Friday, February 24, 2006

Embarrasing Moments (Undergrad Edition)

So my online storage site is down for three days while they re-launch. The good is that I’ll be upgraded to 15 GB. The bad is that all my shit for today and tomorrow’s post are inaccessible as is all the mp3s on the blog. Saturday things are supposed to be back up and running. We’ll see. To make up for the delay here’s a quick one while we wait.

The most embarrassing things I did while enrolled at Cedarville. Again, these are not in any particular order. I leave that up to you the reader.

I willingly paid money to see a concert featuring Firehouse and Tesla. I know I’ve mentioned this before. What I didn’t admit was that I went to see Firehouse.

This happened.

There was the time I spent a whole day marinating and cooking Lamb shank with homemade chocolate mousse for a date. She was from England and had that accent going on. That's the only reason I can give for going all out the way I did. Turned out she doesn't eat lamb and is allergic to chocolate. She then proceeded to ignore me during for the rest of my life. Teh only time I saw her was when she hooked up with my friends. Yeah, that's not really embarassing, just sad. But, she was British, like she would know what good food was.

I once took a girl on a date to a Michael W. Smith concert. First off, her name was Misty Dawn. Yeah, winner! Second, she instantly broke into waterfall like tears when Mr. Smith hit the first few notes of “Friends.” She cried during the whole song, and long after the song ended. Not knowing what to do, I slowly inched away from her. Then she didn’t say a word during the whole ride back. Ok, the really embarrassing part was me dancing during DC Talk’s “Heavenbound.” H-h-h-heavenbound!

Trying to pull off my own romantic comedy, I carried on the charade of asking a friend for advice about a crush I had. What I didn’t tell her until a month later was that she was the one I had the crush on. Um…yeah…that tactic didn’t work. It was neither romantic nor comedic. Well, it could be funny in that Curb Your Enthusiasm kind of painful way. Wow, I was really lame back then.

Then there’s this:

I know there are some more, but my brain is fried.


Adam said...

I hadn't heard the Claire story. I guess that's not something you broadcast. Oh wait, you just did. :) That is a great story though, at least in a "my most embarrassing moments" context. BTW, she is happily married in Lexington, KY with 3 kids. I think she drives a mustard yellow Ford Maverick named Brad FWIW.

Wasn't the British girl also a Claire? Albeit not the same one? Or is my memory betraying me?

As far as the Misty story, was the embarrassing part her crying or the fact that you went to MWSmith/DC Talk concert? I was confused on that point.

Who was the friend/crush you asked for advice? Can you give me initials? Now I'm curious.

BTW, Eric is coming here to PA to visit next weekend. I think we will probably sit on the porch and sing old Rich Mullins songs. Feel free to join us.

Bradford said...

Adam, I think you're right that the British girl's name was Claire. I think it's a little bit a both being embarrassing with the Misty story, but perhaps more of the actual concert. The friend/crush was none other than, who else, Marnie.

Tim said...

Brad...these are good. Oh, that awful concert story. I like the way you inched away from the girl as she cried. That's you in a nutshell.

Hey, I never got a definitive answer...can I use your duck-running-over story? Or are you saving it for something special? If you let me use it, I promise it will be tasteful, and that you will be given mention in the credits.

Keymaster said... At least you survived.

faith said...

poor emotionally unavailable Brad! :(

I don't know if I could post my painful stories

Bradford said...

I'm completely emotionally available...on weekends. Back then maybe two of those stories were painful, now they're just another goofy story for me to tell.

el lápiz pequeño said...

can i please go out on a date with you ... i've had some really ackward date moments but these are classic and trump every one of mine - besides maybe the hate email i get from a specific one hit wonder.

anyway, if i'm in LA were doing diinner. and maybe a christian concert.

Tim said...'s been days, and yet I still have no answer. May I use your story? May I please use your story? I promise to take good care of it.

Bradford said...

Tim, over a long deliberation I've determined that you can use the story. Since I'm giving you one of my gold standard stories reparations need to be made.

Tim said...

Brad, I promise that I won't let you down.

Now onto those reparations....Can I offer you a story in trade...perhaps the time I drove from Chicago to the Iowa border in the dead of night to attend a wedding the next day.

A college friend had offered to let me stay at her parents' home, people I didn't know in the first place. I got to the house, slipped into the side door behind the garage just like I had been told to do, entered the kitchen, looked around for the note on the fridge telling me which room was mine, and slowly began to wonder if I had the right house.

A wave of fear gripped me and I went back out the way I came. Quietly, I got into my rental car and backed out of the driveway, lights off.

I traced and retraced my steps and came to the conclusion that it had all been in my head: this HAD to be the right house. I drove back, parked, and went around to the front of the house, peering through the windows to see if my friends were playing a joke on me inside. I actually smiled and waved at the darkened windows, in case they were watching me.

No sign of them though, so back into the garage I went, again entering the kitchen. I looked around the kitchen, dimly lit with a fluorescent over the counter top. Just as I was reading over the items on the fridge, searching for any sign of a note, I heard a fierce growling behind me. The figure of a Rottweiler appeared from the black hallway beyond the kitchen.

I froze. Okay, so the Carlson's have a dog. I'll just make nice. But before I could move or say or do anything, I saw a pair of white cotton briefs floating in the hallway past the dog. They were bobbing up and down freely, much like the ghosts in Disney's Haunted Mansion. The briefs came closer, until I was looking at a tanned middle-aged man with a mustache, wearing only the briefs.

"Can I help you?" he said in a rather confrontational tone.

It was at this point that I realized I was definitely in the wrong house. I sensed that running now would only make me look more guilty and put me at risk for a good shotgunning. So I put on my best "Aw shucks, am I ever embarrassed" pose and proceeded to babble about how I was supposed to meet the Carlsons ("The Carlsons live over there!" he pointed) and that I must have gotten the wrong house. I said I was really sorry two or three times and backed through the door to the garage. He closed the door on me without replying and locked it.

And that's when I came perilously close to becoming a statistic.

June 1996.

Yours, Brad...if you like.