That awkward moment....

Let it be known across the land that I hate the expression "that awkward moment." My despite exists for several reasons, but mainly that the words following "that awkward moment" are ever anything but awkward. They're painfully normal moments in life. It's just the people who tend to use the phrase are too egocentric to realize there are others on the planet who also have those exact moments. Every day. All the time. "Oh, that awkward moment when you have to poop at work?" C'mon. Minna Unchi, people. 

("Minna Unchi" is Japanese for "Everyone Poops," (apparently)).

Editorial note: Incidentally, we are disturbed to learn we've always remembered the title of this particular book as "Everybody Poops" instead of "Everyone Poops." Not sure why it upsets us, but it does. 

Writer's note: I'm the editor.  Please don't ask me why my editorial note was written in first person plural. I mean it.

My life is full of awkward moments and now that I'm well into adulthood and comfortable in my own skin I enjoy them completely. I still fucking hate this expression of feigned awkward moments. I recently squawked, "It's that awkward moment when someone overuses the phrase 'that awkward moment' and you punch them in the face." I don't have a lot of friends.*

Squawked.

Anyway. I recently did experience an intensely awkward moment. I was out with my dear friend Kim and a gentlemen walked into the bar who I recognized, but for the love, could not place. No one else seemed to recognize him. The bartender stared blankly at me while I pointed directly at this man and said, "Him, that's the guy. Is he famous or do I know him?" This led to less blank staring and more backward walking, but I pressed on. I don't care a wink about famous people, but when I recognize someone it drives me to distraction until I can place them. Unfortunately, my penchant for remembering faces is undermined by a curse as my penchant for placing faces is non-existent. Subsequently I push and push and push until I figure out how and why I know the recognizable face in the room and this comes with varying consequences. Sometimes it's that gay dude from that show I can't recall the name of at the moment. Sometimes it's my mail carrier. Usually it's someone I've seen during rush hour on Q train who insists always so rudely insists I'm "insane." 

After reaching a point of desperation for solid memory I approached the stranger-face and demanded he present himself to me. His response? "Yeah, I came to your apartment once. We were maybe gonna fuck, but then we didn't and later you accused me of stealing your earrings."**

So, that's how I know that guy.

Naturally.

This blog post took a weird turn.

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* This there is a lie.**

** There may be other lies in this blog. Maybe.