(card) table dancing

In starting out on this little adventure I call blogging, having practiced on all of my Yahoo group readers when I was in China, I've been trying to figure out what style, tone, and topics I want to cover. I have been trawling through blogs, looking at such a wide variety... and loving many! The more I look the less I narrow down, and the more I realize that I am just that random that this blog is just going to be a hodge podge (is that a word? my spell check says no). Embracing the Inner Stephie Jo really does mean embracing all the wonderfully eclectic parts and pieces, and not always knowing what you're holding exactly.

On another vaguely related note, I was talking with a co-worker today, and he asked if I minded that he was reading the blog, and I thought, "Geez, it's not like I can keep anything a secret in person, so why not see my thoughts in blog form, as well?" But I suppose I have censored myself from some amazing character sketches and funny every-day stories (mostly due to the fact that they're work-related), and that is the whole point of blogging for me! We talked about creating fictional characters or fake names, or starting with the past and working my way forward. I haven't figured out how I'm going to deal with it yet. But while I am pondering these things (and feel free to weigh in), I thought I'd share a brief story...

My Most Embarrassing Moment

(keeping in mind my complete lack of ability to recall events that happened more than, say, two hours ago)

It was Christmas 1999. I was in the middle of my second year of teaching fifth grade, and my first year working in a Phoenix school. The staff had organized a holiday party, which would be at the pool house of one teacher's apartment complex. My friend (should I say her name? let's call her Stacy for now), Stacy, a newbie like myself, had heard tremendous horror stories bordering on (urban) legend. The entire staff had gotten drunk and skinny dipped in the pool. The staff had gotten drunk and dared all the newbies to run naked around the pool. The naked staff had gotten drunk and... You get the point. Needless to say, we were like two spooked horses just before a storm when we arrived at the little cabana. Almost immediately, we were handed alcoholic beverages, which we sipped verrrrry sloooowly. We agreed to stick together and hang around the edges as much as possible.

Unfortunately, Stacy and I were unable to remain hidden, perhaps because we were tall and beautiful (ahem!). At some point during a rousing game of Truth or Dare amongst the now-very-tipsy support staff, Stacy needed to use the toilet. This left me Exposed. Sure enough, Pammy's gaze sought me out like a heat-seeking missile. All eyes turned to me. I stood as they asked in unison (ok, maybe that part's just dramatic effect), "TRUTH OR DARE?" I weighed my options. It wasn't particularly cold and they weren't so drunk that I could be in any real danger of a dare, but these ladies had lived and I wasn't sure I was ready to answer a probing question. I blurted out, "Dare!" It seemed just a few seconds later, that I found myself clambering up on one of the plastic table-clothed tables to dance along with the next song that came on the radio. Hmmm, that's not so bad, I thought. Ha.

I will never forget the next song that played: that old Rob Thomas and Santana collaboration. I stood up, kicked away the empty cans and bottles, and proceeded to dance and wiggle with gusto! Only... no one had bothered to tell me I was standing on a CARD TABLE. That's right, a cardboard topped card table. With the blink of an eye, I found myself falling through the table, frame still intact, cloth and drinks around my feet, my drink still in hand, and I had landed on both feet.

People were laughing so hard that they were literally crying and/or sitting down. I stood therein shock for several minutes, blinking and staring at my drink. Finally, someone- Chad, maybe?- came over, took what was left of the cardboard, and asked me to sign and date it. Stacy returned to find a crowd gathered around, signing the board, slapping me on the back, and congratulating me for my party skillz. I recall a feeling of pride mixed with embarrassment; I knew it would not be easy, or even possible, to live this one down. Soon after, the group had moved on to a massive food fight, and Stacy and I slipped out the door.

Two things in wrapping up this story. One, the signed cardboard ended up being displayed on the staff lounge wall, and would be referred to whenever a sub or other newbie graced the room. The other is that a certain teacher named Dave Baron (who deserves no anonymity!) made it a habit over many years to always- and I do mean every single time he possibly could- knock on the nearest table and let me know that the particular table in question would likely be able to hold me while I danced.

I wonder where that signed cardboard is now...