Laugh at me #6: Pimp my Pink Bike

    This story is a LONG time coming. It's been awhile since I shared with the world my curse of embarrassment. This is one of my favorite moments that happened to me in high school. It's amazing what we do when we're desperate. Especially for a job that paid minimum wage and involved tearing tickets and sweeping up popcorn and tobacco spit cups.

    I woke up Saturday morning at my best friend's house. In a daze I realized the house was completely empty, no mom, no dad, no friends. Shrugging off the strange absence, I began to get ready for another invigorating day at work. I was an usher at the local movie theater. This job gave me many opportunities to give back to the community through the means of ripping off the bottom of tickets, making sure tools didn't sneak in girls on their first date (happened all the time), and cleaning up the sticky floors with vigor and determination before another mob of butter popcorn face stuffers broke the hinges off the seats. I buttoned up my white shirt, actually white, yellow, and spots of brown. I zipped up my lovely top of the line black vest and pinned the appropriate movie paraphernalia to it. Last I slipped on my black elastic dress shoes. I was ready to go. 

    I walked out the front door of my friends house, making sure to lock the front door behind me. He did live in the rough neighborhood known as Carl Junction Fir Road (my sarcasm only works if you realize this is out  in a wooded area and not rough at all). That's when the stress set in. I couldn't spot my car. Was it stolen? Did a friend play a joke on me and park it somewhere else? Then I realized. My friends drove me to Patrick's house from the school. My car was 5 miles away. I called my family. No answer. I called my friends. No answer. Work was slowly approaching, and I was running out of options. That's when I spot it on the front porch. My salvation was pink with handlebar streamers and a nice basket to keep all my stuff in.

    Patrick's sister left her bike on the front porch and it appeared to be my only way out of this mess. So I saddled up on my pink chopper, knees touching my chest, and peddled down the country road. At first the ride was peaceful. Once I ignored the intense pain in my knees, the scenery (minus the burnt down trailer homes) was nice. Cars drove by every now and again, and I could always tell I caused a lot of laughs. The people behind me weren't laughing as much. The occasional car pile ups that waited for me to slowly peddle up a hill were not very happy with their wait. How fast can a 275 pound high school boy go on a tiny little bike? I was half way to my destination, ignoring the ever growing flow of traffic that poked fun at my predicament, when it went from a good idea to a bad one. There is this dog that I remembered very well. Mainly because this dog played chicken with cars on the way out to my friend's house. I could hear his aggression swell as I peddled closer. I'm much smaller and slower than a car. This wouldn't be fun.

    As I rode by the house I peddled faster and faster. I even stood up on the bicycle to get optimum speed. The big brown and black dog had drool flinging off its jowls as it's eyes turned blood red. My heart beat faster. Sweat flooded my nice fancy work clothes. The dog charged. I put out my leg to kick him in the face, but the tiny bike didn't allow much balance. The dog jumped and pushed the bike with its front legs. Luckily for me it was a rainy couple of days, the puddled ditch broke my fall as I tumbled down the embankment into it. Satisfied, the dog let me be as it pridefully pranced to its porch. I stood up. Wiped as much mud off as I could and walked the bike until the house was out of eye-shot. 

    Now the ride was horrible. I was getting rashes from the wet clothes. The tiny bike seat was beginning to hurt my non-tiny seat. The cars driving by, which were increasing as I made my way to Briarbrooke, were having more and more fun at my displeasure. Then hope drove by in the form of a bright green mustang.

    I was saved. My friend noticed me peddling by on my pink bicycle and did a u-turn. Once he was done laughing we loaded the bike in the back of his car, and he drove me to his house in Briarbrooke. I cleaned up, left the bike in his garage (my other friends sister wasn't to happy about that), and was on my way to my work. I know you're probably wondering, "Did you make it to work on time?" Yes, please stop worrying. I did make it to work. I didn't get employee of the month for my determination to show up. I didn't even get a well done. But I did learn a lot that day. If you there is no other options, a pink bicycle will never let you down.

