At least once I week, I lay awake at night tormented by my past.

It looks EXACTLY like this:

Let’s get this out of the way:  I’m a magnet for awkward situations. Strangers approach me, shout insane things at me and then run away. Kids tell their parents I look easy to beat up. At a college party, I made everyone stop to watch me do the worm, just to immediately break a lightbulb with my face. And last month, I DJed a huge wedding and kicked off the power to the whole venue. Life’s a real treat.

If you want don’t want your insides to turn to newspaper, go read my other blogs – cause real life can get real CRINGY.

I’m stalling!

Story One: Naked & Afraid

My friend Taylor – or as we liked to call her growing up, the NUN – is a saint. Taylor was #3 in the class at our high school, a star swimmer, went to daily mass for fun and has only had two sips of juice in her entire life because it makes her hyper. But, for every nun, there’s a paddle! My best friend Cooper and I were her paddles! YIKES! Together, we got our sense of internal joy and satisfaction from pushing Taylor out of her comfort zone. Shenanigans like our yearly pudding wrestling party and our wild basement raves helped scoot Taylor out from the nunnery and into our clutches. 

But, this was the day Taylor became a woman – and it was all my fault. The curtain opens on a sun-drenched Saturday afternoon in 2010, Taylor, Cooper and I were hanging out at his house. ALONE.

Taylor and I thought it would be a real knee-slapper if we hid in Cooper and his little brother Keegan’s bunk beds until we could pop out at JuUuuSTt the right time to almost ruin the friendship. So, when Coop turned his back to get us ice cream sandwiches we SPRINTED up to his room to hide. We’re monsters! But, it only took Coop what felt like 8 seconds before giving us exactly what we didn’t want … completely forgetting about us! Were we going to throw in the towel? NO. THIS JOKE IS SICK.

Taylor and I sit giggling in their bunk beds for maybe 20 minutes duh-reaming of that STUPID look on Cooper’s face when we finally got ’em.

*THUMP THUMP THUMP*

Somebody was coming up the stairs.

This was our TIME!

Most importantly … I’M RIGHT!!!

*Giggling giggling*

In what felt like slow motion – I see not Cooper – but a BUTT-NAKED Keegan prance into his room without a care in the world.

The gravity of how uncomfortable this moment was going to be hit me like … this …

But it was too soon to stop Taylor.

Like a possessed PopTart, Taylor sprung out of Keegan’s bed and committed 100% to a huge, confident scream that turned into a shriek of absolute horror. The look in Keegan’s eyes will forever be burned into my memory as his pubescent body cowered in fear, he screamed like a woman oh to be 14 again! and his pasty tush ran the other direction. I RUINED THE NUN.

The silence that followed was deafening. Poor Keegs was that at that age where your pituitary gland throws a house party while your body’s traveling for business. 

WHAT WERE WE EVEN DOING? Who’s idea was this?? What do you say when sorry isn’t enough because your choices are so awkward? That’s a lot of questions, Christian!

The correct answer is you run and never come back. And that’s exactly what we did: down the stairs and past Cooper’s mom who didn’t even know were there – let alone hiding upstairs where her sons lay their heads! *SCREAMING*

Taylor and I ran through their screen door without uttering a peep. Taylor was now a woman – and I was going to have lunch with Lucifer.

And then we blacked out.

Keegan and I have never talked about this until I asked for his permission to post this. Maybe if we didn’t scare him so bad he’d be in jail. That’s what I tell myself every time I look in the mirror.

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Story Two: You Can’t Run from the Runs

If you hate poop stories, just close the window. You’ve been warned.

Between my junior and senior year at Miami University, I lived at school so I could *easily* commute to my summer internship the commute was an hour, both ways. KILL ME. And, if you never spent a summer in the Oxford, it’s the most magical time of year because all the prepsters go home, and all the townies come out to play. It’s a cultural experience you need now.

I’m a huge runner physically, so the flat cornfields of Oxford were perfect for cranking out some serious mileage. This particular day, I decided to participate in some mild trotting around the new track built around Cook Field.

*Someone raises their hand in the audience*

“Christian, did they also build the ‘Taj Mahal of bathrooms’ next to Cook Field so past-their-prime athletes like you can properly manage their normal bodily functions?”

“What a specific question! YES.”

I was rounding out mile 3 while all of the sudden *that special feeling runners get* hit my colon. YIKES! “Good thing my tuition built this for my convenience!” I say to myself as I flail my entire body weight against the door only to be met with VERY equal, opposite and unfortunate pressure.

Oh no.

*Colon pressure rises.*

Everything was closed for the summer – but my anus.

My only hope was to literally hobble a half-mile to the Marcum Conference Center, the only hotel on campus, and act like I belong there – like you do at any place with a free continental breakfast.

Each step felt like tapdancing on a minefield, but after 8 minutes of not exploding unfortunate metaphor, I finally reached the front steps of the Marcum.

*Step*

Oh no.

*Step*

It’s happening.

*Step*

Meeep!!

Once I got to the top of the stairs, I was forced to bear down all the to the bathroom, past an empty front desk and then…

It cut loose.

I look down at the ground to see a log of sadness staring back at me. Right there. On the carpet. In the middle of the lobby. I didn’t know what to do … so I reached down, grabbed it and RAN.

Like the relay race I was never fast enough to run, I picked up my baton and handed it off to my friends: pride, dignity, and regularity. And, ooooHh baby, they should have clocked that mile.

I ran into an empty bathroom, flushed that sucker, washed my hands for 2 happy birthdays, darted out of the bathroom, and then RAN home. When Jaekle falls, he gets the eff up.

And then I blacked out.

I know this sounds like the most unfortunate story of all time, but I think God truly blessed me in this scenario. Could you imagine being at the front desk and seeing a *dog bark* fly out of someone’s short shorts? What if there was someone in the bathroom when I ran in there holding it?? *SCREAMING*

I would have to drop out and finish online – or worse – transfer to the Middletown campus.

I hope someone has discovered this treat for themselves on a July 2014 security tape.

Here’s you Jaekle Jam. The following feels appropriate.