Oops Week: Nancy

Miserable fail: Flirting

"I knew as soon as you posted the topic exactly which spectacular failure I was willing to share.

You see, once upon a time there was this boy. And he was oh so attractive. And he was an elementary education major, and he could sing and he was sweet and considerate and a little bit silly and he lived conveniently just across the apartment complex courtyard from me.

And I, well, I was the classic BYU co-ed. I baked things and shared them with people (yes, I was a cookie whore) and I said and did sweet things in order to impress the boys in my ward and I even was known to do the not-psycho version of stalking that co-eds are so well versed in. Its an art, really, to figure out his schedule, make your studying and class schedule match up with his in just a few places and at just the right moments. Come on, admit it, we all have done it to at least one boy.

I had managed to create a tiny routine on Tuesday and Thursdays where our classes were in similar enough locations that we were able to walk from one class to the next together. Casual, cool, convenient, just a brief reminder in the middle of his morning of my existence, in case he decided he wanted to, say, ask someone out or something.

So one lovely morning we were walking and I was doing my best at flirting, trying to remember the appropriate sequence of batting my eyes, tossing my hair, giggling at his cleverness, and touching his elbow. We met up just outside the fine arts building... (toss toss, giggle, bat, toss, elbow) We cut through the courtyard... (giggle giggle, bat, toss, elbow, giggle, elbow) We ducked into the bookstore.. (bat bat, toss, elbow, giggle, bat) and just as we were exiting the bookstore, I was mid toss and prepping a bat-giggle combo, hoping to follow with an elbow, I walked straight into one of those posts that divides a set of double doors in half. Mind you, it wasn't a shoulder that hit or asideways sort of bump from which I could have recovered with a well places elbow grab. No, this was full on, in the face, red mark on my forehead and nearly knocking me unconscious, and it all happened mid giggle-toss.

Oy. He asked me if I was ok, very politely, and I reassured him that I was fine, that it happened all the time, and then in an akward sort of silent agreement we went our seperate ways to class. I never stalked him again. But I think in just the right light, you can still see the ridge going down the middle of my face."

Nancy, I bet he was secretly impressed.

Oops Week: Jordan

Miserable fail: Word choice


"The first thing that came to mind (although I have PLENTY of embarrassing moments, lucky me) was a story that I feel needs a disclaimer: I don't mean to offend! It was not my best moment and was less than PC to say the least, so please forgive me.

My friend Adrianne and I were shopping downtown Salt Lake at the Gateway and ventured into Victoria's Secret. Adrianne always does my makeup and hair when I go anywhere important, and sometimes even when I don't. So as I was playing with the eye makeup I was asking her advice. At some point a male sales associate came by to ask if we needed any help. Remember: this is a MALE sales associate at Victoria's Secret, and this ain't Provo.

I began applying an eyeshadow that was the same shade as my shirt and, without thinking, asked Adrianne if she thought it looked 'gay' to have my makeup matching my outfit. The sales associate overheard, and, somewhat curtly, replied, "I don't know... I don't wear makeup." Adrianne burst into a fit of stifled laughter and we had to leave pretty much immediately. I have since learned to watch my language and my choice of words, especially around strangers!"

Bahaha. Oh Jordan. That's classic.

Oops Week: Jess

Miserable fail: Following protocol and accessorizing the right way.

"When I read the assignment, I had to think, what embarrassing moment would I share with my girlfriends? Oh, I know.

It all happened at the doctor's office, at my very first appt for my very first pregnancy. I walked up to the desk to check in, and the receptionist took my name, and then handed me a plastic cup. I looked at it a bit confused, and she told me I needed to provide a urine sample. In the past, this happened in a lab. But, no, not at this office. I have to use the plain ol' bathroom on the otherside of the waiting room. At this point in my life, I hadn't yet adopted the habit of carrying a massive bag with me. So, I had to walk across the waiting room with my paper bag concealing my pee cup, pee in it, come back into the waiting room to sit with my bag. Okay, people, you aren't fooling anyone, we all know what is in that paper bag. Everyone in that room knew where I was going, what I was doing, and that I was now carrying my own bodily fluids with me. They told me to "give it to the nurse" when I went in for my appt. They called me back, but this was just weight and height and blood pressure. I set my bag on the counter, answered the questions the nurse had, did the whole deal with weight and height, and then was sent back to the waiting room, paper bag in hand.

Then, I got called back to the actual appt. I went into the room, set the bag down on the table, and a different nurse asked me a bunch of questions. I answered them, and then, she started to leave, so I asked her about the sample, as I pulled it out of the bag. She stood there, looking at me oddly, as I stammered that I was supposed to give her the sample. And, then, I looked, and the pee was gone!! It had just disappeared! My pee, that I was sure to carry with me, was gone. I was so confused, while the nurse, I'm sure, was very amused at me.

