Embarrassing Admissions for the BCS Championship Game

with some coworkers who I thought might be gay but wasn’t sure. They were, it was, and I spent the next hour getting hit on by this little short skinny dude that was rolling on X. I left after they started the drag show and the “entertainers” came out and the guys had breast implants. I should have known that ambigious coworkers + bar called “The Quest” = not a fun night.

I went home and showered.

you guys are in trouble….

…there will be a thread on THURSDAY.

moved into our neighborhood. She immediately became a cheerleader and I went seriously gaga. I wasn’t a jock so I didn’t have that going for me but I was a gearhead and ran in cool enough circles that I figured I might stand a chance at asking her out.
One Sunday at church, me and my best bud Bob walked in and I noticed that Gaye was sitting with her family and there was room enough beside her for us to sit and services were almost ready to start so there weren’t many other open spots. PERFECT! Bob knew how badly I wanted her so I slipped onto the pew next to her and Bob sat next to me. She said, “Hi” and smiled and I did likewise. I could smell her shampoo and feel her body heat and my 16 year old hormones were all but boiling over.
The previous night, Bob and I had been out late, cruising the boulevard and ending the night by eating an entire large meat-lover’s pan pizza EACH at about 2 am. It was now about 9:00 and between the choir and half an hour of monotone sermon, I began to nod.
All of a sudden I awakened, snapped upright and looked around to see small children looking in my direction and hearing muffled giggles. I turned to Bob and he was cherry red and trying his hardest to stifle an obvious guffaw. After the pastor went back to preaching, I leaned over to him and whispered, “What happened?” He had tears in his eyes and whispered back, “You just ripped the loudest fart I’ve ever heard in my life.”
I was never able to look Gaye in the face again. That was 31 years ago and Bob still laughs himself to tears over it.

a girl I didn’t know how to kiss. She stuck her tounge in my mouth, I had my eyes closed and thought it was a gold fish. I got scared and bit down on the “fish” – her tounge. She jumped away and so did I. Needless to say that was the last time we kissed.

By the way we were both seniors in High School!!

We will win now.

do I go with the time when I was in 7th grade wandering the halls and found an unlocked locker and proceeded to take a shit in my classmate’s lunch, thereby giving him a true “brown bag special?” Nah, not good enough for the big game. How bout my fiasco with the shemale on Bourbon Street? That’s been done before. So as I thought, it hit me: how could I not go with this one? I was 16, and it was the summer between my freshman and sophomore years of high school. I had my first real girlfriend, and knew the summer would be our last, as she was preparing to move into Tutweiler at the Capstone. That July, I went on a mission trip to Romania with a group from my church to administer vaccinations and build a community center. The flight back to the States was long and occurred during the middle of the night, so the lights were dim, and most passengers were sound asleep. I was surrounded by deacons and pastors, and my mom was asleep to my left. My gf had nodded out early, seated to my right, with her head in my lap on a blanket. Sometime during the flight, she woke up and I guess felt frisky, b/c her head moved under the blanket and she started pleasuring me orally. I was in the midst of attempting to enjoy my second blowjob ever, but couldn’t see to concentrate with my mom’s sleeping head falling on my shoulder as the plane shook, and hoping none of my fellow chuch members woke up and allowed their eyes to adjust. There ya go, I’ve got a seat reserved for me in Hell, but at least I’ll be wearing a championship t-shirt. And please, God, don’t let my mom stumble upon this article

may god have mercy on my soul.

  When I was in 3rd grade, I had a play-date at my “boyfriends” house. He lived out in the woods, and we were playing “Star Wars” pretty far away from his house. Well, “Princess Leia” got a sudden strong urge to pee, and could run cross legged to his house fast enough. So I peed myself, and ended up wearing a pair of his tightey whiteys and cut-offs home. He swore he’d never tell.
  He didn’t until some time during our senior year. We did this memories/last will and testament thing for our school paper, and one of his memories was of the time I wore his underwear home. He didn’t go in to detail, but I had dozens of people ask me what had happend. It was either tell the truth or have them think I slept with him (which I think most people thought anyway… but I didn’t! I swear!)

And I totally would have made out with 80’s era Helen Hunt.

Maybe that doesn’t sound too embarrassing, but man, I can’t stand Helen Hunt.

Also, my first concern was Damn Yankees in ’91 in Birmingham, Alabama. Ted Nugent shot a flaming arrow into a picture of Saddam Hussein.

I also may have once ridden to a Tesla & Firehouse concert in the back of a pick up truck. In the rain.

Ok, fine, it was two Hanson CDs.
And one of them was a special Christmas album.

Think back to that SECCG game thread! That was the stuff of champions and legends! I hope y’all are just warming up, because we’ve got to turn it up a notch so far. And yes, I will be contributing, possibly several times.

I actually lost my virginity well into college, four or five years after every person who knows me probably expected. Some of my closest friends probably knew. I don’t know. Anyway, I was completely shy with girls, shutting down in the important area as soon as we’d start kissing. I don’t know if this was the result of my mother’s prayers born again preaching or something else, but it was embarrassing. The biggest problem was probably that I developed late. I only weighed about 135 pounds my junior year of high school, but then I gained about fifty pounds of muscle over the next year. I was captain of the team and homecoming king and all that jazz, so people probably expected me to be a stud.

