As December draws to a close and The Top 100 lists are splashed across every magazine in sight, I’ve decided to create a list of my own. The Top Five most embarrassingly hilarious moments of the year for me. Each one more deliciously ridiculous than the next.
Ah yes, this is my life…
5. Welcome To Bollywood
I started the year with a bang. In January, I flew to India to attend my friend’s wedding in Bombay. The night I arrived, a driver took me and all my luggage straight to a grand hall for dance rehearsal. For those that don’t know, an Indian wedding is a fabulous five-day-long party and one of the nights, Sangeet (translation: The Song), is an evening of choreographed Bollywood dances performed by the couple and their friends and family. When my friend asked if I’d like to participate in one of dances, I was in – no question.
Full disclosure, I’m not the greatest dancer. I can booty shake with the rest of them but actually follow steps? I look like my Dad in an aerobics class. Five beats off and dangerously close to tipping over.
But if something scares you, that’s all the more reason to do it, right? So, I huddle in with my new group (I was the only white person participating, of course) and we set to work. I was slow to learn the moves – every time I learned one step, I’d forget the one before it. It’s like my body rejects all sense of rhythm. And of course, every other girl moved like fucking J-LO, but I put all my best brain cells on the job. I was going to be awesome.
Around 10pm we moved to one of the guy’s apartments to continue practicing. But as soon as we got there, my group members started partying instead. And more and more people kept showing up to hang out. I’m like, “No! What are you doing?! Focus people! There’s no time for play!” Finally around midnight, my group starts to rehearse again – and surprisingly, I actually start to get the hang of it. I’m already picturing the awesome footage I’m going to treasure forever of this. My friends will be so super jealous!
This is the point they decide to throw the entire routine out and start from scratch.
WHAT THE F! I am not made of moves here! We can’t start over! Apparently, my vote didn’t carry much weight though. Because they changed it, anyway to this:
Yeah, fucking right. By this point, my group was so disorganized and lackadaisical about the whole thing, I was about to explode. I needed to leave immediately or I was about to start making a lot of Indian enemies. It was nearly two am when I departed with the promise that we’d work on it more in the next couple days.
Well, as our schedules would have it, we weren’t able to meet up again until the night of Sangeet. I had one hour to learn all the moves in the entire music video before I’d be performing it for an entire dance hall. In spite of this, I’m still somehow clinging to visions of myself looking like a Bollywood Goddess.
But before I know it, we’re shuttling to the event and I’m completely screwed. I stand off stage watching all the groups go before us, my dread growing by the second. I start begging girls to go into the bathroom to keep practicing. I’ve forgotten everything by this point and they don’t want to rehearse anymore because they’re afraid they’ll get sweaty. I don’t care if you get sweaty, assholes, I’m going to look like a giant white moron out there! Guys are urging me to drink, saying it’s not about being a great dancer, it’s about having fun.
There’s no amount of alcohol that could make that true. The only hope I had was to mentally detach myself from the public humiliation that was missiling towards me. I remind myself, I’m never going to see any of these people again… it’s going to be okay. Our song begins and I strut onstage with a fair amount of confidence, I at least had that part down. As the song goes on, I keep my eye on the girls around me, trying my best to follow their lead but let’s be honest… I look like a poorly programmed robot. The four minutes of agony draw to an end and for the rest of the night, people continually come up to me to say I could be a Bollywood star, that I’m a great dancer, a natural, filling my head with wonderful, swelling compliments. It was great… I knew they were full of shit… but it was great. Sometimes you want people to lie to you. And believe me, I saw the video posted of it on Facebook… they were most definitely lying.
