Embarrassing moments: Volume I – The Early Years by K.B. Draper

I don’t know about you, but the world seems to be getting pretty (insert your favorite colorful word here) intense. While I like to stay informed, I also like to laugh to deal with stress. And, I need some chuckles these days.

Today, the wonderful K.B. Draper is here to help us laugh with an embarrassing story. Also, K.B is giving away 3 ecopies of The U-Haul Diary. Below the guest post, you’ll find more details about the giveaway.

Take it away, K.B.

Embarrassing moments: Volume I – The Early Years

When TB asked if I wanted to join in the fun of the Laughter Project, my official and professional response was, “Absolutely, I would love to.” My internal and not so professional response was, “Hold my beer, I’m totally going to own this.” Fun fact: I also say this at shrimp boils, the float up pool bars at all-inclusive resorts, sample day at Costco (pre-apocalypse) and to any and all skeet ball machines. Anywho– what I’m really trying to say is that “embarrassing moments” are kind of my jam. Please see: The U-Haul Diary by K.B. Draper which is 258 pages of less than flattering moments. Now I just need to decide on which moment from the plethora of remaining moments I should share with you here. Now. Today. Who am I kidding, with … let’s go with gaggle of ex-girlfriends, a nasty letter from the Columbia House CD of the month club (Youngsters, it was a thing – use your Google), and the second hill during the company’s volunteer “fun run” offers proof that I have commitment issues. What does that mean for you?

Embarrassing moments: Volume I – The Early Years.

1976: Truckstop bathroom stall in Who-the-Heck-Knows Oklahoma.

Mom: What is taking you so long?

Me: I can’t reach the zipper to get this stupid thing off.

Mom: It’s a skirt. You just lift it.

Me: *Silent beat. Two.* Oh. *Silent beat* Well, I still hate them.

Round of chuckles from the rest of the bathroom occupants.

1985: Birthday party.

Some jerk thought it was a good idea to pull out the Slip ‘N Slide. Spoiler alert: The jerk was me. Also totally me, I don’t tend to think things all the way through to fruition. I didn’t have a bathing suit or a towel. I did however have my monthly visitor. Let’s just say a well-deserved kudos goes to Kotex on that whole super-absorbency thing. My shorts and underwear though, they were just a couple of quitters.

**Fun sidebar: Every time I play this moment back in my head a deep baritone sings “Swing low – Sweet Chariot” in the background. My brain is fun. I call her Shirley.

1986-1987: The blue eye shadow years. No further details required.

1988: High school.

I followed a group of friends over a barbwire fence, while wearing parachute pants, to sneak into a field and drink some suspiciously acquired peach schnapps. Super fun fact about parachute pants, true to their namesake, they can and will drastically slow your descent back to earth. Super-duperity fun fact about peach schnapps, it makes you not give two wingnuts about sitting behind a haybale in the middle of a field with a three inch hole in the crotch of your pants.

1989: High school track meet.

Me and my teenage BFF wanted to show off our – um, we’ll go with affections for our current and respective boyfriends. (Don’t judge my young self, think back to just a few moments ago where I thought blue eye shadow and parachute pants were cool too.) So between events, laying out on a sideline with the sunny day being our inspiration, we decided to pen our boyfriend’s names across our stomachs. In. SPF. 1000. Sunscreen. I’ll give you a minute to let the entirety of that scene “bake in” … … … … You good? Yea. Super cute in a dumb-high school moment to which you will (and do) look back on later and give yourself a good WTF shake of your head. Oh and, yeah, sorry one more thing – it wasn’t until after I wiped off the sunscreen and looked down at my handiwork did I realize that my boyfriend’s name – in shortened form (‘cause there was less billboard space back then) was also my father’s name. Oh how I heart me some kawinkydinks.  I’ll add, because I know you’re wondering, me and the boyfriend lasted a week, his name, or my dad’s if we’re going there, we took the entire summer to part ways.

1992 – 2010:

Bonus Content: Another early story that didn’t make the UHD.

We shall call this “The Telegraph Tale.” Picture if you will (or don’t – might be better if you don’t) me in a mid-naked moment with a new GF applicant. The touch and feels were well underway and the response level on the receiver’s end was nada — zip – zero. We’re talking “Stiff as a board; Light as a feather” seance kind of deal. You’re with me on that reference, right? High school sleepover game where one girl lays perfectly still while other girls do magical lifty up things with two fingers? I know, sounds way more awesome than it was. Course, if it had been more magical I probably wouldn’t have ended up with “RON” branded on my stomach all summer. Oh well, paths not taken and all that. Anyway, back to the story already in progress … I was getting nothing, so I next-leveled it. Pulled out all my moves. Not a peep. Not a moan. Not so much as an uncomfortable ‘my leg is going to sleep’ toe wiggle. Now, you’d think a responsible thing to do would be to gracefully disengage, slide up, show concern, discuss opportunities and maybe even ask for directions … but NOPE, me and my ADD and it’s sidekick Jose’ thought the better solution would be to start typing out rescue messages on her naughty bits a la Morse code. I’ll let you use your imagination on what parts I used for the “– “and the “.”s.  There may also have been sound effects. Yep. So. Boop. Boop. Boop. Da. Da. Da. Boop. Boop. Boop. And long story short, I did eventually get a response to my S.O.S message. Or it could have been an “I hate tapioca pudding” message, who knows, I don’t really know Morse code. Or do I?  Boop.  😉

GIVEAWAY

What do you get if you add twelve ex-girlfriends, four overly involved friends, glow-in-the-dark body paint, a lesbian nemesis, a stripper pole, a casino surveillance tape, a three-legged cat, the restroom at the Astrodome, the restroom at the local lesbian bar, the restroom at the sheriff’s department, Jesus’s gay boyfriend, Bigfoot, and a near-death experience with an appropriately attached life-changing lesson? The U-Haul Diary – aka the story of my dating life.

The U-Haul Diary is a comedic retelling of my unsuccessful, dysfunctional, sometimes unbelievable life of dating a wide and varying array of women who moved in and out of my life (and house). I hope you learn a little and laugh A LOT!

  • 3 winners

The U-Haul Diary Giveaway

Ended

 

MEET THE AUTHOR

In 2008, K.B. Draper discovered a talent for storytelling after drinking a bottle of cheap wine at a Christmas Party. One of her also intoxicated friends said, “You are so freak’n *burp* funny. You should write a book.” The idea stuck and so did a cocktail napkin (in an inappropriate place), but that’s a totally different story. After that, K.B. Draper taught herself to write. Which was challenging, but words started to make sentences, sentences made paragraphs and paragraphs eventually made a story, which came to be her first book, The U-Haul DiaryFinding writing cheaper than therapy, she continued to tell stories in her stylized rambling humor. K.B. Draper is not a classically trained writer, but she fakes it pretty okay and hopefully inspires a few chuckles along the way.

CONNECT WITH K. B. DRAPER

Facebook / Twitter / Instagram / Website

Thanks so much for stopping by today.

About TBM

TB Markinson is an American who's recently returned to the US after a seven-year stint in the UK and Ireland. When she isn't writing, she's traveling the world, watching sports on the telly, visiting pubs in New England, or reading. Not necessarily in that order. Her novels have hit Amazon bestseller lists for lesbian fiction and lesbian romance. She cohosts the Lesbians Who Write Podcast (lesbianswhowrite.com) with Clare Lydon. TB also runs I Heart Lesfic (iheartlesfic.com), a place for authors and fans of lesfic to come together to celebrate lesbian fiction.
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