Just Another Blawkward Monday…

I’ve arbitrarily decided that Mondays are the days on which I will blog about awkward encounters.  Each Monday, I pledge to recount an awkward story from the previous week.  Should social graces and/or fortuitous week-long awkwardness avoidance prohibit my detailing a recent event, I’ll dig into the endless cesspool of awkwardness known as my past to tell you a story.

I will protect the innocence of those involved by giving them code names, which will involve inserting either BL or AWK somewhere into their names.  The reasons why should be obvious, and frankly, so should the identities of my awkwardness victims.

Today’s tale comes from my recent past.  John had a recruiting event in New York, so we decided to make a weekend of it.  We journeyed down under separate cover so that in case one of us died, the other would still be able to care for Awkus and Blydie.  Ok, so we did it because the company flew him down, whereas I had to take the bus because our society places a greater premium on degrees from fancy business schools that it does on wannabe memoir writers who spend a lot of time in sweatsuits.

John got to New York way before I did and proceeded to partake in  corporate initiation rituals.  He briefly swung by the hotel to let me in to the room so that I could watch Sydney White, a retelling of Snow White and the Seven Dwarves starring Amanda Bynes.  The film takes place on a college campus, and instead of dwarves, they’re dorks.  Yup.  Did I mention poignant ending, in which the dorks are elected to student council in a rousing defeat of Rachel Witchburn, made me weep?  And that’s not even the blawkward encounter.

Post-crying jag, I joined John and the gang at a bar.   The venue played a lot of late-90s hip-hop—embarrassingly, one of my favorite genres—although being a broke writer rapping along to “Money Ain’t a Thang” with a mob of consultants feels like kind of a lie.

I ultimately latched onto Blaudrey, the other Sloanie at the event, and Awko, her boyfriend.  Blaudrey is someone I don’t know terribly well, although I’ve enjoyed chatting with her the few times we’ve found ourselves in the same social setting.  This time, our conversation went something like this:

Me: Awko, you’ve done quite well for yourself.  I think Blaudrey is the most beautiful girl in your class at Sloan.

Awko: Uh, thanks.

Me: No, really.  She’s, like, really, really hot.

Awko: Thanks.  Yeah, I think she’s beautiful.

Me: No, like, seriously.  The hottest.

Awko (scuttles away): Hi, random stranger.

Me (sidling up to Blaudrey): Hey, so I was just telling Awko how you’re the hottest girl in your class at Sloan.

Blaudrey: Oh, uh, thanks?

Me: No, seriously.  I’ve thought about this a lot and discussed it with a lot of people.  You’re totally the best looking girl in your class.

Blaudrey: What about Blog and Awkward?

Me: Oh, Blog doesn’t do it for me.  And, yeah, Awkward’s hot, but not like you…

Blaudrey: Gee, thanks (begins looking around for Awko, or for anyone else who will rescue her from me).

Me (hating social cues): Seriously.  I’ve thought about it a lot.  You’re hot.  Ooh!  I love this song!  “One, two, three and to the fo’  Snoop Doggy Dogg and Dr. Dre is at the do’… ”

Blaudrey escapes under a storm of the requisite hand-gestures which accompany my rapping.


Now, this scene is in some ways an upgrade from another game I’ve been known to play, “Get Drunk and Talk About Myself,” which often precedes a stirring round of “Who Wants to Come to My Pity Party?”  But Blaudrey may well wind up working with John next year.  And now she’s probably afraid of me.

But she is really pretty.


1 comment so far

  1. Blatrick Awkyes on

    This is a fun game. I am going to start replacing all nouns with either ‘Blog’ or ‘Awkward’

    And you can’t tell a story like this and /not/ post a blurry cellphone picture of Blaudrey. Even if it is a photoshopped screen grab of Phoebe Cates.

    Off to scrub my Awkward. Much love to Blog.

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