4. TO CATCH A WINE THIEF
My friends and I went to “Ugo,” a wine bar in Culver City, where you put money on a debit card and then walk around with your glass to different dispensers to select which wines you want a sample of. Connoisseur that I am, I was choosing the cheapest tasters available. I didn’t really care what the descriptions said, I was just looking for the two buck and unders. Apparently, I was eyeballing one of the dispensers so thoughtfully, though, that I looked like a sophisticated taster because some older guy in a dinner jacket and his friendly girlfriend start talking to me, telling me I have to try the fabulous wine they just had: Italian aged oak barrel cabernet with a smooth finish. I look and it’s the most expensive choice available. Like ten bucks for a dribble. They’re paying me so much attention, I figure there could only be one reason. Threesome, obviously. Listen guys, I’m flattered, but it’s not my thing. After a few minutes they walk away – playing hard to get, no doubt - and I realize they left their wine card at the dispenser. Do I run after them? That’s of course what I should do. But I’m so buzzed, my first thought is: Free for all! I impulsively snatch it, slide it into the dispenser and pour myself a lovely taster of that Italian cab. Mmmm… a smooth finish indeed.
They return and say they just realized they forgot their card at the dispenser. Shit, what do I do? They’re going to notice there’s ten bucks missing off it. So, I play dumb. Nope, haven’t seen it. They look right at my hand. I stick to my story. How do they know I’m not holding my own card, I tell myself. They start searching the ground for it. They bring the hostess over and she asks me, too. “Are you sure you haven’t seen it?” I’m in too deep now. They know I’m lying but can’t prove it. I walk over to my friends, too ashamed to even tell them what I’ve done. I laugh half-heartedly at their stories, dwelling all the while. Talk about a buzz kill. This wasn’t the worth the stupid sip I got out of it. It wasn’t that smooth a f-ing finish. This is the point I realize to my great mortification that this card is different from other cards. The couple has some super-duper wine club status and it says so right on the card in giant gold letters. I can feel the couple still shooting laser beams at me and I’m pretty sure they no longer want to recruit me for their menage a trois. I walk around, pretending to be oblivious and happy, laughing gleefully, so they don’t catch on. Once out of sight, I purposefully drop the card on the floor. Soon after, I hear them find it and I convince my friends it’s time to leave. I’ve never brought myself to go back since. I’m afraid they have a giant “Wanted: Wine Thief,” poster with my drunk face up there.
3. JOY RIDE
A few months ago, I took my ex-boyfriend out for his birthday. That’s normal right? Isn’t that what all people who’ve been broken up for a year do? I was house-sitting at my parent’s place in the harbor so I invited him to go to dinner by Duffy Boat. A Duffy Boat is an extremely dorky enclosed electric boat that maxes out at five miles an hour. My ex and I shared some wine on the way to the restaurant, had beer at dinner, and then headed to another bar for Jack & Cokes. Every time I think we’re done, another drink appears. So, as you can imagine, I’m thinking extremely clearly. I see a 26-year-old co-worker from my Dad’s company (which I help do payroll for) walk into the bar with his friends. I didn’t want him to see me drunk so I debate whether to slip out unseen. After another drink, I decide not to take this approach and instead tap him on his shoulder and say, “I heard everything you said… and you’re fired.” Turns out this was funnier to me than him. He’s like, “I was just talking about the sports game!” I respond, “I’m onto you.” He laughs, good-naturedly, a little confused. Soon thereafter, my ex and I leave to take the party onwards. My ex drives the boat since he’s doing better than I am. We’re jamming to Rihanna, bobbing down the harbor, having a great time. This is the point we decide there is only one thing that could make this more awesome. Boating naked. We strip down and are laughing hysterically. Who boats naked?! We’re awesome!! When he parks at our dock, I dart out, clutching my clothes and race into the house at topspeed. I’m sure some neighbors saw a full moon that night. Unfortunately for me, the alcohol had begun taking a turn. The world was starting to tilt in on itself. He ties up the Duffy, puts the cover on by himself and comes in excited to continue the birthday celebration. He finds me upstairs face down in the toilet. I tell him, “I just need a few minutes,” and laid on the bathroom tile for the rest of the night.
