The Giggle Loop

There's an old British comedy called Coupling that was hilarious, and in one episode, they discuss "the giggle loop." The giggle loop is basically the phenomenon that occurs when you are some place where you shouldn't be making noise, but then something makes you want to laugh. Then thinking "how embarrassing would that have been had I laughed here?" causes you to want to laugh more. And it keeps building until you burst. It used to happen to me and my sister a lot during church, growing up. And it happened to me a couple weeks ago in: Pilates Class.

The Giggle Loop:

(http://www.snotr.com/video/6244/The_Giggle_Loop)

Actually, this happens fairly frequently with me, truth be told. Like when I'm getting X-rays at the dentist and that cardboard thing they shove back into your mouth makes me gag uncontrollably, so the hygienist keeps patiently having to take it out, then replace it again -- only for me to immediately gag while staring blankly right in her face, making her remove it once again and start the whole process over. The whole thing makes me laugh, which only exacerbates the problem, which makes me want to laugh even more.

Or when, during every. single. doctor's exam. (and most massages), they hit a ticklish spot and I start giggling so hard I can't breath, which makes them laugh, which makes me laugh harder.

It's all one big cycle. Or, loop, if you will.

And usually it's a silent laugh, and I have to go through it helplessly - often for a while - before anyone around me even notices I'm incapacitated. It's even worse, because I'll sit there knowing that eventually I'm going to have to inhale - thus creating a loud and disturbing sound - or, I'll have to violently release whatever beverage inconveniently happens to be in my mouth at the time.

I've definitely lost a battle or two to The Loop.

So - Pilates class. I've been going to classes for Pilates Reformer. The Reformer is this thing that looks like a torture device that you can do all sorts of stretching and strength training on, like so:


GIFSoup

You often look ridiculous doing it, and often bang into the person next you (or maybe that's just me), but I enjoy the classes, nonetheless.

But because my schedule is crazy, I'm often rushing to get to class (I've been known to change into workout clothes everywhere from the driver's seat of my own car, to the bathroom of a Mr. Tire shop while my oil was changed. I may not be classy, but you can't say I'm not determined.) The last time I went, I was rushing to change in the co-ed bathroom at the Pilates studio. As I open the door, I realize the handle's wet, which grosses me out. I try to ignore it and begin quickly undressing anyway, then something takes over and I just can't not wash my hands, thinking about that handle. So I stop mid-clothing change, and go to the sink.

Then I hear what I think is someone trying to open the door to the bathroom. And I'm half naked, inexplicably standing at the sink.

And I uncontrollably let out a very loud stepped-on-puppy type of yelp.

Then immediately start giggling at the noise I just made and how ridiculous my whole situation is.

Thankfully, no one walked in on me. In fact, I'm not even sure the noise I heard was someone trying to come in. And who knows who actually heard me? It's even more embarrassing if the entire class of strangers all heard me yelping alone when no one was actually trying to open the door. I try to stop giggling, finish dressing, and grab the last Reformer in the row. I start doing whatever motion the class is already in the middle of doing, and I keep suppressing laughter.

And that's when I realize my Reformer has a slight issue. See, there are springs attached at the bottom that you take on and off to add resistance, and apparently one of those springs needed oiling or something, because every single time I push out, that contraption sounded similar to this:

Every. Single. Time.

Great. So I'm already late, I've made an unexplained terrified dog sound from the bathroom, and now my reformer is making noises.

Then we move onto an exercise using The Ring.

I forgot to mention that not only do you have the torture device, but there are accessories as well. At different points during the workout, you pluck various items from your personal cubby space along the wall. There are different sized resistance balls, some kind of wooden stick that I still don't know what it's used for (and may never want to find out), a ring you squeeze, and a big black box you can lay on for certain exercises.

My ring squeaked, you guys. I can't even make this up.

So now, not only do I have the spring making "boing" sounds, but every time I squeeze that ring during the workout, it makes a squeaky noise. Kind of like a chew toy, but a lower pitch. Just a faint little "you are squeezing me and I don't enjoy it" type sound.

