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Post by Alexis on Nov 6, 2012 18:00:50 GMT -5
So, I was about six and sharing a bunkbed with my sister for a bit. I was on the top, and of course I was told not to play on the ladder, but being an ignorant six year old, I did. Turns out the bunkbed was conviniently placed next to a dresser, and so when I fell off this ladder, I smacked my eye off the corner. For the next five weeks, I had this ENORMOUS Bruise on my eye. People would ask me what I did, and only laughed about my tale. Being a six year old, It was embarrasing, and it has scarred me for life.
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Post by narubro on Nov 7, 2012 1:24:27 GMT -5
When I was 16, I was hanging out with friends. It was late and I had been drinking caffeine in various forms. A lot of caffeine. Someone said something hilarious, and I started laughing so hysterically that I peed my pants. Legitimately peed my pants. Like I had to change. Super embarrassing. I'm glad none of you know me in person lol
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Liam
New Member
Posts: 6
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Post by Liam on Nov 7, 2012 22:04:39 GMT -5
When I was eleven at school during lunch some older kids were playing football (soccer) about 30m away from me and one kicked it too hard in my direction so I tried to kick it back. However, I have awful co-ordination, so I kicked it on the roof of the building next to me. I'm terrified of heights, let me clarify--totally terrified. They tried to force me to climb up and get the ball, but I ended up crying when I was only about four feet off the ground and then I fell off where I was climbing and landed in a puddle/patch of mud.
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Post by lilyannepotter on Nov 8, 2012 23:54:38 GMT -5
When I was in first grade, I was in a "combined" class with second graders, so that we had two teachers, but while I did first grade science stuff, Math, reading, and PE were don together. I liked one of the second grade guys, Ryan, and a girl called Nicole liked him too. She was a second grader, and was cool enough to hate all the younger kids. Especially me. How dare I sit next to him at snack time?! So When we had PE our teacher bought a Shrek Dance dvd thing where you basically convince a bunch of 6 and 7 year olds to scream lyrics at the top of their lungs and run in circles while maintaining some vague sense of rhythm. I didn't actually know any of the words, and wasn't paying attention. Instead I told my friend about something or other Ryan had done. Only problem was, she couldn't hear, and so I screamed it louder. She still didn't hear, but apparently Miss thought we had a problem and turned the music off. Right as I repeated how much I loved him. He ran off and wouldn't speak to me at recess for a week. It was well romantic.
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Post by zoeatrics on Nov 9, 2012 17:52:47 GMT -5
After my very first date, I texted them (21ST CENTURY) and asked them if they had wanted to kiss me.
After about five minutes, they replied "No...?"
I'm not sure my dating skills have improved much.
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Post by singsongsarah on Nov 10, 2012 8:22:47 GMT -5
When I was 6 or so a girl in my class said "girls don't really poop" and then, I whent home and cried because I thought I was a boy.
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Post by tony1002 on Nov 28, 2012 22:30:02 GMT -5
When I was 13 and waiting of class to start, a girl kicked me in the leg. Not because she was mean but because horse-play like that was how you'd say hello. Unfortunately 13 year old was a huge wimp and started to cry. The teacher then comes to let us in for class, and sees me crying. So the rest of the class had to wait for the lesson to start whilst she talked to me in her office trying to find out why I was crying so much.
I did the obvious thing and told her my grand dad had died.
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Post by enmason on Nov 28, 2012 23:43:30 GMT -5
I have a couple, but this is by far the most absolutely mortifying experience I have ever had. In sixth grade (when I was about 12 years old) I switched from one elementary school to another. At the new school, every year, the sixth grade put on a musical. Ours was "Rock 'n' Roll Forever" and despite being relatively shy, I had been assigned the role of Carole King. It was kind of a big deal, and we had been preparing for the performance, which was in December, since early in the school year. The week before the performance, my foot was run over by a 200-pound laptop computer cart. That Friday, I went to the doctor's office, and there was in fact a small fracture on my foot. In tears, I asked the doctor whether I could still be in the musical. For some odd reason, he told me I could, given that I use crutches so as not to aggravate my injury. My part was about halfway through the musical. The problem was, I had to climb a set of steep stairs to get to my place. I got to about the 5th stair when my crutch slipped, I tumbled to the ground, lost my breath, and began to cry. Loudly. Yeah. THE WORST PART: The people filming the musical caught it on tape. Not only did they put it in the bloopers, but they also put it in the TITLE SEQUENCE and the ACTUAL RECORDED PERFORMANCE ITSELF. So not only do I have this horrifyingly painful childhood memory, I and several of my sixth-grade classmates also have evidence of it. Just in case the whole thing might fade from my mind, I can always re-open the scar by popping that sucker into my DVD drive.
