Girl.........if you were a male, the shoutin' would just be astartin' ........what? hahahaha....what?

Okay, so maybe that was when I was younger. Sue me.

Course now, you'd probably still hear the shoutin'....they'd be like trying to get away...

"Somebody help me! help me! Crazy woman wrapped around my leg... help!" hahahaha....ahem.

teehee.... mahahah....JJ

Is that anything like the old saying;

Its all over but the shoutin???

submissions anyone?

JawJaw: There is a restaurant in NJ called the
Rusty Nail!! Very cute. Now whenever I go up North, and end up at the Rusty Nail, I will be thinking of you!

Ok Dotsie: How about: most embarrassing moment?
I'll start: Many, many!!! years ago (and today I am the size of another person! no more skinny and flat chested) I modeled in NY.
Runway stuff, sitting on cars w/ go/go boots at the colluseum, print work etc., One day, my agency sent me to do "showroom" work. Never did it before, and since the buyers in the booths were so close! I was pretty nervous. 7th Ave, today it is called Fashion Ave - so it gives you an idea of how long ago that was!! It was market week, and because they didn't have their little one pieces ready, we were told just wear a slip under the garments. Not having my slip and not wanting to admit it, I wore nothing under the blouse. Over the blouse was a vest, over that a jacket. We would walk out, mirrors all around the room, and have to start at the very last booth. Open the jacket, sling it over the should, pivot, come back forward w/ the jacket open - so the vest and blouse were visable.
After lunch that very first day, the big boss said skip the blouses and vests, the salesmen would have them at the booths, since it would be a very hectic day, and thus doing, it would save time. . Walking out among these booths, pivoting and spinning back around, I automatically opened the jacket...and yes......
wide open, and bare....I ran out, ppulling the wiglet! off my head, my false eyelashes were all wet and coming off from crying, I packed my bag so fast, and knew my agency would fire me.
Just before running out the door, Mr. Big Boss called me in his office, told me in 37 yrs in the business, he had never heard of anything so unprofessional....and hired me full time.

Sandi
Good story!!! I never knew that!!!

karen

What a hoot! What did he have you do for your next job? Or shouldn't I ask?

OMG...do you know Janet Jackson? Girl...how embarassing. However, have you ever pooped on first base? It's a long story...sigh. It's hard being me.

JJ

JJ, you are way too funny. I am belly laughing.

Want to tell us your story? I bet it happened in spring.

Well...here's mine:

My Red Dress
My girlfriend and I were ecstatic when we won a party at our favorite dancing spot in the early spring of 1990. It was about a year after my divorce. The parties were held from 6-9 P.M., before the regular Tuesday night singles dances. The “winners” got to invite 100 guests for music, dancing, a nice buffet and two glasses of champagne. Between us, we were able to scare up about 50 friends who could go out on a week night. We thought we died and went to party Heaven.

As the co-guest of honor, I was out to impress. I shopped for two weeks and finally found the perfect dress. It was fire-engine red, long, low cut, had a ruffle that flared out at the bottom and rhinestones on the shoulders and down the front from the waist to my left knee. I had absolutely no panty lines that night.....

A cross between Cinderella and Lady and the Tramp, I greeted our guests and played bell of the ball. It’s amazing how wearing a special dress can make you feel like a whole other person.

The party was going well. The food and the music were great and the guests seemed to be enjoying themselves. I had the disc jockey introduce me just before playing Lady In Red. A gentleman took the hint and asked me to dance. Dipping and twirling, we glided across the dimly lit dance floor looking like Fred and Ginger.

Eventually, I made the necessary trip to the powder room with my entourage. We fussed and primped and after a reasonable length of time, walked through the small bar between the ladies room and the main ballroom. My daughter and sister kept trying to get my attention. (As I said, it wasn’t easy finding friends who could go out during the week.) I rambled on about how wonderful the party was, ignoring their futile attempts to shut me up.

Just before we reached the door that led to the dance floor, my daughter yelled, “Ma, stop!” The others were laughing hysterically as I stopped short and asked impatiently, “What?” They were trying to tell me the ruffle on the bottom of my stunning red dress, the one that made me feel so elegant and gorgeous, was neatly tucked up inside my pantyhose. I came within inches of making the most unladylike entrance of my life.

Though I have long since put it out to pasture, I will always remember that night and my beautiful red dress.

Louisa