What's a blog without an awkward first kiss story? Lucky you! This blog will have a few. The boy in this story will be referred to as Batman.
We had been going on dates for a few weeks, and we still hadn't kissed. One Sunday night, we decided to go to the park across the street to hang out a bit. We brought a blanket, because it was February and freezing. So I was ready for some cuddling action.
We went up in the playset and spread the blankets out. We talked for an hour or so before we ended up lying down, cuddling under the blankets. We talked for another 45 minutes or so before it happened. The moment. The pause in the flirty conversation while looking into each other's eyes from only a few inches away. He was going to kiss me!
As a major fan of the film "Hitch," I recognized the 90-10 signals. He went 90. I went 5... The. I realized that the blanket was still in the way, slightly covering my mouth. So I reach out, go 2 percent more, grab the blanket, and I pull it out of the way.
But it was not the blanket. Turns out I was pullin something that was still attached. Turns out I grabbed his nipple through the shirt and pulled it.
We both froze. He stared at me in confusion and then a combination of shock and mock horror as his voice rose to mock me- "You just pulled my nipple! And twisted!" I began to panic and apologize, affirming that it was not intentional. His comforting response- "oh I know it couldn't have been on purpose. There's no way you would have had such good accuracy! Sorry, but the moment is gone."
And that is the first awkward first kiss story of the first kiss that didn't happen the first time we tried.
MLIHK.
Sunday, November 2, 2014
Sunday, October 19, 2014
Bolt Bus, Bathrooms, and Butts
When I was 16, I decided to go spend a couple weeks in Boston with my oldest sister. Feeling independent and awesome, I purchased a ticket to ride a Bolt Bus (kind of like a Greyhound bus but less sketchy) for the 6 hour trip. I remember feeling a mixture of stress and excitement as I boarded the bus alone and sat alone and prayed that no one would sit near me, so that I could continue to sit alone.
About 4 hours into the trip, the inevitable happened-- I had to pee. Which isn't a very big deal, since there was a bathroom at the back of the bus near where I was sitting. So I got up, made sure all my belongings were safe on my seat and made my way to the bathroom. I was careful to avoid eye contact with all the passengers near the bathroom, since they most likely hated anyone and everyone who used it. (Smells don't really disperse on a bus where the windows don't open).
Anywho. I go to the bathroom, sit down and do my thing. And I am just finishing up (pants still down) when our lovely Saint of a bus driver slammed on the breaks. Pants wrapped around my ankles, I go flying forward from the toilet, slam my full body against the wall of the bathroom, and the door to the bathroom comes FLYING open with the contact.
Outside, everyone's heads whip to the right to see the cause of the explosion. Shocked faces. Horrified mothers covering their child's eyes. Awkward men turning quickly away. Me, standing there pantsless (and I mean pants of any sort).
Eventually I regain my senses enough to shut the bathroom door and silently scream in humiliation. I stayed in there a solid 5 minutes after finishing up. I washed my hands and spent a while scraping up the lost dignity from the floor. Finally, I reasoned that someone may need to use the bathroom, and I got up the courage to leave.
I made a beeline for my seat when I exited, and I was ever so pleased to see that all my books and papers had spilled all over the floor from the sudden stop before. Of course, everyone around my seat was avoiding eye contact with me, so I picked everything up on my own and hid behind my books for the remainder of the trip.
When I arrived in Boston, the bus driver smiled at me, unaware of the trauma he had caused, and said cheerfully, "I hope you had a nice ride!"
MLIHK.
About 4 hours into the trip, the inevitable happened-- I had to pee. Which isn't a very big deal, since there was a bathroom at the back of the bus near where I was sitting. So I got up, made sure all my belongings were safe on my seat and made my way to the bathroom. I was careful to avoid eye contact with all the passengers near the bathroom, since they most likely hated anyone and everyone who used it. (Smells don't really disperse on a bus where the windows don't open).
Anywho. I go to the bathroom, sit down and do my thing. And I am just finishing up (pants still down) when our lovely Saint of a bus driver slammed on the breaks. Pants wrapped around my ankles, I go flying forward from the toilet, slam my full body against the wall of the bathroom, and the door to the bathroom comes FLYING open with the contact.
Outside, everyone's heads whip to the right to see the cause of the explosion. Shocked faces. Horrified mothers covering their child's eyes. Awkward men turning quickly away. Me, standing there pantsless (and I mean pants of any sort).
Eventually I regain my senses enough to shut the bathroom door and silently scream in humiliation. I stayed in there a solid 5 minutes after finishing up. I washed my hands and spent a while scraping up the lost dignity from the floor. Finally, I reasoned that someone may need to use the bathroom, and I got up the courage to leave.
I made a beeline for my seat when I exited, and I was ever so pleased to see that all my books and papers had spilled all over the floor from the sudden stop before. Of course, everyone around my seat was avoiding eye contact with me, so I picked everything up on my own and hid behind my books for the remainder of the trip.
When I arrived in Boston, the bus driver smiled at me, unaware of the trauma he had caused, and said cheerfully, "I hope you had a nice ride!"
MLIHK.
Sunday, September 14, 2014
Blog motivation
My friends and I have had a running joke for some time that I should have a page to rival the MLIA and FML pages. MLIHK is the fulfillment of that dream. My Life Is Hannah Kruman. One story per post. One story to make you writhe in sympathy for my awkward life and distinctively embarrassing moments. I will change the names for the sake of sparing any party involved, but I'm not that creative, so don't judge me if you decipher my brilliant codes. Be prepared to read the worst. Or the best. You be the judge.
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