The thing was, I had been a skinny, mostly pre-pubescent kid well into my 17th year of life so I didn’t even really have raging hormones or anything. I bloomed so late and so fast that people just sort of assumed a lot about me that wasn’t true. Anyway, when I first arrived at Bama, my roommate (a guy from Alabama) immediately came in my room with his girlfriend. They acted like they had sex all the time. They talked about it like it was nothing, which scared the crap out of me at that point in my life.

That night, I told them about me and she immediately assumed I was the stereotypical jock. They saw some of my HS pictures and just assumed I got a lot of action. She was actually worried I was going to corrupt her boyfriend! Talking with them, feeling pressured, I lied about my prior sexual experiences. I didn’t want to tell them that I had only kissed a girl and nothing more. To keep an eye on me, my roommate’s girlfriend set me up with one of her friends (who was a total slut). The girl was WAY too fast for me at that time. I remember we were supposed to go to the movies and she said, “I don’t want to go to the movie…let’s go to your room.” I was terrified, but after making out, I wouldn’t go any further because I wasn’t comfortable. Anyway, we had a few more dates like this until she eventually just got frustrated that I wouldn’t take her panties off and do the deed. I basically got into a trend where ALL of my friends thought I was one way, so I kept having to maintain the lie of my promiscuity and I kept getting set up with more experienced girls. Because of this, I kept messing up the relationships I’d have with girls because they confused my apprehension as disinterest. It makes sense if you really know how women think. I had almost three years like this. I’d get hot girls who, for some reason, were always way more experienced than I was and I would always freeze. I was miserable. I thought everybody in the South was promiscuous as hell and worried I’d never find a girl. I often wondered what was wrong with me.

So basically, I was an old virgin when I finally did it. I remember my first true girlfriend kept saying, “I bet you get a lot of girls” when we were doing it and I remember thinking, “Why the F does everybody think that!? It’s ruining me! I must be a great actor or something.” I ended up dating her almost two years, before I dated another girl for three years, and then I met my wife. Because of this, I am in my 30’s and I’ve only been with three people in my life. I have struggled with this issue for a long time. My wife has had more partners than I’ve had (barely) which bothers me sometimes, but I don’t let it bother me too much. We are sexual to the point of being perverted now, which is my doing. I guess I feel like I’m trying to make up for lost time.

Back in ’96 or so I had been dating a guy that i was pretty crazy about for 3 years on and off. The off was becoming more and more frequent as he was struggling with the fact that he was only 27 to my 33, was a chef and therefore our working and playing times were quite opposite. I quit the bar business a year previous and was working two minimum wage jobs and raising my two young girls. He and I were incredibly compatible with one of those magnetized connections where if we were both in the same place at the same time, we ended up together. – lots of good times just bad timing.

i go into that much detail only to try to help you understand where my head was in this relationship – it was oh so right but oh so wrong – everyone’s been there i’m sure. we broke up for the final time on my birthday when he left a card in my screen door with the title to my car inside as i had taken a title loan out on my car to make ends meet. i was pissed and didn’t want his ef-fin’ money and proceeded to fall slap ass apart.

one week later i saw him moving a girl into his house which then drove me slap ass crazy – really – completely maniacal. none of our so-called ‘mutual friends’ would tell me who she was or where she came from. i just wanted one look at this girl. i figured she had to work in the restaurant biz so one night i drove through the parking lot of every bar and restaurant from ft walton beach to panama city, looking for that girls car. i knew what she drove, of course, because i drove by the boy’s house 5 times a day trying to catch a glimpse. no luck.

in the boys neighborhood there was a house across the street that was in the drywall stage of construction. i decided i would camp out in that house until they got home. i parked in the next subdivision and hiked through the woods seperating the two, toting a bottle of wine and pack of smokes. it was november and unusually cold. I sat on a cinder block on the concrete slab and drank and smoked and cried from 11 pm to 4 am at which time i dozed off…when i awoke literally 15 minutes later, both cars had arrived at the boys house in the interim and i missed the whole damn thing!

i wish i could say the story ended there.

one month later when the boy got engaged, i took a job out of town. i moved my ex-husband into my house to take care of our 2 children and my 4 dogs, and ran away. even though i ‘visited’ home almost every weekend, it was 9 months before i got my shit together and came back for good.

GOD – PROOFREADING IT SOUNDS SO DAMN SAD! WAAAAAAHHHH – STUPID ASS BOYS! IT WAS MEANT TO SHOWCASE MY VERY POOR STALKING ABILITIES!

I went to the University of Oklahoma, so I really want you guys to win. Roll. F—-in’. Tahde.

 Only the people involved and my husband know this (if the other people involved were sober enough to remember)…

I used to drive to Montgomery from Troy every Thursday night to drink Zima and sing karoake at a bar called Doodlehoppers. This place was a DIVE, but I liked the regulars, and being a rather attractive co-ed at the time, I rarely had to buy my own beverages. One night my best friend brought one her her sorority sisters from UAB down to meet me in Montgomery. A couple of guys hit on us right away, and by last call we were too gone to go home. So we decide to move the party across the parking lot to the guys’ apartment. We continue drinking, heavily. Then a game of presidents and assholes turned into a raunchy dare game that ended with 5 people in one bedroom. I am so glad camera phones and YouTube weren’t around back then… I’d probably have my own video.

I probably kissed more girls than Bamagrad…. and I am a happily married mother of 2!

