The Bad Touch, Singledom, and Terrible Pick-Up Lines.

I am almost certain that the Bible left out a section entitled, “God has a cruel sense of humor – Evidence: One Amber Clark to be born in the year 1987. Hilarity to ensue for general public.” Let’s discuss the reasons while I shall soon be removing myself from the world to become a hermit with Kenneth.

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Whenever someone asks me why I am still single I laugh (then I go cry into my Mufasa certified weave in the nearest bathroom) and tell them they should spend 12 hours with me and witness the types of “people” I attract. Honestly, if a fairly normal, single, straight male with all his teeth every approached I would die of shock. I truly posses the bizarre power of being able to attract the most terrifying individual within 50 feet of me and have a completely horrifying experience with them.

Case in point – the romantic interaction I had the other day with a probably homeless, definite meth addict. As I am minding my own business hustling around on break I hear the words “Yo Bitch!” exclaimed from my left. I should have run. I look over to find a dude who has no idea what a shower is, may have had a small rodent living on his head or just really needed a comb, was rocking an open wound on his face and complete lack of teeth. Sexual! This fine, upstanding gentleman then proceeds to grace me with the most Shakespearean love sonnet I have ever heard – “Damn I wanna wife dat ass up, cause you look like you know how to take a dick!”

I will take a hot second for that complete phrase to sink in, I know it took me a good couple minutes to realize what had just been said. I would truly love to know how you assess someone’s D-Taking capabilities. Was this a college course I missed out on? As you can probably assume, I was swept off my feet. We are now betrothed and I am expecting. I’ve decided to name the child 8-Ball. Life has truly taken a turn for the best.

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I love football. I am into it, I get aggressive and yell, it is honestly one of my favorite parts of fall. Tragically it also makes me a little broish, a fact which I am willing to accept, unless it begins to interfere with my everyday life. A few Fridays ago, I decided to enjoy some wine on my couch while watching some exhibition games since tragically the season was not upon us while I waited for Shannon to get out of work. The evening managed to plop us in Red Square which is always an awkward experience in and off itself. This night I decided to take it up a notch. A few gin and tonics and tequila shots later I found myself having a hard time seeing as I dance around in a haze. I would just like to state that I also had outdated contacts in and that bar situation is dark and questionable in general. Nevertheless I couldn’t focus on anything. So when a guy came up to me and said “Hey Amber” I turned to be facing some sort of dark, dude shaped blob. I couldn’t tell you if it was Tom Brady, some dude from college or a dementor from Harry Potter. (Side Note – I sincerely apologize to you, whoever you are, should you be reading this.) I proceeded to react to this greeting in perhaps the most butch, masculine maneuver I have ever done. I aggressively grabbed this guys hand, pulled him in as hard as possible in a frat boy hug complete with chest bump. I then proceeded to slap/pat his lower back upper butt area and shout, “Good Game Bro!” Literally as the words exited my mouth I died a little inside. WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?! A HEAD COACH FOR THE GIANTS?! Mortifying. I decided dancing away quickly though the crowd was my best exit strategy.

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Now for what might be the single most awkward and questionable moment that has ever occurred in my 25 years so far. I am pretty much always injuring my back in some sort of way at work or in my general movements of tripping and falling during everyday life. About a month ago I seriously sent my back into a downward spiral of doom between chasing Kenny, moving fixtures, and falling out of bed. It got to the point where it locked up while I was standing and I literally just fell over and was incapable of moving. Hot, no? Erin’s cat, who I was watching at the time, certainly thought it was hilarious. After being unable to move for about a week I decided enough was enough and I booked a chiropractor apt. Tragically this was all during July 4th weekend (Happy Birthday To Me!) and I could barely get in anywhere. When I finally did get in, I really wish I hadn’t. Before we get started with this little ditty I’m going to give you a little music to really set the mood.

As the exam begins, everything seems normal, no red flags. Miss Chiro asks me to flip over onto my stomach, I do so, and then suddenly everything gets real weird, real quick. Without any words whatsoever she whips down my pants AND underwear in one fell swoop and leaves them around my knees… UMMMMM. Next thing I know massage oil is being poured onto my derriere. Just as her hands start to move around down there I pop my head up and start with, “Um I said my lower back hurt, so it’s about a solid five inches higher then where you currently are so…” I’m interrupted by my head being pushed down and the phrase, “You’re clenching, just relax.” So now that I feel like I’m in the midst of a prison rape scene I can definitely relax. Ah yes just breathe and allow this woman to massage your butt like this is totally acceptable and was what you had in mind the whole time, Amber. Don’t be silly. It usually takes a few G&Ts before anyone is getting their hands on that, let alone with massage oil in a brightly lit room.

“Um really my lower back…”

“Still. Clenching. Relax!”

I decide to just give up and let the non-consenual touching happen. I laid there for about 20 minutes while Miss Chiro hummed, yes HUMMED, and massaged my completely exposed bum. Pretty sure I maintained the clenched position for the rest of the day. Needless to say, I now have no problem making time to drive all the way back to Vergennes to see my actual chiropractor who allows me to keep my clothes on.

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Last but certainly not least a few quick tidbits of absolute ridiculousness.

