Embarrassment
Accidental Public Nudity.
Have you ever had a bad dream where you are naked in public? I have not: my bad nightmares usually include being lost inside a building that somehow has turned into a labyrinth. And yet, accidental public nudity is a nightmare that has found me in real life over and over again. Overall, the cringe-worthy moments of my life could be divided into two camps: strange encounters with horny animals and accidental nudity. I'll tell you now of the top three events on each one of those categories.
By Adriana M6 years ago in Confessions
Live, Laugh, Let It Go
We all know that person. The one whose face is creased with laughter lines, whose hair bleached white and grey with the passing years. The one who cracks awkward jokes to strangers that make all those nearby groan. The one who is unphased by the wave after wave of cringeworthy moments that seem to make up the bulk of their twilight years. Perhaps you think it’s just that age.
By Bree Beadman6 years ago in Confessions
The Time My Wardrobe Malfunctioned During An Interview
There was a distinct popping sound and I suddenly realized the ‘girls’ were free. In 1993 I had a series of misfortunes. I lost my teaching position at a small non-profit school when they ran out of funding. Shortly after that, I had an incident involving an avocado and a knife. I lost.
By Danell Boyles TeNyenhuis Black6 years ago in Confessions
Lights On
Sophomore year of high school I had freshly joined the school's theater program, I was new to acting in front of an actual audience, but not acting in itself. We were on our last day of Hell Week, meaning we were running rehearsals from right after school till 9 pm. Running rehearsals in full costumes, testing our queues, using our props, and checking our marks, was a lot.
By Rielle6 years ago in Confessions
The Lightbulb Moment
Have ever wanted someone you know is way out of your league someone you can see but can't touch. Someone who is on your mind all the time and no matter what you do you can't get this person off your mind. For me, that person is Johnny Edlind, for those who don't know him the photo above is him. This is a singer, photographer, model, and entrepreneur. I have been following him for years as when I started writing one the apps I used to get my work out there was and still is a platform called Chapter Interactive Stories. This platform had just added a feature where now you as the reader can write your own stories they also allow you to add photos so I saw him and a lot more tattooed models that the writer on this app used all the time Stephen James was another one. He lives in London and uses to play futball or as we Americans call it soccer. Both bodies are full of tattoos and both unbelievably attractive. At first, when I started following his page I stayed hidden I didn't want to be one of those girls who contact a public figure just because I like the way he looks. I wanted more than that to be honest what I wanted more than anything at first was a mentor but, even that I kept to myself for years because to me I thought no guy like him would ever take on a girl like me. There was nothing special about me nothing that stood out I had one gift that I knew I could do and that was telling stories but even that I was having trouble with at the time because I had yet found my voice in my writing so everything that I had put out on this app to me was just crap. I can't count how many times I started a story only to delete it when it was not going the way I saw in my head. I have this problem where in my mind I can jump 3 chapters ahead and know what will happen the fun part for me is basically filling in blanks and making the story pop even more to the reader. I love that about writing when you write you are not you at the moment you are the one you are writing about.
By GhostTheWriter6 years ago in Confessions
The Trade
The Trade I was in fourth grade at St. John the Baptist grade school and life hadn’t scarred me, yet. There were two classes in every grade, 1st thru 8th and I drew 4A and my teacher was Sister Peters, or as we kids knew her, Sister Pickle Face, she always had a sour look plastered on her mug. At mid semester break my parents were informed I was being transferred, traded outright, to 4B, why, well there was no explanation, but back then you just did as told. I had a straight A report card except for conduct and that wasn’t good. My parents figured I was too much in class, but I had just turned nine, how much trouble could I be? And was the worst part was Sister Pickle got a student to be named later, it was humiliating.
By Gregory Dolan Dies6 years ago in Confessions
To be a writer.
Writing and reading have always been passions of mine. Ever since I was a young girl I can always remember being able to read ahead of others. I've always been told by others and felt myself that I had a way with words and writing, but somehow lately when I sit down to get anything done I can only manage to barely attempt to put the words in my brain into writing. My brain seems to be covered in a dark fog lately my mind drifts off into a million directions and the letters on the keyboard in front of me all start to blur together while I drift into daydreams. Click, clack, click, clack.. I imagine myself with pretty painted fingernails, instead of the raw bitten ones I sported in real life, carefully pressing the letters of the typewriter keys to put together the words that flowed easily from my mind. A dream that seems to only.exist in my mind and not reality. I always imagined myself as a famous writer of some sort, whether it was writing novels, becoming a journalist, having an online blog of some sort even became an idea as I grew older. I just wanted to be any type of writer, to have my words read by many, to have my voice heard, but somehow my mind always came back to the idea of owning and using a typewriter for my own personal pleasure. I had pictured myself becoming a famous author who wrote many types of stories that everyone had known or loved at some point. It was a dream of mine that has always been deep down whether I have other passions or ideas going on at times I always think of writing in my free time. For becoming a writer of any kind, I would have rewarded myself with a pretty old typewriter. To just finish an idea and get it out into the world would have been enough. The novels I have started in my brain and on paper or online have been many and have all had full ideas behind them. But for some reason my brain always stopped and the inspiration always seemed to fade away as soon as I had started to attempt my stories, actircles, or journal entries. The words I had written for myself wouldn't even transfer from my mind to a page properly. I was rarely ever able to get a sentence, even a single word sometimes, out without having to go back and rewrite it due to spelling or grammatical errors, or just feeling as though it wasn't written the way I imagined and didn't seem to get the main story across. Why did I ever think I would get to the point I would be able to write novels and/oruse a typewriter. Sure you have many drafts and I wouldn't use it until the final one, but even then my mind panics and hits the wrong keys even when I have a hundred times known what I should be writing. I can never seem to put together the words as well as they flow in my mind. It had become a frustrating activity, something that once brought me joy and felt so easy, has become something that makes me crumble to pieces as I watch the words I once thought to be so beautiful and poetic turn into a jumbled mess that I feel ashamed to have even written out, might as well show anyone else. Even reading others' written words lately turns into a jumbled mess in my mind, it makes me wonder a bit if the words I've written truely do make sense. But my brain is just too messy currently to truly see the beauty in any of them. So for now the words in my head will not be written the way they are in my mind, and my mind will be the only place that I have the pleasure of watching my pretty painted fingers carefully press on the keys of a typewriter, imagining the clicking and clacking of the keys each time they were pressed in and printed the letter onto the page in front of myself.
By Amber St John6 years ago in Confessions
And That's on Periods
I am the most embarrassing person alive. Wait. Let me rephrase that: I am the most embarrassed person alive. This is not hyperbolic. If my mind was the main vessel in Inside Out, it wouldn't be the lovely Joy leading the ship. It would be Fear because I am afraid of being embarrassed. To make matters worse, I am living as an embarrassed person despite not having done anything embarrassing today or yesterday.
By Bella Leon6 years ago in Confessions
Gridiron Greatness
It is only with great difficulty that one can look all pumped up to his peers while still successfully hiding from the coaches; this was the condition I found myself in on the sidelines of the Cheyenne East practice field. I was a junior, but I was playing on the Laramie High School sophomore football team because it was my first year. It was not that I was scared to take a hit or give one. Far from it, I relished the impact of colliding helmets; it was missing a block or setting a screen for a pass when I should have been pulling for a run that kept me voluntarily benched.
By Jay Robbins6 years ago in Confessions
