Tag Archives: life fails

You Have Some Toilet Paper Stuck to Your Shoe…

*This would’ve been posted a week ago if I wasn’t such an asshole, or if I didn’t discover the “watch pilots early” function on Xfinity online, or if I didn’t have a job where accidentally locking a key inside the drawer it unlocks thrusts you into an awkward and only REMOTELY warranted category of “the girl who does mindlessly stupid things like locks keys in drawers.”


..Such as the moment when this person realizes they used the wrong form of you’re

I’m on of those people that is über in tuned to everyday social awkwardness — like it’s painful for me to watch two newly acquainted people in mid conversation because I can tell that one of them is slowly running out of things to say and their darting eyes are saying it way too loudly. If I’m talking to a coworker and she starts touching her face, I’ll immediately start mirroring the action as if her body is subconsciously telling me I have shit on my face. I’d rather look stupid wiping my face for no reason than look stupid with shit on my face and the inability to take a hint.

Before I leave the bathroom, I check three times to make sure there is no toilet paper stuck to my shoes, or making a train out of my skirt — not only because of how embarrassed I’d be, I’m taking into account here the painful 3rd party embarrassment of every one that would see me, frozen in indecision, unable to expose my mistake for fear of having to watch my reaction. I’d rather walk across the bathroom three times, staring at my back side to the glares of incoming females, then deal with that horror.

Then there’s dress code. Most of my day at work is spent watching people walk away to their desk. Yes, if there was a hidden camera filming me every day it would look like a documentary about the judgmental, sex crazed, stalker nature of the Millennial female receptionist. I just can’t stop watching people walk away — I need to study the “heel walk” more closely while stockpiling more outfit ideas. Plus I know everyone stares at me in the break room when I stand on the step ladder in my pencil skirt to stock up the coffees. It’s a classy balance.

toilet-paper-shoeWith this said, I want to bring attention to the giant piece of toilet paper that was trailing from my shoe after my last post. It was a typical post about my hilarious existence, immaculately edited with silly pictures for good measure. I’ve been doing this thing recently after my posts where I try not to act like I’m Tom Hanks in Cast Away and my notifications icon is Wilson. It was going well until I realized I hadn’t heard any alerts from my phone, like AT ALL. I reasoned with myself, well you posted kind of late, idiot and this is what happens when you get a job and forget about your real friends. Then I looked at the post. YOU GUYS. It was a half a sentence long: “I don’t go out much but when I do” is what it said. Granted, that was the opening to my post but that was ALL it was, the first half of the opening sentence. Immediately, I started crying like I did when my mom would forget to call the house I was sleeping over and pretend I had to come home for something.

It was on facebook and twitter! I would be exposed for the tehchophobe I really am. Technology hated me. The girl who trained me in my current job, and who has since had to explain to me thirty times how to set up a video conference, can really testify to this. For an hour, while I sat patiently pretending not to wait for new WordPress notifications, my awkwardness was on display for the ten people that read my blog world to see. I started swearing at Tengo to the point where I convinced myself he was behind the whole thing because I hadn’t walked him that day.

tp stridersAND YOU ALL. Where’s the solidarity? Where’s the “hey, looks like you have some toilet paper hanging out of your pants, Aly.” For a whole HOUR I had a post out there that was a half a line long — and people were reading it and then quickly moseying along to the next  properly posted blog entry written by someone whom technology doesn’t hold a grudge against. I hadn’t been that embarrassed since 8th grade when my mom decided to come to school during gym to tell my boyfriend to stay away from me and that he was “a real creepy kid.”

Thankfully, by the power of some technological feature that saves previous drafts of your post, I was able to salvage most of what I had written. (Yes, I see that technology ended up saving my ass in the end but no, I will not apologize to it.) You didn’t have another copy somewhere, you ask? No, that’d be what the PREPARED person does, the person who doesn’t just make To-Do lists to cross things out, the person who remembers to use a calendar to remember the things she has to do in the future. I am not that person. I am merely a flawed human who occasionally forgets how awkward she is; Mostly because I’m too busy looking at your outfit as you walk away.

Why I Won’t Give You a High Five


I don’t know what it’s like to be a normal healthy person, but if you are, is it possible to stand and walk for 10 hours straight without feeling like a 90 year old woman walking to her own funeral? I’m genuinely curious. Either way, this year’s SXSW was not lacking in all out exhaustion. It also wasn’t lacking in glorious moments of other people’s intoxicated stupidity. My own most recent moment like this took place in London on the way home from Belushi’s near Fulham Broadway. Walking safely is always tricky (right?!) but it’s especially tricky when you’re a 20 year old American lady in London walking back from a bar. So, of course I broke my foot avoiding a crack which if stepped on, would of inevitably led to my mother’s broken back. (Check yourself before judgement is made). The best part about this was I payed absolutely nothing for my monster boot or my doctors consultation. (YES I am a total Commie!) Recently, I told a coworker this story.

“Maybe if you ate your bones would work correctly.”
Apparently, this is how men flirt now.

I assured him I was still chubby when I lived in London so he was stupid and also not allowed to speak to his boss that way. Did I mention how fun it is to be the boss of mostly men? And by men, I mean big boys that sometimes dress in adult clothing. And by adult clothing I mean tshirts with drawings of Lincoln and Washingon playing beer pong with the caption “political party.” (Don’t laugh, you’re better than that).

Either way, we were on our way to see Flaming Lips at Auditorium Shores when I get jumped by a frat guy demanding I give him a high five. I did not give him a high five. Now you’re thinking I am no fun, which, is sometimes true but either way this guy did NOT deserve a high five. (This coming from a girl who, two years prior, during SXSW, was running around 6th Street demanding miserable looking people give me high fives.)

This guy was really a boy so I’ll refer to him as such. He wore tight pants, a collared shirt, and his hair was a blonde, AC Slater throwback type mess. I scowled in the large crowd, waiting to cross and make our way to the venue and SURE I was getting impatient. But do you know what I didn’t do? Run across the street as the cars were still flying by. Unfortunately, homeboy was not as smart. This man-boy ran full speed across the street, succesfully dodging cars until BAM! The man-boy is doing a 360 aerial as the man driving the truck is all like “What the fuck just happened?” Man-boy totally rocked the guy’s side view mirror but by the grace of the drunken gods, man-boy was unfazed and totally spry.

For some reason, I really hated this kid. He could have been killed and that poor driver would’ve spent the rest of his life wondering how he could’ve prevented it. Why do people expect other people to look out for them when they don’t look out for themselves?

I felt a little bad after but as we walked across the street after the accident, the man-boy getting questioned by the cops, I yelled back, “Hey dude! High five!”

The joke was on me though when halfway into Jim James’ set I saw man boy in the 20 person line for a margarita. He was way ahead of me. Of course, the entire time in line I thought of all the cops I had come into contact with from that moment forward, the jerk that gave me a speeding ticket a minute after buying my car, the too excited boy cop who pulled me over for forgetting to turn my back lights on ASAP just to prove to me cops are nice by giving me a warning. I could not believe this little twerp was not only let into the venue but also NOT arrested for stirring up some serious shit. This is the moment where my teacher mode sets in and I’m all like ‘worry about yourself not about everyone else’ which is, of course, the mantra I spew to nosy, unappreciative tattle tellers who think they know it all. So it was time to take my own advice.

I watched manboy purchase his liter tall margarita, most likely with a fake ID, and proceeded to the mosh pit area to find everybody, the same mosh pit where two years prior I was peed on by a guy I would then help beat up. So, I think I’ve grown up in some ways.