I was a freshman in college and went back to my HS for a football game. Met a girl there, we started dating. We discussed sex and she said she was going to wait until she thought she was mature enough and had found the right person. Flash forward 4 months later, I get a letter from her, she says she is ready and found the right person. We stopped “dating” and proceeded to find every place and time to experiment. It helped things that her best friend was a bit of a “slut”. Filled her head with all kinds of things. We did the “Parenthood” and I nearly wrecked. We did it just off a walking trail in a state park with people walking by about 10 feet away. I had my shirt in between her teeth to quieten her. We both turned into raging nymphomaniacs. OK, here goes the embarrassing part. As a boy born in a Christian home, my parents chose not to have me circumcised. Keep in mind we were going at it, 3 or 4 times a day. She got a yeast infection from a shower(we think) and she gave it to me. I woke up one morning and went to drain my bladder, it was like pissing fire. The foreskin has swelled up and cracked, could not pull it back. Had to get circumcised at the age of 19. About 3 days after the surgery, we decide to go to the Boaz outlets to shop, since we couldn’t de what we wanted to do. I was wearing some white Duckhead shorts. We were in the middle of the Polo outlet there when she looked at me like she saw a ghost. About the same time, I felt something wet down there. I looked down to see a big red spot spreading on my white shorts. I do not embarrass easily, this was one time I did turn red(not just down there). I had busted a stitch. There is more…after the surgery the damn thing hurt like hell, also we were told I couldn’t use “it” for at least 4 weeks. About 3 weeks of the pain and the suffering of waiting, I decided to say the hell with it. Fill in the blanks for yourself. Afterwards, all the pain was gone and I healed up within 2 days. The ending to this story, I went back to the Dr and told him he needed to adopt a new mantra, “Use it or lose it”.

OK, if this doesn’t do the trick, I don’t know what will. BTW, if any of you are headed to Pasadena with me, you will recognize me, I will be the guy wearing Crimson, heh.

although it still doesn’t come close to the quality of embarrassing tales from the SEC championship game… anywho…

About 9 years ago I was having a nice intimate moment with my girlfriend. In the middle of things I asked if she was able to move her hips a certain way for me. After several failed attempts at explaining things I uttered the phrase… “well, that’s just the way (insert ex-girlfriend’s name here) used to do it”

Game over. Intimate moment over. Relationship almost over. After a few hours of crying I was asked to leave and it took a good week of flowers and grovelling before she spoke to me again.

Is that embarrassing enough? … No? OK, then.

When I was in high school, I had a HUGE crush for TWO YEARS on this cute little brunette named Kathleen. I used to pine after her and sing along with Air Supply and Kenny Rogers albums. I used to lay in bed and “will” her to feel how much I loved her. I was always kinda shy around girls in high school, but when I was in her presence I couldn’t speak. Hell, I couldn’t breathe!

Anyway, one summer one of her friends let me know that she would agree to go out with me if I asked her. So, I built up my courage and I asked her out. She said YES! I was in heaven for days … until the date. I picked her up and took her to see Return of the Jedi. After the movie, I asked her if I could take her to dinner. She said no. … How about this party I knew of? No. … Bowling? Putt-putt golf? No & no. “Damn,” I thought to myself. “Either I farted and didn’t know it, or this girl is seriously boring.” Either way, I figured the date was over. Anyway, the spell was broken, so I took her home and went to the party.

Several years later, I learn from one of her friends that she didn’t want to do any of those things because she was expecting me to drive her up to the mountain scenic view so that we could make out. She apparently knew how crazy I was about her. But, I was too f’ing stupid and naive when it came to girls to figure it out. There I had the chance to do the things that I had been dreaming of doing for 2 years with the girl of my dreams, and I totally blew it. On the bright side, though, it was a kick-ass party.

and Spock is the donor.

The concert was on Thusday during the day in the summer of 85. Two of my buddies actally lived in pensacola and said they were going . They said that club 2000 had 25cent bud nite on Wednesday. From that alone, hey I was in. We left Ozark on Wed afternoon . Since they lived there, I thought it’d be best if we rode with one of them. We made the 150 mile trip and got there just in time for the club to open. We drank and shot pool and drank and drank(could go on but I think you get the picture).
After hours there it was getting late and Jeff,the driver, went to the bathroom. Brian had two girlfriends arrive about this time. Somehow wer left the bar(the four of us) to go walk on the beach and well whatever. Brian and one girl walked one way, me and the other girl the other. After a little kissing and some playing the girl got the Bamagrad syndrome( love ya brother but I couldn’t help it) and decided to go home. Well by this time I’m sure Brian was having a great time but where I don’t know. Well thats what I remember of the night. When I awoke I was in a small roomwith a small door.I look outside to see a fence. I crawl out and see that I’d found a goofy golf course on the beach and had climbed the fence and crawled into Goofy’s house for some well needed rest. So as people are starting to head out onto the beach as fast as I could I jumped the fence. And as any hot blooded american young man would do I crossed the street to the 7/11 and bought a six pack of bud and started all over again while awaiting by myself for the concert.
I know this is long so that will be one installment of this story of embarressing admissions. More to come.

on this guy in 8th grade so on his birthday I called him and sang Happy Birthday. When I finished singing, his dad said, “Hold on, let me get him.” And not only did I sing to his damn dad, the guy told everyone at school about it.