She explained that the previous nurse had taken the sample, and given me a new bag with cup for the next visit. I hadn't noticed her doing a sneaking switch-a-roo between all of the questions, weighing, and blood pressure. Apparently, once I get into the routine of it all, I bring the sample from home, in the bag, and give it to the nurse that takes my weight every time. Duh!

So, what was my massive failure here? I didn't fail to pee in the cup. I got that right. There was a moment where I thought, maybe, I had. No, I guess my failure was knowing the protocol for peeing in a cup. I also learned the mommy lesson of: "Always carry a big, obnoxious bag with you, everywhere you go. You'll never know what you need to hide.""

Brilliant advice. Big bags can save your life at the most unexpected moments.

Mini discussion topic: Hot Chocolate

Just in case you are wanting a real cup to sip at home, here's a delicious recipe for creamy hot chocolate. Mmm...

Ingredients:

1/3 cup unsweetened cocoa powder 3/4 cup white sugar 1 pinch salt 1/3 cup boiling water

3 1/2 cups milk 3/4 teaspoon vanilla extract 1/2 cup half-and-half cream

Directions:

1.

Combine the cocoa, sugar and pinch of salt in a saucepan. Blend in the boiling water. Bring this mixture to an easy boil while you stir. Simmer and stir for about 2 minutes. Watch that it doesn't scorch. Stir in 3 1/2 cups of milk and heat until very hot, but do not boil! Remove from heat and add vanilla. Divide between 4 mugs. Add the cream to the mugs of cocoa to cool it. ________________________________________________________________

Mmm... For me? If you insist. Of course, if you are like me and you tend to take the short cut, the powdered stuff works great. What's your favorite brand? Swiss Miss? Stevens? Marshmallows or whipped cream? Have you tried Starbucks' peppermint hot chocolate? To die for. Or the hazelnut variety ain't half bad neither.

Leave a comment with your favorite way to drink hot chocolate, and don't forget to email me your "Oops" moments for our weekly topic!

Oops Week: Erin

Miserable fail: Math. And fooling 8th graders."I'm a substitute teacher for K-12. Mostly I sub for high school, and usually it's a pretty kicked back job. I love those days when I open the door, and see a DVD on the teacher's desk. Granted, I have to watch the same first hour of the same movie 5 times, but whatever. The only problem that occasionally arises, is when the teacher leaves extremely detailed plans, and wants me to teach an intricate lesson to the students, and I happen to suck at the subject they want me to teach. I can handle these kind of classes easily if it's under 3rd grade. The little guys for the most part haven't learned how to recognize BS when they see it. My most dreaded teaching subject: Advanced Algebra.

A while back, I was called in to sub for 8th grade. The teacher left about 5 pages of detailed instructions for teaching her lessons. Everything was going great until math. I started looking at their book, and it was crazy difficult. I mean, I was relatively good at math in junior high and high school. It was never my favorite subject, but I got by. So I decide to work a little BS magic with these 8th graders. I figured I could do math Socratically (is that a word?) and just ask them questions. They would end up teaching themselves the lesson, and not even realize my mathematical shortcomings!

HUGE backfire. They didn't fall for it. I think 8th graders may have a little shark in them because I'm almost certain they can smell fear. The little sharks began attacking me and heckling me! They were like, "how can you be a teacher if you don't even know advanced algebra!" and so it went on like that for a bit. I was soooo embarrassed and I wanted run out the door and vanish. Instead I decided to tell them sorry, but I haven't studied 8th grade math for 10 years, and I'm really not great at math anyways. Plus I don't ever use this kind of math. And that was my second ooops. I gave them amo to say "when are we ever going to use this?!!" Yeah, that was a difficult sub day.

I did learn a couple of lessons though. Even though they can be jerky little 13 year olds, they are still people, and there is a chance that they might not heckle you when you tell the truth.

Also, I must get this book by Winnie Cooper..."

Erin, doing algebra while being heckled by middle schoolers sounds like a nightmare I had once. You are lucky you survived! You are one tough chick.

Oops Week: Ally

Miserable Fail: A Mature Break Up.

It was time to kill off a relationship for good. The awkwardness had already lingered for a while, but we hadn’t faced it head on. And one night I finally decided to just call the boy up and calmly end it. I would talk in my most calm voice, and very maturely ask him to confirm that the relationship was dead so we could get some closure. Very grown up. Very classy. Very respectful and drama-free.

That was the plan.

I called him, and stuck to the plan as well as I could. There was no anger, no tears, no blame. I got off the phone, relieved it was finished. Over! Plus I was so proud of my drama-free maturity.

But as the minutes passed, the relief passed too. I started to go into the process of mourning the loss of the relationship. I started to play it over in my head (as we girls do) and I started to feel a little angry. I needed girl talk. Validation. So I wrote a text to a close girl friend. I expressed anger at him (in not “mature” ways…haha) and I told her how happy I was that the whole thing was finally, FINALLY over and I would never have to deal with him again. I sent off the text and sat down to dinner.