No one else's equipment is making any protest noises. And I can't take it anymore.

As we are laying there, repeatedly pushing our reformer things back and forth, I keep thinking of my bathroom panic, the boing, and the squeak - and I have to choke back laughter. Then I have to choke back more laughter, thinking how funny it is that I'm choking back laughter.

The Giggle Loop is upon me.

At one point we are told to lay on our sides while we continue to push back and forth -and my shoulders start to shake. Now I'm wondering what the person behind me is thinking. Probably that I'm crying during the workout.

Oh dear. That's funny too. I may explode. And then not only will everyone in class wonder what's wrong with me, but I could actually injure myself. If I explode mid-exercise, I'll render my muscles useless and likely slam myself back to the starting position on this contraption - wounded - which is also funny and then I'll laugh even harder and it may never end!

I may die here in a circle of uncontrollable laughter.

I force myself to pull it together, and we thankfully move onto another accessory which distracts me for a bit. We get - the box.

We're told to lay stomach-down, palms out flat on the box, which is now on the slide-y part of the contraption. And we have to push this thing up and down with our legs and abs. And it's hard, and I start to sweat. And by the time we are to put the boxes back against the wall, I look down and see a sweat trail in the shape of my hands sliding down the box. It looks like the back car window of the racy scene in Titanic.

And that too, is funny.

I have to push down the Loop yet again.

Miraculously, in the end, I actually made it through the whole class without  losing my battle with the Loop. This time. But I know it won't be the last battle.

And unfortunately, each one of you reading this are now also a part of The Giggle Loop.

For that I am sorry.

Stay strong, my friends.

Smug Marrieds

Let me start by saying -- I love love. I love marriage. I am always honored to be a part of people's weddings: as an attendee or a bridesmaid or by playing songs on the piano from the Little Mermaid while guests file into the church (Yes. I did that once as a child. It was background music and no one realized what is was from, don't judge me).

But as I've mentioned before, I've never been one of those people who just needed to be in a relationship. Not that marriage/kids isn't one of my goals - it is - but unless I'm just crazy about someone, I'm going to choose being single over settling, every time. But it is frustrating the older I get, especially when "are you dating anyone?" is the first question out of everyone's mouths and if I tell people I'm not in a relationship, it's like I've short-circuited them. And it gets worse during wedding festivities.

At my age, I've been to roughly 9,007 weddings/bridal showers/bachelorettes and not that I wouldn't want all that tradition for my own wedding - I totally will -but after awhile, you feel like you are just going through the motions. I've become the female version of the Wedding Crashers, practically betting people around me whether they're going to quote First Corinthians or Colossians 3:12 during the ceremony. And bouquet toss? Forget about it. I'm the epitome of this scene from Sex and The City. Except, you know, I'm not speaking Italian. Usually. (I guess the You Tube copyright police ignore uploads as long as they aren't in English? But you get the idea of the sentiment at least):

So with my shoulder shrugs ready, I headed to Atlanta last weekend for yet another friend's bridal festivities.

Let me set the scene:
-I'm the only non-Indian/Pakistani bridesmaid, which already singles me out a bit.
-I'm one of only two out of the whole group who is not/or has not been married.
-I'm 5'8. The tallest of the other girls is about 5'4 on a good day. The shortest? 4'11. I felt like Elf.
Or, like this:

http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0335266/

And we had a whole weekend of events and I didn't really know anyone well except the bride. And many of the other bridesmaids had never done a traditional American bachelorette night out so they came armed with accessories, games, and talk of staying out all night on our last night. (I'm getting too old for this).

I immediately set my sights on the pregnant one and silently vowed that when she went back to the house, I was going with her or would die trying.  

(She actually lasted longer than I expected, but still enabled me to get back to my bed --aka The Floor (I'm getting too old for this) -- before midnight, so I count that a success.)

But we need to back up to earlier that day: The Bridal Tea.

First of all - I loved the venue, very southern and very girly and totally something I'd want as well.

However.

