Foot-in-Mouth
-L
B's post made me laugh out loud. Good save man, good save...
I, too, suffer from foot-in-mouth disease. I spend most of my day hopping around on one leg, the other stretched up towards my face, sucking on my toes. I'm that chick who gets drunk and makes an inappropriate, obscene comment about anal sex in front of her boss. The one who makes the Jewish joke in front of the Jew, asks you how your dog is doing, forgetting that it died a week ago. If there were a competition, "The Tenth Annual: Offend as Many Strangers and Casual Acquaintences as Possible Tournament," I would walk away with the three-tier trophy of shame.
Last night was no exception.
I met The Chef at Chris's party a week and a half ago. A little short, a little shy, muscles bulging, fuzzy shaved head, very cute from what my alcohol-hazed vision could gather. We spent the better part of the night talking, getting progressively drunker. We spent most of last week text messaging each other, having brief phone conversations, engaging in the ritualistic pre-meet tango.
Then there was the phone call yesterday. It wasn't the normal "make tentative plans" or "just say 'hi'" call. It was obvious from the tone of his voice and his immediate launch into a story that had happened the day before that this was the phone call. The first "have an actual conversation over the phone" call. Not good news for someone with foot-in-mouth disease. Especially when symptoms are aggravated by stress, awkwardness and attraction to person to whom speaking (this is why I am destined to be single for the rest of my life).
The conversation somehow segued into where he worked, a very posh restaurant in the LES. Remembering that he told me he was a chef, I inquired, with innocent intentions but tactless bluntness:
"So do you actually like, cook there?"
"Uhm...no. I'm a waiter."
At this point, my best friend who had been sitting next to me watching TV threw the remote control at my head and mouthed the single word: Bitch.
"Oh, shit, oh my God, I didn't mean it like that!"
"Oh, it's okay."
Talk about your stereotypical gold-diggin', social-climbin', shallow-as-fuck Korean chick.
In my defense, I honestly didn't mean it in the condescending way that I said it. I spent the rest of the night watching the Best Friend shake her head at me and repeatedly hitting myself over the head with whatever hard, blunt objects were within reach.
To his credit, he didn't get offended (well, he thought I was laughing at him at first, but once I clarified that I am actually just a horrible person, he seemed okay) and the call ended with the definitive "I'll talk to you tomorrow."
Someone please buy me a muzzle.
B's post made me laugh out loud. Good save man, good save...
I, too, suffer from foot-in-mouth disease. I spend most of my day hopping around on one leg, the other stretched up towards my face, sucking on my toes. I'm that chick who gets drunk and makes an inappropriate, obscene comment about anal sex in front of her boss. The one who makes the Jewish joke in front of the Jew, asks you how your dog is doing, forgetting that it died a week ago. If there were a competition, "The Tenth Annual: Offend as Many Strangers and Casual Acquaintences as Possible Tournament," I would walk away with the three-tier trophy of shame.
Last night was no exception.
I met The Chef at Chris's party a week and a half ago. A little short, a little shy, muscles bulging, fuzzy shaved head, very cute from what my alcohol-hazed vision could gather. We spent the better part of the night talking, getting progressively drunker. We spent most of last week text messaging each other, having brief phone conversations, engaging in the ritualistic pre-meet tango.
Then there was the phone call yesterday. It wasn't the normal "make tentative plans" or "just say 'hi'" call. It was obvious from the tone of his voice and his immediate launch into a story that had happened the day before that this was the phone call. The first "have an actual conversation over the phone" call. Not good news for someone with foot-in-mouth disease. Especially when symptoms are aggravated by stress, awkwardness and attraction to person to whom speaking (this is why I am destined to be single for the rest of my life).
The conversation somehow segued into where he worked, a very posh restaurant in the LES. Remembering that he told me he was a chef, I inquired, with innocent intentions but tactless bluntness:
"So do you actually like, cook there?"
"Uhm...no. I'm a waiter."
At this point, my best friend who had been sitting next to me watching TV threw the remote control at my head and mouthed the single word: Bitch.
"Oh, shit, oh my God, I didn't mean it like that!"
"Oh, it's okay."
Talk about your stereotypical gold-diggin', social-climbin', shallow-as-fuck Korean chick.
In my defense, I honestly didn't mean it in the condescending way that I said it. I spent the rest of the night watching the Best Friend shake her head at me and repeatedly hitting myself over the head with whatever hard, blunt objects were within reach.
To his credit, he didn't get offended (well, he thought I was laughing at him at first, but once I clarified that I am actually just a horrible person, he seemed okay) and the call ended with the definitive "I'll talk to you tomorrow."
Someone please buy me a muzzle.
posted by CEO of the World at 10:41 AM
1 Comments:
Hello!! My name is GamerC. I found y'all blog through some random searching-Looking to see how other people do their blogs. You guys have a cool blog and like the interesting stories you talk about. If y'all don't mind, I like to leave some comments.
In my opinion, I don't think you did anything wrong. You were making converstation and ask a question about him. This doesn't make you a "stereotypical gold-diggin', social-climbin', shallow-as-fuck Korean chick" in my eyes and you said he didn't seem offended. Relax, we all do something we don't mean when we have an attraction on someone. I'm the KING at that.
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