Laugh at Me #5: The Annual Chihuahua 5K

This blog is in honor of the best wife EVER! Our anniversary is right around the corner, and this story always makes her laugh so hard she almost stops breathing.

For this embarrassing moment I take you to a time when Autumn and I ran together, and I could keep up. During this time I lived in Springfield, and Autumn would come to visit. We made the decision to run, despite the threat of bad weather.

The run started out like any other run. We were enjoying the so-far beautiful day and randomly running wherever our heart desired. We didn't want to stop. But the clouds lingered in the distance. They were dark and menacing, inching their way closer. We decided to make our way back to the house but it was too late. Rain poured from the heavens. This was not the rain where you went, "OH we're running and this should be refreshing!"  No this is the rain where you say, "Why no sir, I didn't just jump in a river." The droplets were thick, and frankly, I don't like wet socks.

As we were making our way back Autumn saw a moment of relief. Luck would have it, there's a "short cut". It just so happens that this short cut was through the creepy trailer park down the road from my apartment. But I had to give it to her. If we took the gravel path through the trailers and made it to the road on the other side it would take a substantial amount of time off our journey. So the decision was quickly made, and we bravely entered into creepsville.

We soon found out that this "short cut" was not all it was cut out to be. The gravel road came to a dead end, more trailers. Autumn, now drenched, came up with good idea #2. "We can cut between two trailers to the road!" Yes, the road was in plain sight. The problem was the trailers were about 6 feet apart, not much room to work with. We were running through their "back yard".

Despite my weary notions, we ran between the trailer homes. Autumn made it through easy. She was already on the road making her way home, proud of her good decision. I on the other hand was about to hate Autumn's decision. Just as Autumn made it to the road a woman with no teeth released the hounds on me. Four tiny chihuahuas jumped on me like I was a Beggin' Strip. The little things began nipping at my legs, drawing blood, and squealing with their high pitched barks. The whole time they were feasting on my ankles the woman with no teeth kept yelling. I couldn't understand a word she was saying. I didn't know if she was yelling at me or the dogs. It was just... "BLU VIN DOM DUN DOW SHAAA!" I tried to escape, swatting at the little gnats. As I was distracted by the madness the final act of embarrassment came. I slipped in the chihuahuas' trap. It smothered all over my leg... dog poop. There I sat on the ground between these two trailers, covered in dog poop, getting attacked (now they were going for my stomach), and hearing the rants of a toothless woman. The whole time Autumn was impatiently waiting for me to finish.

I finally had enough. I shot up off the ground and ran to freedom. The chihuahuas followed after me for a brief moment, but I was soon in the clearing. As I made it to the apartment Autumn sat on the front porch waiting. I was bleeding, covered in poop, and I guess I looked angry because Autumn said... "Are you upset? You don't look very happy." That's when I told her the whole story. She tried hard not to laugh to protect my feelings but it was inevitable. It didn't take long for me to laugh at it too, and I'm sooo glad this story took place. Why? Because I was blessed with a way to always cheer my wife up, and that's worth all that the crazy toothless ladies can throw at me.

Laugh at Me #4: 15 Anuses over Mexico

This embarrassing story has a moral! If you stay till the end you might just learn something. What a bonus. You can get a good laugh at my mistake, and we can all grow as individuals! 

I had taken a whole year of Spanish. After having a full year under my belt I was practically fluent... So I thought. It's amazing how children can really put you in your place, even in a different language. Humility always comes when you least expect it. What do I mean by that statement? Well I was on a missions trip with Christ Church of Oronogo. Our mission was to build a house for a nice family of four. Throughout the trip I was having a great time flippantly throwing around my linguistic skills and hoping that I was being understood. The people in Mexico are so nice, and I'm almost certain they acted like I was getting through to them just so I didn't feel stupid. After a hard day of churning cement and eating roadside tamales, I would spend my break time chatting with the local children. They always giggled and laughed at our frivolous attempts to communicate. I would stick with the basics like... "I like american football." "I have a sister." "I love Jesus!" But the one I seemed to use the most was... "I have 15 years!"