2. ROLL A COASTER
Randomly, my Mom had decorative car coasters. Why anyone needs a cup coaster for a car is beyond me… isn’t that what cup holders are built for? She kept the flowery one, gave my friend, Laura, the angel one and gave me the cat one. It was hideous. What the hell was I supposed to do with this? I decided to keep it around to throw at someone if they piss me off while driving. Well, sure enough, the day came… I was on the onramp to the 405 where two lanes merge into one… but one car was squeezing me out. He kept bursting an inch forward at a time to not let me in. I was literally getting forced off the road. Why he was so passionate about being one car further along was ridiculous. Once he was fully ahead of me, I decide to roll down my window and toss my cat coaster at him. I have no aim, though, so it hits the ground first and then bounced up and hit his trunk. He JUMPS out of the car. Holy fuck! I didn’t have anything else to throw. He’s a 5’5, Filipino, and madder than hell. He takes several threatening steps towards me so I do what you do when a mountain lion is about to attack you in the wild, you act larger than you are. I throw my hand out the window, like I’m a fearless black chick from the Bronx, doing my best, “Hey, I’m drivin’ here!” gesture. But inside I’m thinking, what can of worms did I just open up. Please don’t beat me up. The entire row of cars and an eighteen wheeler are watching as he starts to gesture like he’s wildly masturbating. He grabs something from his car – a can of Binaca breath spray, and squirts it by his mouth like he’s giving oral sex and the spray is the ejaculation. What is happening right now? Is he really doing this? Suddenly, the cars start moving so he has to jump back into his car. And I learned my lesson. Don’t bring a cat coaster to a gun fight.
1. HALL OF SHAME
Last weekend, I met a cute guy at a 90′s themed birthday party. I like this guy. Since I thought I was dead inside, this is particularly good news. As we slow danced to, “I’ll Make Love To You,” and “I Swear,” the chemistry and conversation felt effortless. At some point between Jack & Coke two and Jack & Coke three, we started making out. With Notorious B.I.G. in the background, it felt like my eighth grade Frosty Frolic all over again. When the bar closed, my guy and his friend walked me and my BFF to our car. His sober guy friend asked if he could drive my car to their place for a ride home. It was just down the street. I agreed because it gave me more time to sober up… and make out in the backseat. The friend ends up parking and before my girlfriend and I even know what’s happening, we are following them upstairs. Usually my idea of an after party is checking Facebook before falling asleep alone at midnight so this was a departure for me. We had a 2am jam session, the guys on the guitars, my friend on the drums and me bursting into random song. He and I leave the room for a few minutes (probably so he could get me to stop singing) and we hear their door close. Our wing men were doing better than we were! I wasn’t sure if we were spending the night but it was starting to look that way. He gave me some boxers and a t-shirt to sleep in and we had a sweetly PG slumber party. The next morning, he let me know that guys were going to be coming by to watch football around 10am. I figured that meant they’d probably actually roll in around noon. Who shows up at 10am on a Sunday to watch football? Apparently, his friends do. My girl friend comes into my guy’s room and whispers, “we have to leave right now. There’s like 20 guys in the living room watching football.” I start laughing because the only outfit I have is my short party dress and glittery stilletos. I’d left my purse in the car so I had on no make-up and massive bed head; I looked at my friend, who was faring no better, with mascara smudged beneath her eyes, she looked like a homeless woman in a dress. I decide there’s only one way to do this. With supreme confidence. I walk into the living room and sure enough, the entire room is filled with guys. Of course, this is where all the cute guys in LA are?!! As I’m wearing a poofy, lacy black dress, looking like a giant ho-bag, I say, “So, this is normal, right?” They all laugh. I feel like the queen of hilarity. Our guys walk us outside and we suddenly remember their apartment is right at the bottom of Runyon Canyon where everyone in the entire city goes on Sunday mornings to hike. Literally, pilgrimages of people parading past. It wasn’t quite as easy to keep up the air of confidence as we strutted past all of Los Angeles down to our car. It had to be the most public walk of shame ever.
But I have to admit, the more awkward the moment, the more it cracks me up. Sometimes it seems like this ridiculous stuff only happens to me… and I’m so freaking thankful for it. Makes for one a hell of a list.