When I studied abroad in Granada, the host mom of a friend told her one day "Eres un destastre." Translation: You are a disaster. She meant this in the most loving way possible, but it was an accurate description of a girl that was always running late, losing everything from homework to keys, and arriving home from tapas in the wee hours of the Spanish morning. Since then, we've adopted the phrase 'desastre' as a description to be used in place of its English equivalent. Here's a recap of my recent desastre moments:
1). My friend wanted to go to Champaign's one and only gay bar for a birthday drink last week because of both the impressive size of its dance floor and the 1/2-off prices on her favorite cocktails. The moment I had been waiting for finally came around midnight: they were not only playing Lady Gaga, but specifically, a great mash-up of all her popular tracks. You all know of my love for Lady Gaga and her music, so naturally I was getting my very enthusiastic groove on. Intense dance moves + giant puddle of someone's spilled drink = disaster moment # 1. Most people fall and their feet slip out from under them. Since I was in the middle of some sort of uncoordinated gyration/shimmy combo to "Love Game" when my foot hit the puddle, I fell forward, and onto my knees hard. The result? Days later both my knees are an intense mixture of blue, purple, green and black, plus a giant scrape. I don't know what's worse: the fact that I have to show up to my church for Jeremy's confirmation on Tuesday looking like a 7-year old that took a tumble off her bike, or the fact that it is physically painful to crawl across my bed to open/close the window. Definite desastre moment.
2). I have sleepwalked twice this semester. Not into the living room, or my bathroom, like a normal person. But into my roommate's bedroom. When I sleepwalk, I have absolutely no recollection of doing it, no awareness that I ever got up out of my bed, walked into her room, started shuffling things around on her desk or responding to questions, before returning to my own room. Since I have no idea any of this is going on, the real desastre moment doesn't hit until the next morning, when my roommate and her 31-year old boyfriend have to approach me about the subject over breakfast. "So...that was awkward when you came into the room last night...again." We then have to ponder, over Frosted Flakes and Honey Nut Cheerios, just what in my subconscious brings me to their room time and again, between the hours of 3-5am. Desastre moment # 2.
3). I cried during The Last Song. No, my eyes didn't just slightly well up. I actually cried. Tears fell, sniffling ensued. The last time I out-and-out sobbed in the theaters was during Oscar-winning Million Dollar Baby. Nice to know that a Nicholas Sparks film produces the same effect. Desastre #3.
What are your desastre moments?
1). My friend wanted to go to Champaign's one and only gay bar for a birthday drink last week because of both the impressive size of its dance floor and the 1/2-off prices on her favorite cocktails. The moment I had been waiting for finally came around midnight: they were not only playing Lady Gaga, but specifically, a great mash-up of all her popular tracks. You all know of my love for Lady Gaga and her music, so naturally I was getting my very enthusiastic groove on. Intense dance moves + giant puddle of someone's spilled drink = disaster moment # 1. Most people fall and their feet slip out from under them. Since I was in the middle of some sort of uncoordinated gyration/shimmy combo to "Love Game" when my foot hit the puddle, I fell forward, and onto my knees hard. The result? Days later both my knees are an intense mixture of blue, purple, green and black, plus a giant scrape. I don't know what's worse: the fact that I have to show up to my church for Jeremy's confirmation on Tuesday looking like a 7-year old that took a tumble off her bike, or the fact that it is physically painful to crawl across my bed to open/close the window. Definite desastre moment.
2). I have sleepwalked twice this semester. Not into the living room, or my bathroom, like a normal person. But into my roommate's bedroom. When I sleepwalk, I have absolutely no recollection of doing it, no awareness that I ever got up out of my bed, walked into her room, started shuffling things around on her desk or responding to questions, before returning to my own room. Since I have no idea any of this is going on, the real desastre moment doesn't hit until the next morning, when my roommate and her 31-year old boyfriend have to approach me about the subject over breakfast. "So...that was awkward when you came into the room last night...again." We then have to ponder, over Frosted Flakes and Honey Nut Cheerios, just what in my subconscious brings me to their room time and again, between the hours of 3-5am. Desastre moment # 2.
3). I cried during The Last Song. No, my eyes didn't just slightly well up. I actually cried. Tears fell, sniffling ensued. The last time I out-and-out sobbed in the theaters was during Oscar-winning Million Dollar Baby. Nice to know that a Nicholas Sparks film produces the same effect. Desastre #3.
What are your desastre moments?
oh no!!! your poor knees! at least you (literally) went down dancing :)
ReplyDeleteand sleepwalking? i really cant believe it! this deserves a phone call. lets catch up this week if you're free