We walk in, and not only is our bridal event there, but on the same floor, the rooms next to ours are also all bridal events. You couldn't swing your string of pearls without hitting a sign that said something like "The Future Mrs. Bearman!" or "Chrissy's Bridal Brunch!!"

I started texting my single DC friends for back up.

I walk in and find that not one, but two ladies are pregnant in my room, one with twins. I immediately feel like I'm in the Bridget Jones scene where Bridget has dinner with "smug marrieds" and everyone is paired up around the table and they stare up at her in robotic unison and one man winks and starts patting his pregnant wife's stomach saying “You really ought to hurry up and get sprogged up, old girl. Time's a running out. Tick tock."

I texted more furiously.

I got back the response,  "Stay away from sharp objects. You sound very vulnerable right now."

Very funny. But before I could harumph too much at my DC friends' obvious enjoyment of my being left to the love-intoxicated wolves down south, we had moved to:

The reading aloud of inspirational quotes about marriage, portion of the day.

::Face Palm::

I had already asked my friends for help with this assignment, and they suggested I just write down the lyrics to Maroon 5's "Pay Phone" and call it a day.

Very helpful, thank you friends. You will now absolutely be asked to sing "I honestly Love You" for my reception. Especially if you are still single. 

So clearly I was on my own in this and thankfully found a couple quotes that were nice enough to offer, but not so nice that I'd accidentally dry-heave in the middle of reciting them. And of course, by luck of the draw, I was chosen to go first for this reading.

And thank the Lord I was, because shortly after me:

everyone started crying.

There was talk of love and why it's so important to stop and look around on your wedding day, and how this man is now your family, etc. etc. And then there was something about each other's "love languages" and at that point, I nearly dry-heaved anyway while everyone else was having "and it's just! so! beautifuh-uh-uh-uhlll!" moments and I sat there practically whistling, looking around to see if anyone else had eaten their cheese straws yet.

I started texting again. "I mean, I wasn't going to have dessert, but I mean...."

I get the response, "Whatever gets ya through, man. Whatever gets ya through."

I giggle to myself and the tea ends just in time for us to move to the art project portion of the weekend:

Working with broken glass.

So much for staying away from sharp objects....

In the end, the weekend was actually pretty fun (and I got a nice new personally-mosaic-ed bowl out of it, so there's that.) And as I'm typing this, no joke, I just got an email from the last bride who's wedding I was in and her email says "you can thank me for not having you do this." And apparently there's a new trend in weddings called: "Bridal Party Boudoir Photos," where the whole bridal party gets photos done like this:

So at least I wasn't asked to do that during the weekend. 

And of course, my friends are lovely brides who deserve all the fanfare. I just find the Bridget Jones-esque moments too hilarious not to comment on. And I recommend that if you are a bride out there with friends who are single or just don't have very strong googly-eye genes, just don't take it personally if you find them texting when they are supposed to be sobbing over just how darn special weddings are.

And maybe stay clear of broken glass projects too. Just in case.

The Gift of Public Speaking

That’s what you all can get me for Christmas this year seeing as I DON’T POSSESS IT.

Tonight, my group project team and I present our final presentation that will basically determine our grade for this semester. How can I describe to you how bad I am at public speaking?

- I get anxious in staff meetings with my colleagues who I am friends with and see every day.

- I get anxious just having to announce my name and what I do in a room for of people (I actually left a meeting - acted like I needed to take a call – last week and came back in only after I was sure the Everyone Introduce Yourself To The Group portion of the event was over. *bowing head in shame*)

- I get anxious talking on conference calls when no one can even see me.

There’s just something about having the stage that I can’t handle.

I take that back, I actually love attention. I love regaling groups of people at parties with my strange stories.  I loved dancing on stage when I took ballet as a child, loved playing the piano at recitals, and loved singing on stage when I was a part of a cover band for 4 years here in DC (YES. I may not have mentioned much about that before but I did, in fact, sing in a band. There are photos and videos somewhere. I’ll try to find some to share. Maybe.)

But when I have to speak on command – when everyone stops talking and stares at me, forced to listen to whatever I’ll say no matter how uninteresting or discombobulated it might be –

I can’t take that pressure.