it’s difficult to decide if this is more embarrassing for me or my boyfriend but here goes. Last year, I was living in Birmingham and my boyfriend was in pilot training at an Air Force base in Columbus, Mississippi (please remember how much you like him and how smart you think he probably is after you read the rest of this story). We had been arguing some during the week and I wasn’t planning on driving the two hours to visit him during the weekend. However, on Friday after work I decided “what the hell” and jumped in the car. I hadn’t been to the base yet and I hadn’t met any of the guys that were in his class and becoming his new friends, so I was looking forward to meeting the people he was going to be working with (to make sure they all knew who I was in case he decided to be an idiot some time down the line). My boyfriend and his roommate had decided to throw a party that Friday night for the 30 or so guys in his pilot training class to get to know each other and the party started well before I made my way to Columbus. The theme was “White Trash”. When I got to my boyfriend’s house, the party was mostly going on in the back yard. I walked around the back of the house and ran into a couple of people who introduced themselves and discovered who I was. All of them proceeded to pat me on the back and tell me “good luck with <insert boyfriend’s name> tonight”. I finally found my boyfriend in the crowd and noticed that he had definitely dressed the part for their theme. He had shaved his head into a mohawk, was wearing cut-off jean shorts and combat boots, matched with a sleeveless black Nascar t-shirt. After a couple more hours of drinking, and being extremely loud and embarrassing, I finally convinced him to get into bed. Not too much later, I woke up to the sound of pee hitting something. I rolled over and saw him standing, facing the bed, with his head still shaved into a mo-hawk, pissing all over his bed. I started yelling at him and trying to wake him up, at which point he fell onto the bed into his own pee. I couldn’t get him to wake up and get out of the bed so that I could pull the sheets off and get them into the wash, so I went out into the living room to get his roommate. His roommate came back into my boyfriend’s room to help me and my boyfriend proceeded to argue with us that he had not peed in his bed because “Chuck Liddell doesn’t pee in his bed”. For those of you who don’t know, Chuck Liddell is a UFC fighter who wears a mo-hawk…I guess my boyfriend had taken on his identity and was speaking in 3rd person, actually SCREAMING is a better description. We were finally able to get him out of bed and he was walking around his room butt naked. We recommended he put on some clothes, as he was attempting to go back out into the party, and I left the room to put the sheets in the wash. When I came out of the laundry room, I saw my boyfriend walk out into the living room full of people with only his Air Force Academy (I told you he was smart) winter ski jacket on and zipped up…for those of you wondering, it did not reach past his “buddy”. I was embarrassed that he was walking around naked in front of everyone so I went back to bed (don’t worry, not in the pee). He slept on the floor in the living room, in only his jacket with no blanket, and proceeded to ask me the next morning “Why am I sleeping on the floor and where are my sheets?”

And a better dancer.

it was the end of my freshman year at Washington & Lee University, a small, private liberal arts college nestled in the Blue Ridge Mountains right next to Virginia Military Institute. We had just finished a week-long production of “A Funny Thing Happened On The Way To The Forum” and the wrap party was at an old bungalow house called “The Trap.” My parents were in town along with my sister to move me back to Oxford for the summer, but they were all at the hotel. So I drank. A LOT. I started with rum and Cokes, moved on to beer, then I made the unfortunate and STEEEWPID decision to do tequila for the first time. I vaguely remember doing the Pee Wee Herman “Tequila” dance topless on the breakfast bar. Fortunately this WAS a theatre group, so no real danger (not that there’s anything wrong with that). 3 am rolls around and we decide to head back to the dorms. Now, to get to the W&L campus from The Trap you have to walk down the old Lee Highway, US 11, past the VMI campus. Along the right side of the road is a retaining wall made up of huge boulders and native limestone. Who walks right smack into the wall? Yep…knocked myself the fuck out. Next thing I remember: middle of the morning, in my dorm room bed, with my mom and my sister over me. I’m fully dressed from the waist up (including jewelry), still have on panties and socks. For some fucked-up reason my answer phone is soaked in water and dead. First words out of my mouth; “how did I get here?” and “Where are my pants?” My sister says she thought Mom was going to have a heart attack right then and there and thanked God DAD wasn’t there to hear it. It wasn’t until later, when I had to go break down the set of “Funny Thing,” that I got at least PART of the story; my fellow theatre hags started carrying me after I hit the wall. They just got to the edge of campus when who should appear but a patrol car from the Lexington Police Department. The officers asked what we were doing out so late, and was “the young lady” okay? Well, the guy carrying me looked at me, looked at the officers, looked at me again, and said “we’re tired of carrying her, can you take her home?” Yeah, no one thought concussion, or oh, let’s take her to the ER, noooooo… So apparently the officers at least got me to the dorm. That’s where the story stopped until FIVE YEARS LATER, when MOM filled me in. Turns out she ran into a classmate who lived two doors down the hall that afternoon as they were moving my stuff out, and she asked “oh, is QHHH okay after last night?” Turns out SHE was taking the walk of shame about the time the cops pulled up with my ass, and she took me to my room, was able to get my jeans off to put me to bed, and gave me a glass of water which I promptly dumped on my phone. Here I thought I had been ass-raped by theatre hags and cops with a deep-seated hatred for answering machines, and my mother knew the whole time I was fine.

If that doesn’t work, there’s the time I had all four of my wisdom teeth taken out at 19 and when I came out from under the anesthetic, I told my mom, dentist and the nurse that I hadn’t felt that good since my friends and I skipped the Delta Blues Festival and smoked pot all night instead.

Like Bamagrad above, I wasn’t exactly a ladies man in HS. In fact, i didn’t have my first GF until I was 19 and she later became my wife.(we are still married and now have a kid, so i guess i did alright)..My problem in HS wasn’t the fact that i was nervous or ugly, it was that i was the biggest kid in school..