Like I said before, the children ALWAYS giggled after I said something in Spanish. But for some odd reason, they laughed more and more after I said "I have 15 years." I shrugged it off assuming my large size was funny for how old I was, or maybe there was some inside joke about 15 year olds that I wasn't in on. Either way I spent the rest of me trip throwing around... "I have 15 years." "HELLO! I have 15 years!" Street-side merchants, waiters and waitresses, and the occasional crazy old lady would all get a smile, a wholesome "HELLO!", and followed by a "My name is Isaiah. I have 15 years." I got a funny look from each one, but I still just assumed it was always strange when a random "gringo" was this friendly. By the end of the week I felt like the entire city of Tecate knew my name and that I had 15 years. Especially those who were common around our building site. 

On one of the final days of our mission, school had let out early and some new children were playing around our building site. We always liked it when new children came over. We would play soccer or tag. As usual I introduced myself to the children and got the same reaction. All the small creepy giggles. It was kinda like the mum-chins in the Wizard of Oz. Well I guess one of the girls who had been at our site to play every day felt sorry for me. She pulled me aside, away from her friends. As best as she could the small Mexican girl gave me a Spanish lesson there in the dry dirt road. She drew a picture. It was a birthday cake. Above it she put the word anyos. She pointed to the N which had an accent on it. She said ANYOS, ANYOS, ANYOS over and over. Always emphasizing that YOS. Then in her cute little voice she tried to say YEARS in English. Then she drew another picture. She drew a picture of a butt. She said over and over ANOS, ANOS, ANOS. This time emphasizing NOS. And she then pointed to her hind quarters.

That's when the light turned on, as dim as it was. That entire week I had not been telling the people of Tecate, Mexico "I have 15 years!" I was telling them "I have 15 anuses!" To make matters worse I was saying it with a smile on my face and so much VIGOR! No wonder the children giggled. No one the people gave me odd stares. I was the gringo with multiple butts. I was the white boy with the grande derriere. I was so embarrassed. I spent the rest of what little time I had correcting my mistake to everyone. How humbling was that experience. It's amazing how there are those points in your life when you think you're amazing at something, you can always get a reminder that there is always more to learn. I just got that reminder from a small Mexican girl, and I will be forever in her debt. Because I was almost known throughout Mexico as "The boy with 15 anuses".

Laugh at me #3: Krispy Kreme Off

It's that time again! It's time for another opportunity to completely and utterly laugh at an embarrassing moment in my life. I chose this one because my loving mother wanted it. How could I say no this close to mother's day. Honestly I'm surprised she wanted me to tell this one so bad because it was a moment of pure gluttony! Not my most flattering moment but still very hysterical.

Alright let me set up the scene. I was taking care of a group of girls from a local non-profit in Springfield Missouri. These girls could be a bit of a hand full to say the least, and I looked for any moment to put them in their place. I was getting tired of doing this via Monopoly. I could earn all the monopoly money in the world, but what good is proving ones authority if it's not in public. I found that opportunity at the Rockin' Ribs Festival. You could hear the commotion coming from this particular event throughout the entire festival, and it was safe to say it sparked my interest as well. As we made it over to the ruckus there was a group of eight children from the ages of 6-12 who were diving head first into a box of Krispy Kreme's finest glazed. They could not use their hands as they gently bit into each doughnut. The announcer would give the victorious child who probably ate a total of two doughnuts a coupon for, yes it's true, MORE doughnuts. They then got to take home the box they were feasting on as well. My girls were excited to show their stuff. I, on the other hand, only scoffed at the pathetic attempt that Krispy Kreme called competition. TWO DOUGHNUTS... COMMON!