I’ve mentioned the first time I realized I could break into hives HERE. Since that happened, I can distinctly feel myself getting blotchy whenever I speak in front of a group.

I also forget to exhale.

I also make weird jokes.

I also get too informal and am tempted to use “y’all” or end every thought with a “ya know what I mean...”

I once gave a presentation in front of my church and kept talking and talking, continually inhaling without letting any breath out, until finally I reached a point where I was either going to squeak out one last word right before blacking out, or force myself to push air out of my lungs.

I chose the latter.

And did it into the mic.

And everyone laughed.

........

I’ve given presentations at large company meetings and started discussion about the work I did during a serious national disaster by saying:

“this mic is too short for me. I’m gunna need to squat up here and work on my quads during this.”

Yes.

So you can see why I’m living in dread today. Hopefully I won’t have any new embarrassing stories after presenting tonight.

But I promise to share if I do. Wish me luck.

The Things We Do For Exercise

I'm struggling to get my crap together this week. I'm sorry I don't have any new posts on baboons or boys (although I did just let a guy down using the phrase "I was a little uncomfortable with what felt like aggressive affection on a first date...." which I'll tell you more about later.) But besides being behind on posting here, I'm also behind on work, errands, and keeping up with my Groupon/Living Social Deals.

One of those deals being Unlimited Access to a Fitness Boot Camp for the Month of January. (for which I'd like to go back in time and slap my former self when I started to make that purchase. 6am class every day?? Ha!)

The other is: 5 sessions of Pole Dancing Classes.

Yes.

Long story short, a couple years ago, my friend was getting married so a bunch of us thought it'd be hilarious to take a Chair Dancing class together as a bachelorette activity. We are not the type of girls you would ever look at and think: "definitely dances for money," so that made it even funnier.

We all showed up to the class in un-sexy workout attire, strapped on the plastic 6-inch stilletos they provide for the class, and proceeded to giggle our way through the hour-long session.

At various points through the session, you'd hear an uneven pitter-patter of stilletos and another girl would bite the dust. One girl tripped and nearly fell into the front window of the establishment (which actually would've been HILARIOUS to watch from the street, if she could've avoided serious injury. Come on, you are walking by what looks like a normal row house in D.C. and suddenly a tiny blonde girl wearing gym clothes and bright red heels flies out the window? That would be entertaining!). And we routinely would glance around during a particularly humbling pose, catch the eye of another embarrassed friend and just start laughing uncontrollably again. And it was hard! We all felt like we'd done intense workouts the next day, leading my friend Krimmel and I to think -- this could actually be really beneficial, not just extremely embarrassing and hilarious.

So when we found a Living Social deal, we were sold. Except instead of chair dancing, this time we'd try -- Pole Dancing.

So once again, Krimmel and I find ourselves giggling in bulky gym clothes, being taught moves that were designed to be "sexy" but what we are simply using as a fun/funny way to trick our bodies into strength training.

We have another class tonight. I'll let you know if either of us flies out a window.

Love The Skin You're In

For my final paper in one of my grad school classes this semester, we basically have to choose a negative Human Behavior, look at it through the lens of one of several theories, and think of ways to target changing that behavior with a public relations campaign.

(Incidentally, the guy from the Boat Ride story here suggested I go with "Fear of Commitment"... I'm going to pretend that wasn't a direct jab. Ahem.)

I chose Tanning Bed Use. And while I don't use tanning beds now, I used to in High School (come on! I was on the dance team for BASKETBALL season - AKA - the winter. Short skirts + white legs = no prom date, people.) And I still shamefully lay out in natural sunlight and participate in outdoor activities without wearing sunscreen.

So perhaps I'll learn to convince myself otherwise.

Anyway, I told you here about the mole I had removed. But I didn't tell you the extremely embarrassing appointments before that.