By the time dinner was over, I started to wonder why my friend had not written me back. She is one of those people who always replies super-fast, and I knew she wouldn’t have ignored such an important text from a friend suffering from relationship-anxiety. Maybe she just didn’t get the message. So I picked up my phone to check and see if the text had been sent off okay. Went I went into my “Sent Messages”, my heart stopped. It literally stopped. My throat swelled up. My eyes went blurry.

I had sent the message to the BOY by accident. Yes, the boy I had been so careful to be mature and calm towards, had received my angry-rant of a message.

I started laugh/crying and didn’t stop all night. A part of me was humiliated. But there was another part of me, deep down inside, was highly amused.

And I learned my lesson. No texting while in an emotional state. Words to live by, girls.

Oops Week: Melissa

Miserable fail: Cooking to impress

"I like to think I'm a pretty good cook. My husband definitely put on weight when we started dating. In fact, he used to brag to his friends about how good of a cook I am. So, to prove it, we invited his buddies over for Sunday dinner. I made my mom's chicken dumplings. Or at least I tried to. I didn't realize that she uses bisquick brand mix for her dumplings. I, inadvertently, used Krusteaz. I knew that it was some sort of pancake mix.

For the record, dumplings made with Krusteaz don't work. At all. It may have been the nastiest thing I'd ever made.

This seemed to be a trend. Everytime I cooked for someone who had been told that I was a good cook by Matt, it failed miserably.

When my future in laws came out to meet me, I made them lasagna, accompanied with a freshly baked bread and a beautiful green salad. For dessert, I had strawberry sorbet planned. Well, for some reason, the lasagna ended up being runny beyond belief (I still haven't figured out why!) And one of my oh so thoughtful roommates had taken my ice cream machine out of the freezer, and replaced it just a few hours before I needed it. This caused major problems with the sorbet. It never set and was just a really sticky mess. We ended up going to the Malt Shoppe instead. I was horrified.

My father in law, fortunately, was not privy to that awful dinner. But he too, would have his turn. We lived with my in-laws that first summer when we were married. Occasionally, it would just be Matt, Eric (FIL) and I for dinner. One night, I planned a very simple but tasty meal. Chicken and Rice. Impossible to mess that up, right? Wrong. After the casserole had been in the oven for 3 hours because the rice wouldn't cook, Eric realized my mistake. "Did you know that we don't use instant rice in this house?" he asked me. Well, that explained that. After a few more minutes, I tried to salvage the chicken, which was dry beyond belief. At this point, it was almost 9 pm. Eric took us to McDonalds for dinner that night.

So, Matt isn't allowed to brag about my cooking now. It seems to be a curse. I still think that I can cook well, but clearly not under pressure!"

I think we can all sympathize. Thanks for your bravery, Melissa. We would still be thrilled to come to your house for dinner any day. :)

Week One: Oops.

Ok ladies, I say we break the ice by getting into some fun stories.

Blogs can be great tools for showcasing the things we are good at. I know I am always impressed by my friends- their artistic abilities or homemaking skills or exciting successes. But here in the Hot Chocolate Shop, we can get down to the juicy stuff.

I want to know about a time when you failed. I mean really failed. Miserably.

Maybe you cooked something scary. Maybe you said something painfully awkward. Maybe you found out that scrapbooking just wasn’t your cup of tea. Maybe you posed for pictures all night before realizing you had broccoli in your teeth.

We all do it. So tell us a good story! Don’t be shy.

Let’s embrace the beauty of our failures. Let the humiliation begin. Bonus points to anyone who gets me to snort.

(Email me your triumphant failures at hotchocolateshop@gmail.com. I will post them up just as you wrote them; the only reason I have them go through me is for formatting purposes. Can't wait to hear your stories!)

Mmm...Hot Chocolate Shop

Welcome to the Hot Chocolate Shop! Let me explain my hopes for this little place.

I have a blog, and many of my amazing friends have blogs. Cute, fabulous blogs. I love looking at them- laughing at the funny rants, learning from the recipes and decorating ideas, admiring beautiful photos or trying to soak in wise advice. And I couldn't help but wonder- what if we all put our heads together? What kind of creative, intelligent juices would flow from our collective blogging?

I want to find out.

Hot Chocolate Shop is a place for us LDS blogging women to gather. We could meet up at a coffee shop to chat, but this blog is more convenient (not to mention Word of Wisdom friendly.)

Here's how it will work. Every week I will post up a discussion piece. Something like, "What is your best knock-em-dead dessert recipe?", "What is the worst relationship advice you've ever gotten?", "Send a picture of your favorite pair of shoes and explain why you love them", "What was the best thing about your wedding reception?", or "What is one dream item you'd love to buy but can't afford?" Etc. Etc. Then, you fabulous, brilliant girls will email me your responses. Send pictures, be silly, go nuts. And I will post them all here on this blog for us all to admire and discuss. Together, we can create a super-blog. The dark chocolate of the blogging universe.

Who wants in? Pull up a chair, friends.