1. While I was at a complete stop at an intersection on Willard, some complete moron lost control of his longboard and leapt off of it vaulting himself into a run, which naturally collided with the side of my poor Mazda quite violently. He chose to act maturely by punching the hood of my car and screaming, “GO FUCK YOURSELF!” before running away. Yes Sir, how dare I leave my car stopped at a stop sign in the way of your acrobatic maneuverings. This is entirely my fault and I should totally go perform sexual actions on myself as punishment. I took just enough time to tell him to blow me before I ran over his precious longboard. Whoops.

2. While in line at the grocery store a small, nerdy practically translucent young man would not stop creeping closer to me. It got to the point where he was literally touching my back with his body. After having just about enough of this, I whip around to lay down the law when he leans in (as if he could even get closer to me, we are practically making out at this point) and whispers with extreme enthusiasm, “After the apocalypse redheads shall inherit the earth. I can only hope you will take me with you. I posses many skills.” I decided that I needed eggs and removed myself from the line. While I am glad to know I will survive the impending reign of zombies, I can’t help but wonder what exactly those video-game perfected skills were.

3. My mom recently called me to inform me that she had found the perfect man for me, the catch? He’s married. Oh ya know, just that small, insignificant detail of marriage, totes NBD. Right as I whip out the classy line of, “Pffft. Realistically what is that wedding ring even for?!” I look up to find hot, married parking attendant staring at me. He grabs his wedding ring, “Excuse me?” Ahhhhhhhhh, why?! I decided that responding by thrusting my phone at him and exclaiming, “HELLO?! I AM ON THE PHONE!” was the most logical and mature way to respond.

4. After having my house broken into, I managed to wind up with the three most ridiculous law enforcement officers ever investigating. There was a lot of pectoral flexing, crack addict jokes and general inappropriateness. The crowning moment of weird was when one of them started off with the line, “Well…I am single and have two cats.” Awkward silence ensues. Was I supposed to respond with, “Well I am single and have a cat so lets do this and take over the world with our brewing cat army!” How does your singledom and cat-owner status pertain to my house invasion again sir?

5. An individual with a lip tattoo recently asked me if he could “do some rails off that Kimmy K ass.” Ah, romance blossoms.

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Life…I’m pretty much over it.

Life. Pshhhhh. I am done with you. If God or Mother Nature was sitting in the near vicinity of me I think I would throw my entire Mac at them. Lately they have been teaming up against me resulting in, of course, extreme awkwardness.

Stemming from my last experience with a cop, I’ve decided to keep up the routine. The pre-req for this story is acknowledging this pathetic excuse for a Vermont summer we have been having so far. Rain, every five days? Why yes, that is the perfect recipe for summer fun! Not.

After one of these delightful freak thunderstorms Vermont seems so fond of lately I was headed down Main St. on my way to work. Naturally, I was running a tad bit late and threw on slightly inappropriate (for the weather and life in general) wedge flip-flops. Half-way down Main I begin to slip on rain-plastered leaves that have decided to invade the general area of the sidewalk. This slip moves into full-blown eating of the pavement when my entire ankle rolls over the edge of the side-walk, which naturally drops off onto a rather steep hill. (For those B-towners I’m talking about the area right near Champlain College) My shins hit the edge of the sidewalk and the start of this hill with its wonderful wet grass and it’s all over.

Next thing I know I’ve tumbled head over heals into the middle of Main St. Awesome. Completely disoriented I sit up on the pavement and pray that I can quickly, and not too terribly awkwardly, hobble up the hill before any passing cars see me. No such luck, luckily a car with flashing lights pulls over right behind me, and out steps a lovely city cop. After aiding me in standing, questioning me if I am alright about 5 times and desperately trying to give me a ride to my destination I manage to escape (or rather scramble) up the tiny hill to the sidewalk. I look down just in time to see this “cop” pull away in his cruiser, which happens to have ANIMAL CONTROL smeared across the side of it…

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I was just rescued from the middle of the road by Animal Control. How terribly fitting for my life.

Additionally, this picture pretty much accurately sums up how I felt about the whole experience: horrified and questioning if this was, in fact, reality.

While this has been the only recent full blown catastrophe I have also acquired a nice bundle of awkward encounters while on the run. Example: City Market. While attempting to grab a sandwich and eat and run on my lunch break I cut down an isle to come semi face to side-face with a questionable “friend” from Red Square. In my horror-induced skidding to a halt and turn around maneuver, I run quite literally into Kornbread. (For those of you who do not know who this is he is most likely homeless, has been arrested and tends to leave crack-rocks in the dorm beds of his hookups. Oh and he also had a music video that aired on UVMtv. Cool.) Yeah, life is good.

Only a few days before that while cutting down Cherry St. a complete non-DILF pushing a stroller looked at me and exclaimed, “NAAAAAASTY GIRL!” It was exclaimed in a way which most definitely was not insinuating that I was offensive. Being jarred from this ‘compliment’ I then collided into one of Church Street’s many garbage cans in front of a large pack of Frat bros.

In short. Life is clearly good. Expect another update relatively soon seeing as how I must go to Banknorth tomorrow and inquire as to why my bank account is over-drafted by a quite a few grand. Should be good I’m sure.