So we discussed our intent to the woman in charge. She saved the older generations for a certain competition. "Good a challenge," I thought. And oh man wouldn't it be one. Two of the largest men I had seen in awhile walked up, towering over their box of glazed obesity. I swear I saw a doughnut drop a bead of sweat (or glaze) in fear. They definitely put the Rockin' in the Rockin' Ribs Festival. About four of my girls were also stepping up to the challenge. Now there is something you must know before I continue. These aren't ordinary girls. They can put it away. We have been talking smack with one another this entire time, and I was not about to let them get the best of me. Let me just say, I thought I had my work cut out for me. I thought I had to work to win...

Picture this but with three large men
on the outside. 

We stepped up to our boxes and were read the rules. Hands behind your back.... Two minutes... Eat as many as you can... The crowd gathered and it was thick with onlookers ready for a show. I would give it to them! I thought about my strategy... Then the timer started. I dove my head into my box and instantly felt the gooey glaze cover my face. My strategy was to take a single bite from a doughnut, then I would pick it up with my mouth elongated, and inhale the entire thing at once. Let me just say... It was working beautifully. The woman yelled thirty seconds and I had already eaten four doughnuts. The crowd was cheering loudly. I felt like the Tim Tebow of eating competitions. I could hear my girls chomping away beside me. "ONE MINUTE!!" I had engulfed about eight doughnuts at this moment. The crowds cheers were beginning to muffle... WHY!! Keep cheering, I thought. She yelled, "ONE MINUTE THIRTY SECONDS!!" I had eaten almost the entire box of doughnuts. My face was engulfed with glaze. I was lightheaded from the sugar rush. The crowd was completely silent at this moment. "WHY HAVE THEY STOPPED CHEERING! TIME IS ALMOST UP!!" I raged internally. Finally, I took a bit of my last doughnut. The time was not up yet, and I heard the announcer tell a fellow employee. "Times almost up. We don't need to give him another box." I smiled... Victory! She yelled "TIME!", and I raised my head. I became instantly dizzy as I tried to focus in on the crowd. They were ALL staring at... me. They didn't look pleased... They looked disgusted. Their faces were in frowns, and I'm pretty sure a mother hid her child's eyes from staring in my direction.

The announcer pat me on the back. It felt like more for sympathy than victory. The largest man held up his box to the crowd. He smiled from his accomplishment... Five and a half whole doughnuts! The other large man had eaten almost four. The announcer began talking about everyone else's box. My girls all barely ate two. One ate a bite from each of her doughnuts and stopped. Then the large man's smile faded. He too looked at me with horror as the announcer lifted my box to the crowd. Nothing... Only a few spots of glaze here and there, maybe a nibble from one doughnut. A couple people clapped, but most stood in silence. Then the lady announced for the entire festival to hear, "A DOZEN DOUGHNUTS IN TWO MINUTES. WE HAVE A NEW RECORD!!!" She put the microphone up to my mouth... "HOW DO YOU FEEL!" I brought my head to the microphone and said lightly, "Obese". As I pulled away I left a little bit of glaze on it. People laughed and others shook their head in agreement. Then to make matters utterly worse the announcer said. "LET'S GET A PICTURE OF OUR CHAMPION WITH SOME LOVELY LADIES!!!" Two Hooters models walked over to me and halfheartedly placed their hands on my shoulders, as if I had leprosy. Then a man with a large focused camera took a picture of us. I wasn't smiling. The glaze still thick around my mouth. After the flash the girls retreated, and I gathered my prize... More doughnuts. I didn't want to look at a doughnuts, let alone eat them. I accepted all of the sympathetic "Good jobs" and finished out the festival in the privacy of the company tent. It was safe to say that proving my superiority backfired this day.

The girls used this moment as an opportunity to poke fun at me. They made Hungry Hungry Hippo jokes and spent a good week saying things like... "Look I'm Mr. Isaiah NOM NOM NOM." As embarrassing as my gluttony was I did prove one thing. Even eating can bring a crowd in awe. It might have not been for the reasons that most desire... but awe none the less. And in the end how many people can say.... "I have a record."

