Dumbass, Table For One

I'm used to embarrassing myself. I was born without a sense of balance and an overall lack of grace, I frequently put my foot in my mouth because the part of the brain that screams "SHUT UP" doesn't work, and most of the time you can tell what I've eaten during the day because I end up wearing it. (Wearing white scares the bejesus out of me, btw. Much too easy for my shirt to end up looking like a preschooler's finger painting.) Anyhoo. It's gotten to the point where I just don't care anymore. Not only because I know what I'm capable of, but I figure once you've had kids all sense of shame goes straight down the toilet anyway. But today, I really embarrassed myself. When I do something, I go big or go home.

I was super excited because I saw that an Autism blog I had been reading was looking for guest bloggers. I'm looking for any opportunity I can do to do 2 things- 1:promote my writing on as many blogs and websites as possible and 2:promote Autism acceptance and share our story to help others. I thought this would be perfect. So last night after I finished studying and I was so tired I could barely hold my eyes open and I thought it would take a sandblaster to remove my contact lenses, I emailed my blog submission. I could hardly wait until the morning to see if I got a response.

When I saw the response in my inbox I was PSYCHED!! I clicked on it and read " thank you for your submission. We loved your post, however we try to keep this blog family friendly and we are concerned with some of the language you used..." Say what? I was so confused. I thought for a minute to try and figure out what was offensive in my post " Autism Is.." I couldn't think of a thing, so I read my original email and it hit me. I HAD SENT THE WRONG POST!! Omg, I just sent these people my post "These Are A Few of My Favorite Things" which talked about my fondness for the words "fuck and "asshat".

I felt like a fucking asshat.

I immediately sent an apology and explained that I would never intentionally submit that particular post. If they could have seen my face, it was surely as red as my hair. I'm surprised I didn't bruise my forehead from the massive facepalm I gave myself. I can honestly say for the first time in forever I was embarrassed.

Luckily, though, our little tale of woe has a happy ending. They accepted my next submission and posted it on their website. And my mortifying moment actually inspired the blog I sent them. "Autism Is Not A Four Letter Word". You can check it out on www.nsvar.org. This is a wonderful organization that helps people in Virginia find the resources they need for autism treatments and therapies.

So now, I am going to get off the computer for the night. I'm getting tired and as I proved today, I have the tendency to make a total jackass of myself when I get sleepy. :)

Don't Blame Me For Your Stupidity

To the person who's foot I crushed the other day at Kroger-I'm not sorry. Had you not entered my personal space while I was trying to select a pack of hamburger, I would not have backed up and stomped your foot with my boot. I'm sure it hurt since you were wearing flip flops and I had on high heeled boots, but you lost your sincere apology from me when you gave me the stink eye and acted like it was my fault. Personal space is called personal for a reason. You don't need to be in it! Good old fashioned manners would have went miles for you in this situation. A simple excuse me would have gotten my attention and I would have gladly moved over for you. If you had recognized the fact that you shouldn't have been so damn close to me I could smell the stale cigarettes on your clothes and took your part of the blame, I would have told you I was sorry and meant it. But no. You squinted your eyes and scowled up your face like I did it on purpose. For a second I really thought you were going to go crackhead crazy on me and I was ready to pick up a 5lb roll of ground beef and knock the hell out of you with it. Instead you sat on the floor and rubbed your foot in an extremely exaggerated fashion and I gave you an extremely insincere apology. You almost got a "bless your heart" from me, which we all know means "screw you, bitch" but I like to save those for special occasions. My point is next time you feel the need to force your way to the front of a line, or try to push someone out of the way so you can grab a pack of steaks, remember how the little piggies that went to market almost didn't make it home because they were severed by someone's high heel.