So, someone told me I posted this on here. But I can’t find it. And it’s a good story anyway. So if you’ve already heard it, deal with it. So there.

I thought this would be the perfect story. It goes with the gym kick I was on recently, and I’m also in the midst of training right now. (Every time I say that, I literally chuckle. I’m not someone who trains for anything. Least of all anything physical.) I’ve been spending a lot of time in the gym lately, and it brings up bad college memories.

I went to a small school in Virginia, and one of our required classes was one called Personal Fitness. Which in reality, was just going to the gym two mornings a week to work out. My teacher liked to torture me by making me participate in the class warm-ups, which often consisted of relay races. One of which involved me, a basketball player, “the wheelbarrow,” and some gym burns on my face. But that’s another story for another day.

This story centers around a Nautilus machine. Even in the best of situations, I’m not terribly coordinated. You add weights and bars and cables and it just gets ugly. So, I sit down on this machine, and reach behind me to grab the bar. I was supposed to bring the bar from behind me to in front of me, at chest level, working out my shoulders/biceps. I’m not sure if you’re picturing this, but you will soon.

Suddenly, I realize that nothing is moving. The bar isn’t coming forward like it’s supposed to. More importantly, my arms are wedged in the machine, forming a u-shaped halo around my head. Are you with me? I’m stuck. In a Nautilus machine. With all of my peers standing around me.

Oh, but they didn’t know I was stuck. Because I’m smooth. To them, it just looked like I was pausing between reps. A very long pause, but a pause nonetheless. I perpetuated this lie by chatting to the people around me. Nonchalantly. While in my head I’m screaming “I’M STUCK IN A MACHINE. AT THE GYM. HELLLLLLLP ME!”

I wait until I think nobody is looking my way. It was time for my escape. I somehow popped my elbows forward, sending the bar flying out of my hands. The weights slam down behind me, and I leap to my feet, resisting the urge to throw my hands in the air like I just stuck a perfect landing.

All eyes had turned to me. I tried to shrug it off, pretend like it wasn’t even me. But everyone knew it was. My face burned, as much from embarrassment as the earlier gym burn. I never got on that machine again. And for the next few weeks, I had the nickname “Nautilus.”

My life is painful.

After my last post, I felt the need to ease back in to my posts. I have lots of ideas floating around, lots of half-written posts hanging out, but I felt like posting something mindless today.

So, I’m starting a new series called “Remember that time?” These posts will be purely story-telling. Me reliving memories, mostly funny, for your enjoyment. Let’s begin, shall we.

I grew up in a house surrounded on all three sides by soybean fields. They weren’t our fields. My family’s home occupied a small dusty acre, with the only vegetation being a withered crabapple tree and the garden we would plant out back every spring.

But to me, that soybean field was the most beautiful thing ever. Emerald green, rustling softly in the breeze. I would run through the field, my bare feet sinking in the dirt, my fingers dancing over the leaves.

One late spring day, I saw a huge mass of bubbles floating in the field. It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. More iridescent than soapy, it was magical. I ran after it, finally catching up. I lifted handfuls of bubbles in the air, blowing them off my fingertips. Then, I did what any child would do. I ate some of them.

Please, for the love of all that’s holy, don’t ask me why I did that. I just did. There really wasn’t any taste. Soon the bubbles blew away, and I ran home for dinner.

That night, over a plate of fresh vegetables and roastbeef, I told my mom about my discovery.

“Oh, that’s just bug larvae,” she told me. “When they lay their eggs…”

I had heard enough. My stomach lurched, and I imagined a million tiny bugs swimming in my stomach. This was worse than the time my cousin told me a watermelon was going to grow in my stomach because I swallowed a seed.

That night I gagged into the toilet for 30 minutes, then rinsed my mouth with Listerine until my lips and tongue lost all feeling. And I learned never to eat a floating cloud of bubbles. No matter how magical they appear.

Wanna hear about a pet peeve of mine? Of course you do. That’s why you’re reading my blog.

Cell phones. They’re a mixed blessing. A double-edged sword if you will.

On the one hand, cell phones are convenient. I can call people from anywhere. From a crowded airport. A stranded car on a snowy street. The comfort of my home. I can call you to see if you want me to pick up some coffee. I can send you a picture on my cell phone of something inappropriate I see at the store. I can call you to tell you there’s some creepy guy watching me at the gym.

So, cell phones are great, yes?

No.

They’re not great because you people answer them when I’m trying to talk to you. I’m RIGHT HERE. Don’t answer your cell phone. Seriously, put it down. You can call them back when we’re done with our conversation. Oh, and if you do answer it, because, I don’t know, it’s your pregnant wife and you think she’s in labor, and it turns out that she just wants you to pick up some pickles and ice cream on your way home, then be quick. Don’t ask her how her day’s going. Because I’m STILL STANDING RIGHT HERE. For the love of all that’s holy.

Whatever. You don’t even care. I bet you’re talking on your cell phone right now.

If you go out looking like you just crawled out from underneath a rock, you will run into no less than five people you know.

If you smash your finger, and maybe say a naughty word, someone will walk by just as you’re saying it. Someone who works at the same ministry you work at. And it will be lovely.

When you call a co-worker, and you’re also emailing someone else at the same time, you will completely lose track of your mental processes. You will not remember who you are calling, why you are calling them, or your own name.

Anytime you trip and fall over absolutely nothing, people will see you. A lot of people. And at least one of them will comment.

If you recommend a book or movie to someone, it will have a terribly inappropriate scene in it, that somehow you completely forgot. Extra points if it involves your friend’s children.