Please, Partake of my Lameness.

Funny stories of yesteryear – Part 3

Written April 18, 2007

I am a strong believer in the ability to laugh at oneself.

THAT, my friends, is the introduction to this incredible story:

It was the year of our Lord 2006. Eric and I were a week away from our one year dating anniversary. A few weeks prior I surprised him with tickets to the World Baseball Classic and now the event was almost here! I also made him a scrapbook of our memories as a couple (I know, how girlie…) But then I had a thought. There is a Tim McGraw song called “My Best Friend” that gets me weepy everytime I hear it and I decided to learn it on the guitar and play it for him the night of the baseball game. So I went to my guitar saavy dad and brother and learned the chords. Finally the night arrived.

The evening was quite perfect… He took me to dinner at Market City Cafe, I gave him the scrapbook, and he gave me a gorgeous dark wood jewelry box with a diamond and sapphire tennis bracelet inside. Do I have an AMAZING man or what??? We continued on to the World Baseball Classic, and had a wonderful time.

Fast forward to after the baseball game. We’re in the car at the park ‘n’ ride in Brea ready to say goodnight, and I’m suddenly reminded of the guitar in my backseat. THE SONG! I had almost forgotten. My heart begins to beat very quickly. As Eric is telling me what a wonderful night he had, I begin a very anxious inner dialogue that went something like this: “Miriam, you’re such an idiot, DON’T play him the song, you’ll look totally dumb. But… right now IS your only chance to do it! The words are so good, he will LOVE it! But it’s so cold outside, and you don’t play guitar very well… are you sure you…..”

“BABY!” I say very abruptly, interrupting my thoughts and his words. He looks at me curiously. “There’s still one more part to this evening,” I say, “but you’ll have to cover your eyes.” He smiles wondering what is coming next and covers his eyes saying, “What is going on babe?” I say, “Just wait here for a minute.”

He was sitting in the driver seat with his eyes covered and I go over to my car, open the trunk, which opens like the back of a minivan where the entire door swings up. I think, “He and I can just sit under the shelter of my trunk door, on the back bumper, and I’ll play the song.” Here goes nothin!

I open his door, “Ok, ready.” Eric goes, “Baby what is going on here? Why do I have to cover my eyes?” I reply, “Because I don’t want to ruin the surprise!” I take his hands and begin to lead him blindly over to the back of my car. We’re walking slowly and I begin to get less nervous, thinking, “He is going to love this!”

We’re finally to my trunk and I step forward under the door and BAAMM!!!! Surprise! Remember that trunk that opens like the back of a minivan? Well my 5’7″ self fits nicely under it, but I had been concentrating so much on the song ahead of me, I forgot about the height of my 6’4″ boyfriend directly behind me. He walked full speed into my trunk door and bent over, grunting and so confused… He was indeed VERY Surprised. There is now a sizable lump on Eric’s forehead. So the song was forgotten about for a moment while I tend to Eric’s wound, feeling like a total retard for leading him trustingly into the trunk of my car.

After a moment he’s feeling well enough to continue on to the REAL surprise. So I told him to open his eyes, which he had faithfully kept closed even with the newborn lump on his head. Tadaa!!! There I am with the guitar in my hand. He kindly smiles and says, “Baby, are you gonna play me a song?” I say, “Sssshhh, just listen.”

15 or 20 seconds of awkward silence pass as I get my correct finger positioning for the first chord, then I begin. Struuummmm.

Oh. My. Gosh. What was that hideous sound? The D chord, did not sound like the D chord. I check my fingers again. They were in all the right places! Struuummmm.

GROSSEST! Why does this dang guitar sound so bad? It’s the same one I practiced on! I look at Eric who is still smiling and holding his forehead and I laugh perhaps the most awkward laugh you could imagine.

It turns out, my Dashboard Confessional-loving little brother had been playing his guitar the day before my big solo. He decided to tune every single string differently so an open strum played a chord. The song would sound wretched if I tried to play it on this whacked out tuning!!!

Things were falling apart quickly. I looked at Eric. Being a guitar player himself he knew the quitar had been tuned completely wrong. He said nicely, “Want me to tune it for you?” I looked down and smiled, “I guess so…”

So there, freezing cold, at 12:30am in a park ‘n’ ride parking lot, my loving boyfriend sat with an ever-growing lump on his head tuning my brother’s guitar. I looked out away from this disasterous scene, and my inner dialogue returned: “Wow Mir, this is pretty romantic. Great job.” I looked back at Eric and I could have sworn I saw a vein throbbing in his forehead. Why, oh WHY did I go through with this???

The guitar was tuned.

I took it back from him and hit the first chord. Wrong. I looked up and smiled sheepishly and tried again.

As I began to sing I was suddenly aware of how much I had screamed at the baseball game, because my voice was quite hoarse. It was not a good match with my feeble guitar playing. I have no rhythym for strumming so I just hit a random chord every once in a while. I got through the first verse and looked at Eric. He was so wounded and adorable. I started to tear up and forgot what I was playing. I momentarily stopped, and just sang a cappella except for an occasional chord to keep things moving:

You’re more than a lover,
There could never be another
To make me feel the way you do
Oh, we just get closer, I fall in love all over
Every time I look at you
I don’t know where I’d be, without you here with me
Life with you makes perfect sense
You’re my best friend.