The HS i attended in Nashville was a private christian school with about 60 kids in each class…as in 60 freshman..60 seniors etc etc…so needless to say it was TINY…When you are a freshman who’s 6’3’’ 250 and you’re already the biggest, strongest kid in the entire school… two things can happen…You can either rule the school or feel very awkward…unfortunately i picked the bad one…Most of the guys in my school were of the 6 ft 170 lb variety…most the girls didn’t really go for the big brute type…at least the attractive ones….here comes the embarrassing part…

My sophomore year i had developed into a pretty decent football player..who knew, right? I made my name as a DE and started to get a little attention due to my “popularity”..Of course some of the attention came from cheerleaders. Sweet, i mean this was my chance! I had developed a bit of a crush on a pretty little blond girl in one of my classes and I was building up the nerve to ask her out…The thing was.. she had this…curse..Every time she wrote “good luck” on a players hand, that player got seriously injured in the next game..I know it sounds stupid but the shit was true. It happened to three guys..

So here i am…the biggest, strongest “star” football player and here’s the girl..a cursed girl who i desperately wanted go out with..you also have the biggest game of the year coming up against our biggest rival…Of course i did the smart thing by staying away from her for that week, all the while focusing on the game..um..no. I decided to break the curse and show her what kind of man i was…IDIOT!!!!!!!!

3rd quarter, we are down by 3…a guard pulls, goes for my knees and SNAP CRACKLE POP! By by ACL and MCL…see ya allstar season…

Im layin on the trainers table in extreme pain, the “girl” comes up cryin and at that moment the trainer tells me whats happened….at that point it was the worst day of my life…

At a party the next week, i find the “girl” making out with my best friend…the kicker is..I never recovered mentally from the injury. My dad moved us to Florida that summer and went out for football at Lincoln High School in Tallahassee..I had the size, the strength..I was smart and i had decent agility and speed…but i never got over it. I tried walking on at FSU but had no shot…

To this day..I have a deep hate for that girl..

A few friends and I plan a vacation to orange beach, get a condo, get packed, and head out. The first day it was just two of us, as the other two were planning to come the following morning. Well my friend and I think that it would be wise to get completely shit faced, you know, to take advantage of the opportunity. After what seems like dozens of coronas, we took it to the florabama to tie on a really good buzz. The details get hazy, although I remember many shots, bushwhackers, beers, etc. I kind of blank for a few hours, but when I halfway come to, its about 1 am, and my friend is driving my car back to the condo. Confused, me explains that I started hitting on a girl who turned out to be the lead singer’s (of the band that was playing that night) girlfriend. He proceeds to tell me that after some arguing, the guy slapped me. (yes, slapped). Then getting into it a little the security kindly escorted me outside.

Well, being the macho type that I am while wasted, I was furious. I gave my friend the directions to the condo, we parked, then I ran the 2 miles back to the florabama to find this guy. Well it turns out he was gone, so I got a couple more drinks, then walked back home, furious and defeated.

When I get to the condo door, it is locked. Aleady mad, I start beating on the door, yelling at my friend to open up. I keep beating and kicking, working into a really nice drunk rage, when someone starts talking back. I recognize its not my friend, so I get really mad and yell at this person to open the door and get the hell out of my condo. After maybe 10 more minutes of this, a nice police officer shows up. I explain to him that this is my condo and someone is in there and won’t open the damn door. He asks me where I am, I say the name of the condo and the unit number. After this he points up to a giant sign on the building, making it clear that I was at the condo building next door to mine. (In my defense, they kinda look similar). Before any more debate, I quickly get the hell out of there, go home and go to bed.

The next day my friend runs into the people that were in the room with the door I was assaulting. Turns out it was 2 middle aged ladies staying with their 4 young daughters, and that the girls were huddled in a closet through the entire ordeal. I often wonder what kind of nightmares those girls had about the madman at the door that night, but then I just see what’s on the t.v.

Outsidethesidelines, Nico, Pete Holiday, Kleph, and Todd. An embarrassing admission thread without their participation is like an all-time Bama team without Don Hutson, Joe Namath, Leroy Jordan, Ozzie Newsome, and Cornelius Bennett.

it was still part of elementary school. middle school was 7th-9th and high school 10th-12th (small aside here to say that i tried to type 12th 3 different times and it kept showing up as 13th – whatcha think of THAT?). anyhoo, i was a sweet and gullible child who believed in seances and the like and probably still in the existance of santa claus.
 
we had just moved to a neighborhood built in concentric circles around a community pool and clubhouse. everyone went out there after school and on the weekends, so i was exposed to and sort of hung out with kids of all ages. the older girls were always talking about boys and discussing the fine art of ‘french’ kissing. i didn’t really know what to make of this since i had never even heard of it before but i DID know that everyone was apparently doing it and i wanted to know how. due to my tender young age, i obviously did not have a boyfriend or even a boy, friend, to learn with so i was in a bit of a quandry.

one night at a slumber party we played truth or dare and on my turn, told the truth about my lack of french kissing experience and expressed my desire to have that experience. later we were playing with the ouija board and having seances when one of the girls says that she can be hypnotized. i guess it didn’t occur to us to ask her how she knew that but after she told us how to do it, we put her into several ‘trances’ . we made her do all kinds of ‘crazy’ crap: act like a baby, bark like a dog …and then we ‘turned’ her into a boy. we thought it was hilarious, mostly because she was 1 of 8 girl children in her family.