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Post by wishful11 on Nov 29, 2012 0:24:28 GMT -5
Oh, gosh. One time when I was in "Romeo and Juliet," I had to sub for the Prince during rehearsal. Instead of saying the line "Three civil brawls," what came out was "Three civil bras," much to the amusement of the entire cast of about thirty people.
I was quite red.
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Post by charizard on Nov 29, 2012 0:54:55 GMT -5
When I was five me and my older sisters and parents took a road trip together. My sisters and I had to use the restroom, so we stopped at a gas station. Upon reaching the restrooms, one sister, Catherine, asks, "Is anyone in there?" and points to the door with the male silhouette. Remember: I was five. Katie (the other sister) peaks around the door and shakes her head. They both drag me in what I didn't know was the male bathroom. I was five... Upon this, the take me by the collar of my shirt and hang me up on the hanger in one of the stalls. I weighed, like, 35 pounds. So I swung on the metal hanger of the stall as my sisters left the room... and I waited, which led to crying. One guy came in and didn't even notice. The next guy just looked at me weird. The last guy I saw was actually nice and carried my out of the stall and yelled at my sisters, who were giggling around the corner. Yep. I was an ignorant five year old.
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Post by captainsuspenders on Nov 29, 2012 3:19:49 GMT -5
If you were to become acquainted with me, you would soon discover my affinity for asking deceptively arbitrary questions. Even when running the risk of overwhelming the conversation with trivial, quizzical preponderances, I cannot resist the discovery of the miscellaneously magnificent fragments of personalities that only random questions can illuminate. In my extensive experience as an amiable interrogator, I have isolated a question with consistently fascinating results: “What was your most embarrassing moment?”. The reply to this inquiry imparts so much more than a humorous anecdote; it offers the interviewer a glimpse at the interviewee's innermost humility. It reaps the same response as the far creepier “What keeps you up at night?”, all while maintaining the exterior of vapid party conversation. There is of course, a downside, as most will mirror the question, and answering it is mildly unsettling once you know the secret powers of those six, seemingly innocent words. “What was your most embarrassing moment?” They'll say. And I would very much like to answer objectively, but my vast collection of shameful memories has been inconsistently stored, and thus, retrieval depends on the whims of my flawed hippocampus. As a result, my capricious answers are, at best, much too vulnerable, and, at worst, an unintentional lie. The following could be either one, or possibly, both. “What's your most embarrassing moment?” Well, half-sober cheerleader with increasingly melted “eyebrows”, I'm glad you asked. I was... I can't remember how many years old. I had just reached the age every memory from my distant past seems to be stored in. My paternal Grandmother, a title she refused, came to visit my sisters and I. This was equally important as it was controversial, as A. she lived on the other side of the country and B. she hadn't quite gotten our names down yet. She was a judgmental, silly woman, whose artificially wispy voice contrasted humorously with her outrageously pear-shaped body. She'd recently been incredibly lucky, financially, and an overtone of the visit was her unsolicited assistance in my parents achieving fiscal responsibility. During her last few hours here, I was feeling vaguely inspired to make money, and hatched an entrepreneurial plan: I would become a door-to-door cupcake salesman, and would travel as far as a box of store-bought cake mix could take me. I was so excited, I almost forgot that I was painfully shy, and incapable of talking to my own mother, let alone an unsuspecting stranger. I recruited the help of my closest friends- my younger sister, Courtney, and my long term B.F.F., Taylor Hamilton. This had meant sacrificing a large portion of my personal profit margin, but it was unavoidable. Once the cupcakes were iced, we skipped out of the kitchen, and in our minds, toward financial security. We stopped at the first house on our route, and shook with anticipation as we waited for a stranger to respond to our politely delicate knocking. They didn't. We moved to the next house, walked up the front steps, and knocked once more. We could hear footsteps approaching the door, and we smiled with excitement. The door opened to