Laugh at me #2: This Fudge Tastes Like Soap

 

For my next embarrassing story I'm going to tell about a moment of pure disappointment. It all started at the Maple Leaf Parade in Carthage Missouri. The wife and I were taking a very rambunctious Boys and Girls Club kid, Kayli, who was very excited about the parade. Her excitement rubbed off on the two of us, and I was pretty hyper about a parade I'm usually indifferent about. We always begin our Maple Leaf experience by touring the booths and buying amazing items that you could not find in stores. Who wouldn't want a pajamas knitted for your cat, a clear dolphin filled with colorful sand, or an airplane made out of pop cans! Immediately Kayli and I noticed one of the most amazing booths that the Maple Leaf had to offer. To sweaten the deal a sign beckoned us with its two simple words. FREE SAMPLE! Kayli and I both looked at one another and yelled, "FREE FUDGE!" We ran to the booth. I didn't notice anything but the beautiful pieces of mint chocolate fudge. 

They looked delectable, and Kayli watched as I picked up a piece ready for my free sample. I did notice how the fudge was not what I expected in my grasp. It was harder than most of the fudge I remembered. I took a huge bite from the fudge and it was like the world stopped around me. The bitter taste, the hard crumbly consistency, this was the strangest tasting fudge. It was then that the realization of my embarrassing fault came from the voice of a small girl. "SIR THAT IS NOT TO EAT!" she exclaimed. I began to finally take notice of the booth around me. The women who were using the basins of water to the left of me washing their hands. The other pieces of fudge that were in different shapes and not your typical colors. Fudge in the shape of rubber duckies? Fudge that is bright blue with yellow swirls? The  biggest tip of all was the sign (in my defense it was discreet) that read "Tiffany's Homemade Soap". As I spit the soap out on the ground I tried not to make eye contact with all the women who were trying to figure me out at the moment. A few were laughing but most were disgusted. I said to them all, "I thought it was fudge. They look like fudge." Then came the nail in the coffin. The woman who was responsible for this misleading fudge said, "ISAIAH!?" It would have been my luck that the woman selling the soap in disguise was a girl I graduated with from high school. I responded with a simple, "You need a sign that says NOT FUDGE" and walked off awkwardly. Of course I spent the rest of the day enjoying the amazing parade of old men in small go-carts, small town high school bands who have had the same uniforms since the 70s, and the long train of ancient John Deer tractors (always a personal favorite). But in the end even after the frozen lemonade, the funnel cake, and the tootsie rolls wrestled from the small child next to me I still had that definite taste lingering in the back of my mouth. The hard texture of awkwardness, the crumble of disappointment, and the bitter taste of embarrassment. And to think, I didn't even have a potty mouth.

Laugh at Me #1: Little Red Riding to the Hospital

I thought I should start out my embarrassing stories with a bang. This is one of my favorites, and I promise you it's 100% true. Not an ounce of this was made up and part of me wishes it was. I guarantee you will laugh, and just know, this is only the beginning.