the next week i was babysitting and she came over to keep me company after the kids went to sleep and we started laughing about the slumber party and all the stuff we had made her do under ‘hypnosis’ when she dropped the big one on me. She asked me if i wanted to put her into a trance to bring the boy out so he could teach me how to french kiss. i thought it sounded like a great idea and immediately took her up on it. sooooooooo, my 1st real kiss was with another girl!

unfortunately the girl who could be hypnotized told our story to the girl that couldn’t keep her mouth shut and it spread like freaking wildfire through the neighborhood. i was laughed at, ridiculed and just made fun of in general for the entire summer – and man it seemed like it would never end. it did though, the following fall in middle school, when i was kissed by my 1st boyfriend at the high school football game in the middle of the stands – and earned a friendly round of applause.

  When I was a kid, I found a “massager” under my mom’s dresser. I thought it was a flashlight, but discovered otherwise when I tried to turn it on. I massaged my forehead, leg… I don’t even know what all I touched with what I thought was a tickle machine.

I was about 17 when I realized what that tickler really was. And that is just gross, in many different ways.

The stories date all lead up to my wedding in 1996. The first involved a visit from my brother, who at the time was stiff, unfun, and judgmental (by which I largely mean he did not drink and found no humor in drunken antics) and my crazy college roommate, who I’ve rarely spent a sober moment with in twenty years. My then fiance was there as well. We went to see our favorite local pub band and nutty roommate thought tequila shots would be a good idea. Wrong. It was not long before I ended up using some uncharacteristically offensive descriptive words for two girls at the show who I felt in my drunken haze refused to give the bad sufficient respect. After a drink was thrown in my face, I walked away but my roommate suggested I should not take such an offense … so I went back and threw a drink in face back. Anyway, I then basically got in a physical altercation with two girls (and I’m NOT a small guy) and nearly dragged off to jail (avoided it only because I was punched in the face first — copy was furious not to be able to arrest me), all in front of a very unhappy brother and a fuming fiance. I made the police blog the next day, although thankfully not by name because I was not arrested, and my fiance spent the next month deciding whether to cancel the wedding. My batchelor party was a couple months later; crazy roommate dragged me to Panama City from the Northeast (now live in Birmingham). He thoroughly enjoyed entering me into a hot bodies contest at Club La Vela. I’m a good 30 or 40 pounds overweight at that time and I will confess for the football gods to having a rather thick growth of back hair (now use the Man-Groomer, no joke — this is bonus self-deprivation), wearing only a bathing suit. When my name was called to impress the judging audience through some form of dance manuever of which I am incapable, the announcer introduced with the comment that I “forgot to take off my sweater.” The coup de grace, however, occurred on the night before the wedding. My fiance and I separated that day: she stayed with a friend and I stayed in the bridal sweet we got for the weekend of the wedding. We decided to meet up that night with all of our friends who came to town for the wedding at a bar to see our favorite band that was again playing that night. Everything was going great until I told my fiance to come back to the hotel that night with her friends so we could keep the party going and then sneak off to our room for a wedding night eve test run. We left separately with plans to head right to the hotel with our respective groups. Well, as I was once again with the crazy roommate and some other similarly disposed friends, we thought it a good idea to stop at a pub along the way. Only problem — none were open locally. So we drove around for a hour or so in search of a place that was still open. After giving up (yes, never found one), we returned to my hotel to find no fiance. The front desk person told me, however, that he gave my “wife” a room key because she lost hers — uh oh. I arrived in my hotel room to find it absolutely trashed and a note written in lipstick telling me I was once again a batchelor. I literally didn’t know if she was going to show up for the wedding, but she surprisingly did. Been married over 10 years and have two great kids I suspect to everyone’s amazement.

So that’s my pre-wedding trifecta. But just in case it fails to appease the gods, I will add a wedding day confession that absolutely nobody knows, since it fits the theme. To this day, my wife does not know that a friend who came to the wedding pulled me into the bathroom at the reception to spark up a bowl. Between the pot and all of the beers I drank, I have almost no memory of a good chunk of the reception and only fleeting glimpses of being back at the hotel. I can guarantee my wife’s wedding night was not everything she thought it would be as a young girl. ROLL TIDE!

i just want to make sure i havn’t already told it though…. anyone recall me telling a “did i ever tell you about the time i pissed myself while playing Trivial Pursuit?” story?….

if no one has heard it, i’ll fire it off when i get home.

texas longhorns hat that i never took off, until it was just wore out. it shall be burned an hour before the game…i knew there was a reason i bought it!

Libertine here. And, I will apologize right off the bat for the length, it’s in four parts.

Act One. When I was a professional musician, I had a penchant for substances (illicit, taxed or otherwise), and trashy, hot women. One such gal had just graduated high school, and we worked together in Northport. She was drop dead beautiful, and I wanted nothing more than to get in her pants. For months, I literally begged, and talked so much shit about what a great lover I was, and how I would rock her world, etc. Eventually my charms, and plying her with smoke and booze, paid off and she agreed to come to one of my band’s hunch punch parties. I was off that night, but she had to work, so she told me to go chill and she’d meet me around 11. I got bored waiting around, and headed out there around 8 at night. Needless to say, by 11:30 when she got there, I had been drinking PGA (and eating barbecue) for nigh on four hours. I was a sloppy drunk mess. She pounded down a few drinks, and started getting randy, so we went to the bushes, behind the cars and trucks, and started making out. I was in heaven, because I just knew I was about to score with a chick that looked like Jennifer Garner. I was kissing my way down her blouse and stomach, and then started kissing the inside of her legs (which were in pantyhose), when -without warning- I proceeded to hurl the entire mess of cherry Kool Aid, PGA, and pork sandwiches on her mons de amour. Naturally, the pantyhose acted as a sieve, and…well, your imagination can take it from there. Then I passed out in her thighs, face in a puddle of vomit.

