RECIPE FOR AWKWARD #457

Perhaps the most common brand of awkwardness a female my age faces is a product of her interactions with men.  Or, perhaps more accurately, men's interactions with her.  The resulting feelings can sometimes rival, in magnitude and awkwardness, the presence of a beached whale-- sometimes, you see it from a mile away, and you can try to avoid that section of sand, but other times, it washes itself up right in front of you.  And then, what the heck do you do to get it off the beach?   From time to time, I may describe such interpersonal relations as follows:

DO NOT grab a girl's ass at a bar.  She won't like it, and she won't want to fuck you for it.  Especially if one of your hands is in a semi-cast.  This makes me (and apparently everyone I tell this story to) wonder which hand you actually grabbed my ass with.  Either way, I know that if we were going to hook up tonight, it wouldn't be that great-- cause, first of all, you're a douchebag.  Second of all, the week or two you've had to get used to the fact that one of your arms is almost completely incapacitated has surely not afforded you the ability to compensate for it yet.  And yes, in case you're wondering, this applies to you even if "your brother is in the band."  Shocking, I know.

Even more shocking is that in the same bar, exactly two weeks later, a drunk guy with crutches and a clearly sprained or broken ankle asked me...(wait for it)...to dance.  Though a relatively innocuous move, I would like to emphasize the incongruity of the situation by reminding you that we were at a rock show, not a Sock Hop.

But, ah, such is the life of a martyr.  Beccy called me "irresistibly attractive saint of the broken" after these occurrences.  As a result, a little part of me was kinda hoping for a third one.... Maybe with a halo brace this time?  Or, better yet, a full-on body cast....and his name will be Chaz....