There were two. One was a year or so before, when I went for a Mole Patrol appointment and discovered much to my dismay that not only would the dermatologist be conducting my check-up, but - oh look! there are STUDENTS too! And they will ALSO be peering intently at EVERY INCH of my NAKED BODY looking for anything suspicious in the way of moles. (and I now realize I sound like I'm covered in moles - I'm not. I actually hardly have any - I'm covered in freckles! (my arms anyway) See? Much less hideous! Freckles are angel kisses, or so my aunt told me when I was a child to make me feel better...) So I don't really have that much to have checked but I'm paranoid and once I got health insurance, I started getting annual check ups for EVERYTHING! Just because I could!

So, having a guy around my age peer all over my body (and given my lovely internal homing device, this is probably someone I'll most definitely run into while out socially in Georgetown some Saturday night) was slightly uncomfortable.

BUT NOT AS UNCOMFORTABLE AS THE NEXT YEAR. When I went to a DIFFERENT doctor - the one who removed a mole. When I first went to her, she asked me what all I wanted to discuss. And I told her I just wanted a check-up to make sure I hadn't given myself skin cancer. I also asked her opinions on good body washes because I work out fairly regularly and want to take care of my skin after sweating through hour-long torture sessions spin classes. Well, she must've jotted something down because of what happened next.

She tells me she wants to do a biopsy of a mole and so I have to come back. And when I go back, I meet: Her Assistant. A guy who looks kind of like a dark-haired Seth Rogan but acts like Napolean Dynamite.

Greeeeat Bedside Manner, let me tell ya.

So I'm ALONE with this guy in a tiny room with the door closed and he blurts out something like "so you're having bad skin problems?"

Me, southern-belle-horrified-- "NO I AM NOT!" humph. "I'm having a mole removed!"

Awkward silence. And I'm already nervous due to said mole.

Him again: "So...you work out a lot, huh?"

Me, shutting my eyes in disbelief at this attempt at SMALL TALK, based on whatever is apparently on my chart from the Body Wash discussion: "Um, sure."

I pretend to check my email on my phone.

Him again: "Yeah, I try to work out but I need to get more regular...."

Me: Aaaand we're done here buddy.

I don't even remember what I said, probably just "mmm..." and stopped looking at him. I think he attempted a couple more times at awkward conversation and he finally left, thankfully.

After that, having something burned off my skin was a breeze.

Perhaps that scenario should be part of my hypothetical campaign: Stop Tanning - or you'll have to be alone in a room with THAT guy...

Wardrobe Malfunction

I can’t even believe I told various Running stories and forgot one of the best ones.

I mentioned I trained for a marathon for about 6 months. I did it with the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society’s Team in Training program (See HERE for details – GREAT program) so every Saturday – rain-snow-or shine – me and a large group of others would run at 8am for anywhere from 4 to 20 miles.

And this was during the infamous “Snowpocalypse” of DC where we got more snow than we’ve ever had. I remember one run where my friend’s water bottle actually froze during the run, and one where I wasn’t sure my Mustang would make it back home on the roads because people were spinning out left and right.

And during our 18 miler, it rained the entire run and I learned the hard way that the jacket I was wearing had not gotten a thorough rinsing on its last spin through the wash- it foamed up. During the run. I had little bubbles all over my arms by the time I got back to my car...not crazy looking at all!

But I miraculously made it all the way through the season to our longest training run– the 20 miler – with really no major mishaps.

Then I had a freakishly unusual one. Surprised? Yeah, I wasn’t either...

I’m running with one of the girls I typically do long runs with and we get to around mile 11 or 13 and she wants to stop at a mini mart we are passing. And I hardly EVER stop on these runs. I’m slow enough as it is, I don’t need to waste more time using the restroom or anything so I try not to stop. But since she’s stopping, I stop. And since we’re there, I go ahead and use the restroom.

And that’s probably TMI but this story is too good not to share.

So the yoga pants I’m wearing are many years old and well-worn. And as I’m pulling them up -

THEY RIP.

Not just a little bit, but like a good 6-8 inch tear down the seam.

AND NOT JUST ANY SEAM.

It tears the seam running along the INSIDE OF MY THIGH, starting a bit above my knee and going all the way up to...let’s just say another inch or so and everyone would ‘see London and see France...’