Act Two. We did work together, so the next day, I had to pay the piper, and I don’t think there’s every been a more contrite apology issued. She was so pissed for about a week she didn’t speak to me. But, she eventually relented, and we resumed our flirting, and she agreed to give me another chance. She told me to meet her at her parents house out by Lake Tuscaloosa, and we could go hottubbing. I was again elated, because “tubbing” is shorthand for sex, obviously. We got in the tub on a majestic November night, and started smoking up and drinking screwdrivers. It really was a damned pleasant evening. She then invited me upstairs to go “dry off and get wet”, and I about creamed myself. Eagerly I followed her to the master bathroom, where we had shed clothing. She was sitting on the sink, and I had just started the act, when she starts gasping and crying out, and I was grinning thinking to myself “Damn, you are good”…then she looked up, half blue in the face, and choked out the words “asthma.attack.” I threw her in a bathrobe, threw one on myself and rushed her to DCH. While I was explaining what happened to the cops, who should show up? Her very pissed off parents, wondering why their daughter was naked, and why I was wearing Mom’s bathrobe from the lakehouse?

Act 3. Soooo. Girl is really pissed now, and didn’t speak to me for a month (likely b/c of her parents). And, we went our separate ways, when she told me she was moving, and wouldn’t tell me where or give me her digits. I thought I was screwed forever. Flash forward a year and a half later, and I saw her on campus…she had gone to MUW for a year, then went to Alabama. She had grown up a bit, and I had too, so we put all the past behind us, and went to go have drinks at my apartment, which i shared with my brother at the time. I knew he was there, but I didn’t know where he was lurking. Anyway, she and I had a couple of pops and she said, let’s do this. So, free from the ghosts, we then went to my room, and started to have sex. During a quieter moment, she stopped, and looked at me funny and said “what the F is that noise”? I paused and then listened, and I could definitely hear a “hmmmmmmmmm” noise coming from the cracked bathroom door. I jumped up, ran to the door, and who was there? My brother watching this chick bang me. That “hmmmmmm”? His ..ummm…vibrating male pleasuring device. She screamed at me, calling us perverts, grabbed her clothes, and left. And I kicked my brother’s ass…

Coda al fin. Flashforward two more years. I was in grad school, she was graduating. We had the same major, so we had a couple of classes in the past and ran into each other at Palmer a lot. But, we didn’t really talk (can you blame her?!). One afternoon she ran into me, and asked if she could bum a smoke. We hit up a little conversation, and agreed to meet after the game that weekend. After a DuBose loss to Arkansas, spirits were kind of low, but we soldiered on for drinks at the Houndstooth. After a few she said, “fuck it…let’s do this”. so, we proceeded to have sad, post-loss coitus. And it sucked. It was just bad loving. And she called me out with the following words “that was so bad…and so short…and, I just want you to know, that your brother has a much bigger d*** than you”. She kicked me out of her apartment and I’ve never seen her since.

Please gods, I have propitiated with premature ejaculation, sex fail, penis envy and liquor stupidity: That has to be worth something?!

My pants crapping incident personally is hard to top.How about mom catching me masterbating as a teen?That’s gotta account for a few points.

The big bar/ music hall use to be called the Varsity. They sponsored a couple of amateur boxing nights where university students could box each other. Mostly it was just drunk frat guys but, this one time two girls ended fighting each other. Well one of the chicks that fought always kinda had a thing for each other but, I always had a GF or was with someone else. Finally the “lust” became too much and I took her back to our house on Bryant Dr, which no of the doors to out rooms locked. Being that I am not a complete moron I locked all the doors so no one could get in and we start going at it. I am pulling out some of my best moves and feelin pretty good about the reaction when I hear someone coming down the hallway. A since of panic rushed over me as I realized our window had been broken out the weekend before. I did not even have time to complete grasp the though when in walked my GF. She turns on the light to see me half way down a topless ( rather larger endowed) chick and immediately goes ape shit. The girl shamefully puts her clothes on and scurries past the soon to be Ex.

Being the not so moronic person that I am started the blackout talk, you know..lots of huh, what are you talking about and more huhs. She then storms out of my room and I am thinking, “Not so bad”. As I start to relax I hear what sounds like two stray cats killing each other. Both doors to the outside lock with a key…..They were trapped in the house and I can’t find the key. Finally I found it and they both exit.

After failing to do the deed I felt like something was missing. So after the soon to be ex and I split ways the boxerchick and I finally hook up. No girlfriend, no roommates, just me and her in the frat house. After a night of debauchery and chemically prolonged sex (also known as the lortab stab) we accomplish what we has been trying to for almost 2 years.

Waking up the next morning, I am feelin pretty good, my roomates come in and we had a little toke before heading downstairs for lunch. We get to talking about about the night before and of course I am bragging about the stamina, and every thing else when one of them ask “what is on your face”..Huh? As I look in the mirror and then to my hands and other place I realize that I had fought the bloody battle. I rush to the bathroom to remove what could only be called a koolaid mustache from my face.