reveal a bald pudgy man in his mid thirties. “Would you like to buy a cupcake?” Taylor implored. The man stared. “Not today,” he said, anemically remorseful. “Oh, that's okay!” Taylor reassured him. “Have a nice day!” She was adorably smooth. It was only a matter of time before she made a sale. Behind door number three stood our very first customer, an older blonde lady whose first born had Aspergers syndrome. We convinced several other door owners to invest in our confectionery wares, but sales stopped completely after a very brief period of mild success. Discouraged, we decided to embezzle product from the company; we snacked as we walked along, knocking on empty houses. I don't know if I can explain to you why this next part was funny, but to us, it was overwhelmingly so. After accidentally breaking the screen door of an empty house, we all agreed that we should leave a cupcake as a condolence of sorts. But somehow, due to the awkward footing of our threesome, the cupcake was crushed, and ground into their welcome mat. Imagining the reaction of this house's owner upon returning to this bizarre crime scene was enough to paralyze us with laughter, so much so, that Courtney dropped yet another cupcake on this unfortunate soul's porch. That was it, my bladder could endure no more laughter, and I promptly pissed myself in the driveway belonging to the very same person whose house we just desecrated with neglect and icing. How would the owner of this door react to the chain of increasingly random evidence? A phantom cake scattered across their porch, a seemingly sourceless puddle of human piss, and worst of all, their door was broken, so they may have been forced to stare at the scene, my urine slowly evaporating into the evening breeze as they try to break into their own home. If they could even call it that anymore. “Kelsey!” Taylor and Courtney exclaimed breathlessly through giggles as they noticed my accident. I wasn't ashamed. I really wasn't. We laughed all the way home, the walk being a bit more uncomfortable for me on account of the dampness. We walked inside my house, still laughing heartily. Then I remembered. Sitting in direct view of the doorway were my parents, accompanied by my Grandmother, whose eyes widened at the sight of me. The mood was suddenly very serious, although it failed to affect our elation. “I peed myself!” I announced, almost giddy on the endorphins of laughter. The expression on my grandmother's surgically lifted face was at best, deeply concerned, and at worst, absolutely mortified. The laughter stopped. I haven't seen her since.
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Post by craisin1 on Nov 29, 2012 9:42:16 GMT -5
So there I am...having just raised my hand in class because I felt proud that I knew the answer to the question which the history teacher had just posed......."What happened in the year 1814 in France?"......Smarty-pants me saying "Miss! Miss!." "Yes Chris"........came her sweet voice (I had a crush on her). After I gave the answer there was stunned silence then uproarius laughter from all my fellow students. "What did you say?" she asked, with a stunned look on her face. I repeated my answer and again felt the sweeping waves of enormous hilarity...... "What's happening, man??? (I think to myself)...... It turns out that my mind was saying "The emancipation of the Protestants".....but my mouth was saying....... "The Emancipation of the Prostitutes"! (I was only a 14 year old nerd who never really knew about such things........ I felt how small? ...Will never forget that.....(Notice I remembered the year, though) LOL ;D
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Post by sabryth on Jan 31, 2013 18:06:04 GMT -5
I guess I'm one of those people who doesn't really think things through all the time. To make matters worse, this happened first semester of sophomore year so I don't even have the excuse to say I was little because I was 15 years old.
I don't remember what the logic was but for some reason I decided to make a card for my bus driver, a fat man with a handlebar mustache. It was supposed to just be a nice gesture and I didn't take the bus that day, so I guess I wanted him to just think about what a nice person I was. Later I told my mom about it (I had drawn the card in colorful highlighter) and she teased me saying I had a crush on the driver (my mom is mean). I was so mortified, I hadn't even thought that someone would take it that way. Even now that we've moved and I walk to school, I still look away when the bus drives past.
Yeah, not as embarrassing as something to do with vomit, but humiliating for sure.
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