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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What the heck.

Awkwardness. Sometimes it leaves my life, just long enough for me to begin to breath steadily and not walk around in fear of what may be lurking around the next corner. Then,  just when I let my guard down, WHAP – smacked in the face by some serious awkward. Allow me to elaborate.

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A few weeks ago while waiting in line for my coffee I ran into another prime example of why I am so perpetually single. Behind me I hear a grumbly voice clearing which escalates into a cough. I’m thinking, “What the shit is this…” as I turn around. I find myself uncomfortably close to another fellow ginger who is looking at me extremely intently with a leery smile. “Oh this should be good,” I think to myself.

Befor I get the chance to turn around  he launches into this whopper of an opener, “Did you know redheads are a race facing extinction?” There are a lot of things wrong with this statement, but I was too baffled and simply responded with, “Ummm. No?” Here is what ensued.

“Yes, we are a dying breed. Very rare these days.”

“Well there are two of us in the coffee shop, so things can’t be that bad. Haha….”

….Awkward silence complete with intense staring…….

“It’s a rather serious matter.”

“Oh. Er. Sorry.”

“Yes. I have numerous pieces of evidence to validate my claims. Perhaps you would like to get together sometime and look at them.”

“Um, well, you see…”

“We could also talk about the possibility of procreating.”

Yes, the word procreate was involved. At this point I had just about enough of this creeping and leapt into action to order my coffee, then proceeded to relocate myself in between two large beefy, blonde men to assert my non-compliance with the Ginger Hierarchy.

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While completing some christmas shopping at Best Buy I decided to fiddle around in the stereo system section. After spending about 3 minutes attempting to figure out how in the heck I was supposed to get sound to come out of one of the systems –  I had even resorted to checking if the speakers were plugged in – I realize it had a mute button. Push this and Voila! Problem solved. Except that I had the volume all the way up to 40 and a terrible top 40 station tuned in. So suddenly the stereo section has turned Best Buy into LMFAO’s personal concert with the line, “TAN MY CHEEKS!” blaring out. In my sheer desperation to shut it off I manage to knock over another system and hit myself in the head with a speaker all while the music blares away. Finally a sales associate comes over, shuts off the system and says, “Ma’am, please try to control yourself.” Well, then. This is when I decided to promptly leave through the small mass of people staring at me.

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I decided to do a little retail therapy with the zero spare cash I have this afternoon, so off to Marshall’s I headed in search of a sassy handbag. After listening to a mother – daughter duo have an increasingly high pitched argument about whether a certain bag was “on trend” or not I finally plugged my ipod in. 20 minutes later, under the impression I am completely alone, I’m busting a move to Springsteen’s Dancing in the Dark. Why don’t I just let you listen to this so you can really get a good mental picture of this incident:

So in the middle of busting out a sassy move with a few handbags swinging from my arms, I pop around the corner to find a total DILF shoe shopping with his son. I freeze frame it and manage to smack my face with a bag at the exact moment the kid points at me and goes, “EWWWWWWW!”

HEY! Listen, I know my dance skills may not be the most exotic you’ve seen, and yes my hair was being held up by a rubber band, but STFU kid. Ew to you, you have crumbs from your happy meal still clinging to your jumper. Anyways to top it off the previous viewed DILF, who is now a gross old man, began to laugh. After one death glare of epic proportions that promptly silenced these two fools, I stalked off purse-less. Tragic.

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To top it all off I now have a small hive breakout around my mouth which makes it look like I have razor burn. Excellent. If this does not go away by tomorrow I will be calling in sick to life, grabbing my bottle of wine and hiding under my bed until further notice.