It was Halloween. My good friend Patrick and I were currently working at the Boys and Girls Club of Joplin, and we wanted to wear matching costumes that would stir up some laughs. Luckily for us we had a friend whose mother owned a costume shop. Our choices were hilarious. We knew the kids would love them. Patrick went as a patriotic wolf sporting a leather USA jacket, and I went as a grotesque little red riding hood (facial hair included). After I got done stuffing my curly blonde hair under my bright red hood and packed my basket full of Halloween candy, I was ready to make my entrance. The reactions were just as we expected. But reactions from candy crazed children aren't always a good thing. They'll pull on your wig and step on your hairy over sized feet. You start to slowly regret being festive. Despite that, it was turning out to be a fun Halloween. Boy was I in for a rude awakening. It started while Autumn, who is now my wife, and I were monitoring the kids while watching "Monster House". I felt a sharp pain in my lower back. I first thought it was just a muscle pain, so awkwardly, I asked Autumn if she would press her foot on my back while I lay on the floor underneath her. The pressure she exerted made it feel better, but the pain was growing exponentially. At this point I felt like I was going to throw up it hurt so bad. I didn't want to be a distraction (kids+candy= enough distraction as is). Just to get them to focus on the movie is hard enough. I went into the computer lab and lay on the floor. I moaned and groaned while holding my back, but I was determined not to go to the hospital. I stumbled into the bathroom. The face in the mirror was pale white. In the stall was where the real freaking out began. I'll just say my hood wasn't the only thing red in that bathroom and it flushed. BLOOD! Coming from places it shouldn't. Must I go on? My friend, Patrick, was clear across two gyms in the teen room. For some reason, I started to walk to him, but I didn't make it. I collapsed on the gym floor. At this point I know what you're thinking... This is funny how? Here it goes... I called Patrick who knew I was serious (which we rarely are). Screaming in pain, Patrick helped me into his car. My sides were now burning. I thought I was dying. From this point on I probably looked like a woman in labor. My feet were on the dash of Patrick's car. I was yelling, "RUN THROUGH THE RED LIGHTS!" and "I'M DYING!" Mind you Patrick was still a wolf and I a pretty blonde girl. I'm sure we got a lot of looks on the road to the hospital. At the hospital Patrick got me a wheelchair, and while still in costume, he wheeled me into the emergency room. I was moaning and wailing. Other hospital patience were giggling at the wolf who just wheeled in the hideous pregnant riding hood. Patrick ran to a nurse and told her my situation. She didn't seem disturbed. Frustrated at her lack of fear toward my condition, I ordered to be looked at that instant. Don't people know someone's knocking on death's door when they see it? Paper work done (no insurance for Little Red), I was wheeled to a hospital bed. I screamed for medication while my mother and father both stood by my side, holding their precious riding hood's hand. I'm sure my mother reminisced the times we spent baking goodies for my dear grandmother. I was injected with something strong and felt immediate relief. I then went in for a cat scan and was informed of my situation. I had a kidney stone. A tiny spiky pea caused all this! To make matters worse, since I had no insurance I had to pass it on my own. At that point, knowing what was wrong, the rest didn't seem to bother me as much. I passed it knowing full well I would live to fight another day. I sleep at night knowing that I didn't scar the children's memories of their beloved Little Red Riding Hood. "Then she died of a kidney stone. THE END" To this day, this is one of my favorite stories. We can rewrite the past and put an end to this wolf's bad reputation. Honestly, I would let him eat my grandmother before having to go through another kidney stone. But if I do, I can rest easy knowing there is a wolf who is not so big and bad.

Beginnings of Bloggdom

Hello world! This is my introduction into the popular world of blogging. You might ask yourself: Why did it take you SO long to get into this? Or you might ask: Why should I read what you write? You could even ask:  Why is it when you transport something by car it's called a shipment but when you transport something by ship it's called cargo? These are all valid questions. I can give you one valid answer. Stop asking so many questions, so I can write already. My name is Isaiah. If you didn't figure that out from the Blog title then you're probably illiterate and this blog won't do you any good. I'm an elementary teacher, but I love to write. At the moment I have a chapter book series that is in the review process at HarperCollins... Fingers crossed! (Crossing fingers makes it hard to type but it's worth it). I'm also working on some other book projects. Some are scary, some are adventurous, but mostly I like to make people laugh. That is the reason I started this blog. I have had SO many embarrassing things happen to me that I would be doing a disservice to the world if they weren't spread throughout the interweb. Seriously, I want you to laugh at my discomfort, giggle at my pain, and roll on the floor from my awkward existence. On a regular basis, I will be posting stories, and the occasional funny poem, that are 100% true and not fabricated. From time to time I might switch it up, but I have so many stories to share they will take up most of the blog. Please sit back and enjoy.