I don’t even know what to do. We are miles from our car and I don’t have money or anything. So I walk out, point out the incident in disbelief to my running partner – as if she couldn’t already see it – and I ask the cashier if he has anything to help me. Safety pins? (which wouldn’t have worked any way but I would’ve stapled the material to my leg at that point to get back to my car) Tape? He has nothing behind the register and the line of people in front of his counter starts building so he ignores us. So me and my friend look for tape down the aisles.

But we have no money.

So here’s where I sort of steal something. I’m not proud, but WHAT WOULD YOU DO?! So as the attendant is busy with his customers, I find a roll of Masking Tape and I sort of duck behind an aisle, peel off enough to wrap around my leg, tourniquet-style, and toss the tape back on the shelf and scurry out of the mini mart.

It looked similar to this:

Except the gaping hole in my clothing is not so much THERE, as it is HERE:

So now, my MacGyver’ed up pant leg is still sort of gaping, and I have tape wrapped around my upper thigh, but whatever. It’s working. Sort of. Except every couple minutes, the tape shifts and the hole starts gaping more. So I have to keep readjusting and it’s steadily rubbing a large area raw – on the inside of my thigh.

And around mile 18, we have the choice to just run straight to our cars or keep going another 2 miles, finishing the 20 miles we are supposed to do. And my friend decides to turn.

But I’m like – No Way. I’ve just ran the last 5-7 miles looking like Rambo, stopping every couple minutes to yank a hole closed on my pants, and chafing the inside of my leg – I AM FINISHING THIS.

So I run the last little bit, facing the weird looks of other runners (alone!) and I finally round the bend and come back to where my car is. And the stragglers that are left of my team start cheering for me, and then they see my leg and I have to explain myself. (And one teammate actually said “oh, I saw the tape but just figured it was some sort of circulation thing or something.” Wow. That's how crazy runners are.)

When I get home, my leg is chafed so badly I’m unable to run for the next week, making THAT my worst “injury” all season. Go figure.

When Emails Go Bad

This morning, I got a forwarded email at work from a guy we'll call Joe that says "I think this was meant for you." And the original email is from another coworker and started off saying "I don't think you need to invite Joe to the meeting. You know more about the subject matter...."

Apparently, the author got confused and since he had just typed Joe's name, he must've also typed it in the To: line. Awkward.

This is the danger with emails, isn't it? Either accidentally sending to the wrong person, or BCC'ing someone you shouldn't, or forgetting to change the subject line, etc...

My friends and I have had, or witnessed, several debaucles through the years. I've seen people intend to send a message to someone else about a top U.S. official, only to accidentally send to the listserve of that entire organization...including said Official. I've seen a Communications staffer email, from a White House email account, a cartoon of President Bush in a flight suit to a friend, jokingly, with just the word "Hot."

Except she accidentally added the email address of a reporter as well.

I've seen replies to Mass Emails at work that last for DAYS because everyone continues to Reply All, only to say "please stop replying to all". And these are supposedly Really Smart People. Hmm.

And, I personally have made mistakes like the time I had to dis-invite a guy to an event. I'm not going to explain why because you'll probably think I'm a horrible person no matter what, but in any case, I ran the email first by my friend to get her seal of approval on how I delivered the news. After she reviewed and sent back to me, I forwarded it to the guy, erasing her stuff.

But what didn't I erase? The subject line I had sent to her that said "Hey, do you think this sounds bad?"

Awkward.

But, I've also been the victim of email mishaps so what goes around comes around. Years ago, a nice Diplomatic Security agent emailed me to ask me out.

A few minutes later: He recalled the email.

And maybe it would've stung if I was really into this guy, but all I could do was burst out laughing, forward to my friend, and ask "Did I really just get RECALLED on a DATE?!"

In the end, he had some excuse, that I can no longer remember, for the glitch and he actually did mean to ask me out (and we did go out, where we had ANOTHER glitch, that I'll relay some other time) but I've loved having that incident in my portfolio of Dating Mishaps.

Moral of the story - double check before you hit Send...or Recall.