As I sang Eric took the guitar and the music and began playing where I left off. Of course he sounded PERFECT so I settled on letting him play while I sang:

You stand by me, and you believe in me
Like nobody ever has
When my world goes crazy, you’re right there to save me
You make me see how much I have

We both started to sing and we could hardly get out a word without laughing. Everything had been such a disaster, and we both knew it. But I think Eric’s forehead was most aware of this fact.

We laughed and kissed and said goodnight.

I’m so thankful for Eric’s great sense of humor. I’m pretty positive every time his head throbbed for the next 3 days he let out a little chuckle in honor of the lame attempts of his sentimental girlfriend.

Was it perfectly horrible, or horribly perfect? Perhaps both… and among the most embarrasing moments of my life. So embarrassing in fact, that I felt more people should be laughing than just Eric and I. Thank you, and goodnight.

Almost Arrested in NYC

Funny stories of yesteryear – Part 2

Written March 31, 2006

Dramatization

The following is a true event in the life of Miriam Tavis (now Bernard ;))

One frigid February night in New York City, my dear cousin Emily and I had just finished seeing an off-broadway musical. We left the theater in good spirits, only to get outside and find that a light snow was falling. Being from CA, I was greatly excited at the sight of this snow, so we snapped a few pictures and continued on our way.

About 15 minutes later, we arrived at the correct subway station on 42nd and Broadway, smack-dab in the middle of Times Square. We descended the stairs and I retrieved my handy-dandy subway card. Emily swiped her’s and went through the turnstile, then I swiped mine and began to go through… (Sidenote: If you have never been in a NYC subway station, as you enter, there are big metal turnstiles that go from ceiling to floor, and allow one person at a time through. It remains locked until you swipe your card and it briefly unlocks.)

As I pushed through the turnstile to enter the station, it felt strangely tight. I couldn’t move very well and I was really uncomfortable. Once I got through, I turned around to the sight of an Indian woman who had rudely pushed into the turnstile with me! What the heck? Was she in that much of a hurry that she couldn’t just wait her turn?

I was still puzzled by this rude woman, and by the time I had decided to forget about it and turned back around to continue on with Emily, there was a man and woman dressed in baggy clothes in my face saying, “Get up against the wall! Get up against the wall right now!!!”

Oh. My. Gosh. I thought, “This is my first time in New York alone, and I am fully getting mugged.” Was it a conspiracy? Did the Indian woman steal my wallet and now these other two are here to finish me off? My adrenaline was pumping so hard and so fast… the woman in baggy clothes was up in my face as I got against the wall and prepared for the worst.

But wait… while the woman was yelling at me, the man was up in the face of that Indian woman who pushed into the turnstile with me! What the heck was going on? And then, just as this mean lady pushed a badge in my face, it hit me.

I had unknowingly committed a crime. The man and woman shouting were cops dressed in plain clothes hanging out by the entrance to the subway station. They were just WAITING for someone like this STUP lady to decide they were too cheap to pay for the train, and then they’d bust em.

BUT I WAS INNOCENT!

Not according to them I wasn’t. It didn’t matter to the cops that this woman was wearing a Rite-Aid uniform, and I was wearing slacks, high-heel boots and a sparkly sweater… I mean, we CLEARLY weren’t coming from the same place and it was obvious we didn’t plan this crime ahead of time. We hardly even spoke the same language! None of it mattered… I was in big T.

Emily was standing about 5 feet away in complete shock that this was happening. She tried to step in and tell the cops I was innocent, but they said “Ma’am please wait over by that trash can until we finish here!” So she complied.

The woman held me against the wall and barked “Gimme your New York State ID!” These cops were not in the mood to be sweet to 18 year old Miriam. I explained to her that I was a tourist from California, and I could show her my California ID if she wanted that. Her answer was, “Technically, if you get caught for fare-sharing and you don’t have New York State ID I’m supposed to hand-cuff you and take you to the station.”

I assumed she was not referring to a subway station.

I tried to explain further. “I’m just here visiting my friend. She lives here, but I don’t.” The woman said, “Okay then let’s see her ID…” and motioned Emily over. Emily then said, “Well… I don’t exactly have a NY State ID… yet. I only moved here 6 months ago, so I still have my CA ID.”

THANK YOU Emily. This helped tremendously.

The entire time the cop was squawking about New York State IDs I’m thinkin, “Lady… do you even know what subway station you’re in? This is 42nd and Broadway. EVERYONE coming through here is gonna be a tourist…” But I didn’t dare say it out loud.

Then the man, who had been questioning the Indian woman came over to me. “Do you know this woman?” He asked. I looked at her. Her huge brown eyes looked SO afraid and she mouthed “I’m sorry” to me. I rolled my eyes and looked back at the cop. “No I’ve never seen her before. I was just going through the turnstile and it felt really tight… I didn’t even know what was going on. I’m from California… I don’t even ride subways!”