I guess I should have known….It did seem to taste a little funny. Little Irony.

but here we go. My admission is that I actually have 2 versions of Rocky Top on my iPod, the Osborne brothers and a version done by Charlie Daniels. As an Alabama fan I am embarrassed to admit that I’ve listened to that song and actually paid money for not one but two versions.

I typically do not participate in these threads because, to be perfectly honest, my life hasn’t had all that many embarrassing moments or stories that would be mortifying after the fact, so I have had little to contribute. (Also, because having stories like these attached to my real name will almost certainly come back to bite me in the ass) It occurred to me that I do have one story that has gone untold by me for over 20 years now and today, less than 10 hours until kick-off, I’m going to tell it in hopes that it brings us closer to victory, because when this is done I will have nothing left in the tank for next season.

But first, a prelude:

• The song Party in the U.S.A.. I like it, and will sing it at the top of my lungs if it comes on when driving.
• I enjoy What Not To Wear more than any man should.
• My first girlfriend (we were 16) repeatedly begged me to, uh, do the deed. I never did because I was scared to death that I wouldn’t know what to, let alone be worth a damn.
• I didn’t actually work up the courage to punch my v-card until I was almost 23.

But the as yet untold story is worse than that.

When I was little I loved video games. I probably didn’t love anything MORE than video games, actually. They were awesome. I played them as much as my parents would let me (which was not nearly as much as I’d have liked) and would regularly play them when I was left unsupervised. I had something of an addiction, I guess, although that seems like a bit of a cop-out for a 7 year old.

I hated to stop playing them for any reason, even temporarily, even if the game could be paused and returned to moments later with nothing lost. I also liked to play them for long periods of time.

Those two things presented a bit of a problem for me at some point. As it would happen, after some time of playing video games (or doing anything, really) one eventually has to stop playing long enough to go to the bathroom.

That didn’t really fit in with my life plan at that point so, for a few months, if I had to go to the bathroom while I was playing, I would hold it. For #1, that was fine . . . I could hold it for hours with no problems. On the occasion that #2 came calling, though, it wasn’t so easy. Numerous times over the course of a few months I actually dropped a deuce in my pants because I didn’t want to pause a video game. Rather than going and cleaning them out to avoid detection, I decided to hide the evidence.

The head of my bed at the time was pushed back into a very shallow closet (probably only a foot or two deep) with the rest of it sticking out into my bedroom, and my headboard was against the wall inside the closet. I would hide the soiled britches behind the headboard.

I don’t think I’ve ever been quite so embarrassed as the day my parents found my “collection”.

…and now, football gods (and RBR faithful), you know my deepest, darkest secret. Something none of my significant others or siblings have ever known.

So my family had a pool when I was a teenager, and I would go swimming all the time in the summer. This was also around the time when I discovered pleasuring myself. So I’m by myself swimming in the pool, and I start messing with this attachment to the pump. It was basically a long flexible tube that sucked in water when you placed it over the skimmer basket. It occurs to me that it might be exciting/interesting to pull out my penis and let this pump suck on it. I got up a boner and stuck it in the pump (leaving enough room for the water to flow, obviously). It produced the desired effect, to a certain extent. It wasn’t quite as effective as the manual method, so I was being pumped for a good while. Eventually I ejaculated into the pump. Success! But to my shock, when I pulled out my penis, it had become misshapen. The pump had somehow sucked the fat up to the top or something. I remember being quite upset, but after a while it went back to normal.

that we have officially fired everything we have. Unfortunately, this might be the last embarrassing admission thread we can do for a while since anything and everything we admit after this will be minor.

because I posted in a thread last year and it ended up being an uncomfortably close game. But, because of the epic nature of this game, I will lay it all out there.

I have seen Clay Aiken in concert.

Eleven times.

Now, my defense in this matter is that I know his mom, but still. I can’t think of anything worse.

Roll Tide.

So, you guys know that movie? With the vampires? Yeah, Twilight. So my girlfriend of a year and a half (and every female friend I have) read the books and loved it. So OF COURSE when it came out she saw it in theaters. I managed to fight her off, explaining that it would be hard to find seats for three (her friend, her, then me) and she was better off without me.

A couple months later when it’s out on DVD, she wants to watch it again. With nowhere to run, I agree, under the condition that we make it a drinking game and that she provide the beer. Score! Kinda. That movie blows, but I watched it.

A couple weeks later a friend visits from out of town and she hasn’t seen twilight yet… my girlfriend tells her that she just HAS to and that I’ll join them. So I watch it. Again.

A couple weeks after THAT we visit a different friend in Seattle. He hasn’t seen it and really wants to. So I watch with them. Again. Here’s the kicker: I was kind of excited to watch Twilight. My excuse to myself is that it was a lot of fun drinking with the girlfriend that first time (and the drunken makeout, etc. that followed) so I have pleasant memories attached to the experience. That, or I just like Twilight.

Roll Tide.

Hunch punch…threesomes and a terrible case of the “damn..did that really happen?”…

after seeing the movie Titanic on a date in 1997 or 1998, I went back alone to see it again because I enjoyed it so much. I also wore a Bama issued sweatshirt to the theater (I remember the guy at the ticket window looking at me with a smirk and I thought, “They must think I’m the biggest homo/loser ever.”).

We need to know your superstitions now.

…and wanted to give Kudos to all the great admissions. They worked dammit.

RTR!!!