I think the universe and I are in an abusive relationship.

I'm pretty sure, somewhere out there, in the vast expanse of space and time, there is a video-feed of my life, that several alien children are watching, and no doubt, hysterically laughing at. Sometimes, when I'm experiencing a particularly spastic moment of FAIL, I actually look around to see if I can spot the camera recording the immediate disaster at hand.

Yes, I'm aware of how self-involved the above theory is, but I don't care, it's true. I really do feel like this the majority of the time. And I would even venture to say, that a lot of people who happen to experience an unnerving amount of spastic awkwardness throughout each day, feel similarly.

Let me give you an example:

A few days ago, while I was at the gym, I happened to notice a particularly attractive male specimen. Now, to be fair, the gym in North Beach is full of "carbon-copy-cut-out-Ken dolls," so seeing someone "attractive," isn't exactly news. However, anyone who knows me at all, can relate the fact that I'm not a huge fan of generic looking "hot guys." Sure, the "Ken-doll cut-outs" are nice to look at, but in my overall experience, they're dumb as shit, and the ones that aren't borderline retarded, are usually, HUGE DOUCHEBAGS, who have somehow managed to delude themselves into thinking they're actually intelligent, or even worse, "funny" and "charismatic."

I'm sorry, but just because you obtained a degree by coasting through college on a baseball scholarship, doesn't make you "smart." Some of the stupidest people I know have college degrees. It should also be noted that, having a high batting average doesn't necessarily mean someone can read. It means they can hit a ball with a wooden stick relatively well, and with a certain amount of consistency.

You know who else was good at hitting things with big wooden sticks? 

HOMO ERECTUS

Ok, I'm getting off topic here. Truthfully, I have no problem with hot guys who are "reading comprehension challenged." They're fun to play with... kind of like POGS were in the 5th grade.

Anyway, this guy I saw just had such a beautiful face. I don't know how else to describe it, other than, he was simply,"so salty". Now, I realize that with my track record, he was probably an idiot, but as we all know, beauty is intoxicating, and blind to most rational judgments.

So here I am at the gym, staring at the pretty man like a fucking voyeur, when all of a sudden, he turns around, and notices me gawking at him like a creepy-stalker-girl. I, of course, get super flustered, and overcompensate for my awkwardness by being even more awkward. I decided that I was being silly, and that it's okay to look at people. Besides, I have a strict "no dating anyone from the gym policy." I've learned that lesson WAY too many times, hence the policy; formulated from many many bad dates, and uncomfortable post-rejection run-ins. So, I turned up the Kanye in my earbuds (no I'm not "mad" at him, and I don't give a fuck about his d-bag VMA drama either), and proceeded to run on the treadmill.

I was under the assumption that my earlier moment of awkwardness was all the awkward I would be experiencing at the gym that day, so after my run, I went to lift some weights.

I have never been so wrong. 

During the hour or so I was at the gym, every time the pretty man walked within a 20-foot radius of me, I would:


a) drop a weight
b) trip over my feet
c) walk into a machine
             or 
d) all of the above. 


This happened about 10 or so times, until I finally decided to leave the gym, before I actually injured myself. I'm pretty sure someone rigged my sports bra with a shock collar while I wasn't looking, because that's the only explanation for my uncontrollable spastic reflexes.

(Yes, I still stand by the above theory as the most logical explanation for my extreme lack of coordination).

Safeway is in the same shopping structure as the gym, so I headed over there in an attempt to still make the evening productive despite my gym FAIL. After racing my cart up and down the isles for 20 minutes or so, I had obtained all the food items I wanted to purchase. I got in line, but realized I forgot milk. So, in a hasty 360 degree turn, I whipped my cart around, and like the starting line at the INDY 500, I raced it down the cereal isle, balancing my lower torso on the handle bar, while my feet were airborne behind me. Under estimating the speed of my cart, and the odds that someone would walk past the end of the isle I was flying down at the very same time, I came crashing into another Safeway patron, right in front of the butter and pudding display.

