Does the fact that I like Guinness redeem me at all?

I've discovered that I'm a permanent tourist in my drinking life. Bring on the cosmos! Bring on the lemon drops! Bring on the lava flows! I'll take a margarita or pina colada any day. Gin and scotch....not so much.

After work yesterday, my coworkers invited me and a few others to a last minute martini party in one of their offices. I like vodka martinis okay, but I wasn't sure I'd ever tasted the gin version. One sip and ACK. That's exactly the sound I made. All I could taste was alcohol in the yuckiest sense. Not wanting to look like a wimpy girl in front of the boys, I gingerly sipped on my drink, trying to fool everyone and keep my lips from continuously pursing. Yes, I'm having a great time! Yum, this is delicious! I'd follow up each tiny gulp with a handful of chips or party mix or an olive...anything to make the taste go away.

Next up, a little bit of scotch. At least that has an actual flavor, but too bad it has to be of smoky old shoe leather. "How do you know what shoe leather tastes like?" one of my friends inquired curiously. I explained that I was basing my description on the scent of shoe leather rather than any history of snacking on it. I worked in shoes (part-time) back in my youth, so I should know. One of my other friends followed that with her observation that the scotch tasted like the smell of elephant poo, which she happens to like, so the conversation went along a whole new thread after that.

This is a bummer, because I always thought it was so cool in the movies when they'd mix scotch and water for a drink, ice cubes clinking in the glass. Now I'll have to refrain from yelling "Don't drink that nasty old shoe!" Not very cool at all.

Clumsy

OK, I admit it. I think it's hilarious when people trip and fall.

Most of my friends are nonplussed and express some dismay when they learn that I get a good laugh over this. I'm quick to add the disclaimer that my enjoyment greatly diminishes, and quickly transforms into concern, if someone is really hurt. Still, that doesn't stop the looks of suspicion that I may be pure evil beneath a relatively nice exterior.

This is on my mind because I got these looks just the other night, while out celebrating Cinco de Mayo at the bar with friends. Emily told the story from the recent Snow Patrol concert. While sitting in the dark tuning out the bizarre dramatics of the opening act, I distracted myself by watching a girl make her way up the stairs of the middle aisle in our balcony. Our row of seats was directly in front of her, and just as I was thinking this was a prime tripping situation, she went down! I couldn't help it. From the moment she hit the stairs, I was shaking with glee but managed to suppress it until she got up and started to walk away. As soon as the first giggle escaped, Emily turned to me and said "I knew it! I knew you'd laugh! I was just sitting here thinking wait for it...wait for it..."

Why is this so funny to me?

Considering my own streak in my youth, you'd think I'd have empathy for other unlucky stumblers. In my pre-adolescent and early teens years, I was a geeky kid, not yet comfortable in my body--skinny (the good ol' days), awkwardly long-limbed, with the grace of a newborn deer. I was pretty much always a trip waiting to happen. One notable fall occurred while visiting my grandparents in Spokane. My family had gone out to pick up pizzas for dinner, and I climbed out of the car with both boxes in my hands. Somehow, I missed the curb in front of me and started a slow flop to the ground while my family gawped in silent horror. Aware that the state of dinner was in my hands, I managed to land flat with my arms straight out in front of me, the pizza boxes sliding gently across the damp grass. The rest of my body took the hit. My mother, in all her maternal concern, shouted in alarm, "The PIZZAS!!" Seeing that they were still intact, she then asked if I was okay. Priorities, priorities.

To be completely honest, my streak never really ended. Yes, I've grown into my limbs, and I'm much more centered and in control, but I still take a frequent enough spills. One day, while walking between two cars in a parking lot at work, I ran into the curb again. Trying to stop the inevitable, I slammed into one car, bounced off, and smacked into the other before making contact with the pavement. A passing minivan screeched to a halt, and the kind driver rolled down his window to ask if I was okay. Thankfully, there were no pizzas (or car alarms) involved. I responded that I was "Fiiiiiiiiiine." My knees and pride only slightly bruised.

Another time, I was ambling into Target with my friend Jeremy when--you guessed it--I came into contact with my nemesis, The Curb. With nothing to grab on to, I went down hard with my arms flailing windmill style. Jeremy waved passing cars by while he helped scrape me off the concrete, and I hobbled in to the store's bathroom to clean my wounds. Then, I spent the next half hour walking through the cosmetics aisles, shaking with laughter, as I relived my embarrassing moment over and over in my head. The only truly upsetting part to me was that I'd ruined my favorite pair of red shoes on that darn curb! Those shoes are still in a bag in the corner of my closet, waiting patiently to be fixed.

I guess my point is, and I do present this to my questioners, if I find my own falls humorous and can laugh at myself, shouldn't that give me green light to laugh at others? There are plenty of comedians, movies, and TV shows (does anyone else remember Carrie sliding across the shiny floor of Dior in Paris on SatC?) that poke fun at human clumsiness. Whether they admit it outright or not, a few people have confided in me that they get an inordinate amount of pleasure when they see someone trip too. It happens to all of us, and I think we can agree that most of the time it looks and feels ridiculous. So, I have to wonder why such harsh judgments when I tell how I respond?

Future Fallers Beware! If you're on the ground, face burning with shame as you gather the courage to right yourself, and you hear a slightly suppressed chuckle, it's probably me. Learn from my mistakes and watch out for those nasty curbs. They'll get ya.