The female cop KEPT reiterating that she was supposed to arrest me, and I began to imagine what a night in jail would be like. Emily looked so worried, and I was feeling utterly victimized by the entire situation.

They finally took my California ID and decided to “let me off easy” with a ticket for 85 dollars. They kept the true felon there for further questioning. I didn’t wait around to see what happened with her. As I started on my way the male cop said, “Don’t do it again!”

“Okay Mr. Policeman! Next time I’m innocently entering the subway station I’ll make sure to carry a club and frequently look back to make sure there aren’t any tightwad Rite-Aid employees coming in behind me!”

Actually, I said, “Yes Sir.” and walked away.

I was so frazzled that when I reached the trash can where Emily was told to wait I had no words. We just linked arms and began walking QUICKLY away from the scene. Roughly 30 seconds later, I began to see a speck of humor in this whole situation and let out a little, “Huh…” with a half smile.  Emily looked at me and I looked at her… and we broke into a fit of laughter that lasted the entire ride home.

What. A. Memory.

Follow-Up: I tried to contest my $85 ticket several times, but kept getting the same answer: “Please report to the New York City Courthouse on May 5, 2005”. Well uh, it seems that New Yorkers don’t understand the concept of TOURISM… because I was not going to fly back to New York just to have a trial over this. So I paid the dang ticket.

And yes, I’m still holding on to my grudge.

Stop Sandwiching!!

Funny stories of yesteryear – Part 1

I wrote this blog post many moons ago on Myspace. I hope it is enjoyed as much today as it was four years ago!

Written July 22, 2005

Those of you who know me, know how I feel about beds. I adore them. I worship them. Sleep, I can take it or leave it, but BEDS. They are fantastic. They are a gift. They are proof that God loves us. Last night I was strolling through the “Parade of Products” at the Orange County fair with my family and I stopped in front of the “Comfort-Pedic” bed exhibit to see what was with all the hype about foam beds. The salesman beckoned my sister and I over to come try out one of his beds. We decided to give the famous “memory foam” a try.

Well I laid down, and all thoughts left my mind. The room went dark and the heavens opened up. THIS BED was so glorious, I wanted to live and die in it. I cannot even express the comfort I was experiencing while lying in this bed!

Then the salesman spoke up. “Girls, it’s much more than just a comfortable bed. It has a voice-activated support system that raises and lowers your head or feet for added comfort! Just say ‘Up’.”… “UP!!!” we said at the same time, and the head of the bed started to lift. Then the man said, “Now say ‘Feet Up’.” “FEET UP!!!” we yelled, and the feet started to raise.

A heavenly comfortable bed, AND it has a brain! “But that’s not all…” the man said, in true informercial fashion. “Say ‘Vibrate'”. Marj and I looked at each other, no way is there a back massager in this bed! So we yelled “Vibrate!” and it started to massage our backs. At this point I’m thinking of ways to tell people that I must stay in bed at all times. THIS BED to be exact. “I lost my ability to walk in a freak accident… I’m allergic to floors…I have a very rare disease where I must always be in a Comfort-pedic bed…”

After about 20 minutes of giving orders to this bed and it submissively obeying EVERY time, the blessed salesman spoke again. “Oh I forgot to tell you,” he said,  (what, does it make Pizzas too?) “when you say ‘sandwich’ both sides of the bed start to rise at the same time!” Hmmm…  “Sandwich?” I thought. “The bed answers to the word ‘sandwich’? Who on earth would WANT the bed to fold up on them?” But due to my utter curiosity, we had to say it… “SANDWICH!” we yelled. Just as promised, both ends of the bed began to rise. And rise and rise and… FREAK! I’m getting totally squished in this bed! (Let’s keep in mind that this is at the fair in plain view of everyone around.) We began to panic that the bed would not stop raising so we looked at the salesman with fear in our eyes. He worriedly said, “It will keep raising until you tell it ‘Stop Sandwiching’!” So me and Marj are frantically trying to wiggle out of this bed and begin yelling “STOP SANDWICHING! STOP SANDWICHING!”

The bed stopped with a jolt, now we are folded in the bed with our mouths at our knees looking helpless. We’re thinking, “Gosh, this is the bed from hell!” Finally, we look over at the salesman who is laughing hysterically and HOLDING THE REMOTE IN HIS HAND.

The bed was NOT a voice-activated bed. It was a jerk-activated bed! So my sister and I were in the middle of the fair shouting, “STOP SANDWICHING!” at a completely innocent bed, while this crazed salesman is squishing us to death in his merchandise. I have never felt so stupid in my whole life. I was actually relieved that this otherwise heavenly bed, would not actually “Sandwich” on me in real life. I mean, what if I started sleep talking about lunch and happened to mention a sandwich?  I’d be dead by morning!

So, I do still love the bed, now that I know it’s not of the devil. I will be starting “The Miriam Tavis Comfortfoambedititis Disease Foundation” so if you’re feeling generous, please make a donation… considering this bed costs as much as my freakin’ car!