In all my years of shopping cart racing, I've never actually hit another person. Sure, I've knocked plenty of things over, and definitely had a few close calls, but I hadn't made "cart-body" contact before. While profusely apologizing, and picking up all the items I had knocked out of their basket, I realized this wasn't just a random Safeway shopper, nope, that would have been too easy, and much less entertaining for the alien children watching my video feed; therefore, in an obvious cosmic conspiracy to continue to make Bridgette FAIL, the Safeway patron was, of course, the pretty man from the gym.

Mortified beyond comprehension, I began giggling like a drunk sorority girl who had just finished inhaling a crate of whip-its. I then started mumbling incoherently, and officially secured the title of the "gravity challenged insane girl from the gym," Northern California chapter.

My short-bus will be picking me up any minute now.

After regaining the bare-minimum of composure one needs in order to NOT have a seizure, I rationalized that, it's okay to be a little retarded sometimes. I know I'm retarded more than just "sometimes," but I have the amazing ability to rationalize all situations into whatever my deluded perception of reality happens to be that day.

I took a deep breath, and calmed down, assuming again of course, that this moment of awkwardness was definitely all the awkward I would be experiencing at Safeway that day.

I was wrong... again.

Much too smug about my newfound ability to maintain my motor skills in a non-spastic fashion, I leaned down to retrive an apple that rolled under the "Thomas' English Muffin" display. In one misguided foot placement, my entire leg slid sideways, and about 40 bags of english muffins came crashing down on top of me. The pretty man laughed for a second, and attempted to help me, but his efforts were thwarted as entire army of Safeway employees went DEFCON 5 on my ass in the bread isle.

There was a moment while I was laying there, covered in english muffins (I had managed to fall backwards, instead of on my face), where I was almost convinced that I could actually hear the laughter of the alien children through in the buzzing of the fluorescent lights on the ceiling.

Having turned a lovely shade of crimson, no doubt due to EXTREME mortification, I rationalized, again, that everyone has days when their coordination is fighting gravity and stuff falls on them... I bet... : /

As I stood up, profusely apologizing, again, this time to the Safeway army, I noticed that the pretty man had disappeared. And by disappeared, I mean, ran as fast as he could away from the maladroit girl (me), before the awkward became contagious. I lingered by the pudding for about 10 minutes, in an effort to make sure I didn't run into him, again, sans cart.

I finally made it to the checkstand, and bought my groceries without tripping, falling, or dropping a thing. I left safeway, and walked up the stairs to the parking lot to retrieve my car. Once again, I started to feel smug, and was sure this time, gravity had waved its white flag, and we were friends again.

I laughed to myself as I replayed the Safeway FAIL in my head. I mean, despite the extraordinary embarrassment, the whole thing was pretty hilarious. Plus, I was absolutely positive that the previous moment of EXTREME awkwardness, was most definitely all the awkward I would be experiencing at the North Point shopping center that night.

But... I was wrong... yet again.

I know what you're thinking: "Bridgette, you can't be more than 100 feet away from your car, what could have possibly happened in that short distance you had to travel?"

Well, I apparently misread gravities "white flag" as a surrender, when in fact, it was actually meant to be a "challenge flag." The challenge being, whether or not I could maintain enough focus to walk the 100 feet to my car. Easy right? I mean, I know how to walk, and I could see my car straight ahead, so naturally I assumed, I got this. 

About half-way through the first row of parked cars, a silver toyota 4-runner slowed down to let me cross in front. The headlights beamed into my pupils, and I realized that the driver was, *drum roll please* ... The pretty man! Big surprise right? ... I bit my lip and kept my focus straight ahead, thinking, "Okay, you can do this, here is your chance for redemption Bridgette! Just walk to your car like a normal person. You. got. this." 

I must have been focusing too hard on the end point, because about 2 seconds after I told myself, "You got this," I literally "fell over" my own feet in a dramatic "Matrix" style slow fall. Thankfully, I was able to catch myself, before I did a face-plant into the cement, and by "caught myself," I of course mean, "fell onto a parked car."

Yes, that's right, I tripped, and fell onto a parked car. 

Moral of the Story = I'm not really sure, but I think some would suggest that I start wearing protective padding before I leave the house.

I hope the alien children appreciate the great lengths I go to, to entertain them.

Also, I think it's safe to conclude that, the universe and I are definitely in an abusive relationship.

I have to go now.

My short-bus is here, and I can't find my helmet.