned her delivering my future illegitimate children.

She wished me well, recommended some physicians in my new city and gave me a big hug!

Upon hearing the news, my bikini waxer also gave me a huge hug and told me she loves me and blew air kisses as I walked out of the salon ::cough:: –  I may have a problem, I see that now

I live by one rule: If you’ve seen my “lady” you get a hug.  All others will be evaluated on a case-by-case basis.

What are your thoughts?


I’m An Awkward Fan

2 Oct

When I meet someone I admire my brain ceases to work and my physical movements become erratic. It’s kind of like a flight or fight response except my physiology only allows me to be awkward.

Admittedly I have this same reaction when I encounter a good looking man. 

Now imagine what happened when I met not one, but TWO of my favorite (and devilishly handsome!) hockey players – Scott Hartnell and Claude Giroux – at a fan meet-and-greet event.

First up was Scott Hartnell.  I waited in line, slowly making my way toward him.  The closer I got, the more panic-stricken I became.  By the time I got up to the front of the line I had forgotten my own name, let alone why I was there.

Scott Hartnell

Scott Hartnell

Hartnell: {Shakes my very sweaty hand} “It’s nice to meet you!”

Me: {>blink, blink< I turn toward camera without a word}

Hartnell: {Turns back toward me, bending down to make direct eye contact and slowly enunciates every word, as if I don’t understand English} “It’s. Very. Nice. To. Meet. You.”

Me: {Intend to say “likewise”, but instead emit a strange meeper sound. Am horrified. Run away}

Now on to the real reason I was there – Claude Giroux.   Granted, the Hartnell disaster encounter did not go well, but I had gotten all that out of my system, right?  From now on I was going to be full on cool.

Then I saw him.

Have you ever seen a grown women fighting off a hysterical fan-girl cry?  It’s not pretty, people.

As I approached Giroux, a woman appeared to my right asking if I had items for him to autograph.  We were allowed 2 items, so I brought a jersey and puck.  I was now 8 feet away from Claude Giroux. It was all too much.  I could not look at him, so I opted to stare at the woman to my right instead.  Sure it was creepy, but it was keeping me from fainting so I kept doing it.  Helloooooo.

Giroux: {Motions me to join him– says something, but I am struck deaf as well as awkward and cannot tell you what he said or if it was even directed to me}

Claude Giroux

Claude Giroux

Me: {Smile, blush & turn toward camera}

Photographer: “You need to get closer to him”

Me: {I’m not even sure how I’ve made it this close, buddy!}

Photographer: “No, closer”

Me: {Scoot in 1 mm}

Photographer: “Come on! Put your arm around him”

Me: {FULL BODY BLUSH!! Oh wow, he’s solid!}

After the photographer snapped the picture, I attempted to run away.  The woman from earlier appeared in front of me and handed me something that vaguely looked like my unsigned jersey and puck.  

Giroux: “Wait! Come back. I can sign those for you.”  {holding up markers to demonstrate he was prepared}

Me: {OH MY GOD HE SPOKE DIRECTLY TO ME!! This is too overwhelming! Attempting to shove aside the woman who is now blocking my exit.  She proves a strong adversary and not-so-gently shoves me back towards Giroux}.

Giroux: “Do you want me to sign on the number?”

Me: “Thanks” {I spoke – PROGRESS!}

Giroux: {Looks confused. Signs on the number.}

Me: “Thanks” {Wiping brow, careful not to sweat on Giroux}

Giroux: “Is there anything else you want me to sign?”

Me:  “Thank you” {look at that! I managed two words this time.}

Giroux: “Really, I don’t mind.”

Me: “Thanks”

Giroux: {Giving me a ‘does-she-speak-English-?’ look similar to Hartnell}

Me: {Red-faced, sweaty and panting slightly, I am gently escorted toward the exit.  Once outside, my knees give and I spend the next few minutes lying in the carpeted hallway while the security guard eyes me cautiously. No matter, I was in a bliss bubble!}

I didn’t make the BEST impression, but who knows? Maybe they enjoyed my awkward charm? Or… maybe not.