The Unashamed.

After my dear best friend has seen my previous post, I am going to need some insurance on my life. I figured my best bet would be to post an embarrassing story about myself to calm the unavoidable beet-red face and fits of anger.

Let's first set the scene:

Who: Around 30 people of all ages: couples, friends, and strangers.
What: Eyes were made victim as they lounged, chatting happily outside.
When: May 2009, after Whit and Cody's wedding dinner.
Where: Front porch of the restaurant Claim Jumper in Reno, NV.
Why: Frankly--because I am a retard.

The plot is simple: there had just been a storm. The resulting rainbow made for a perfect background to snap a few snapshots.


Then, a seemingly harmless suggestion was made: roommate-jumping-picture. Some declined. Despite my extensive background in physics and relative motion, I decided to take a leap into the air. (I'm sure you see where this is going. Somehow, I didn't.)

As I leapt in to the warm, Reno air, the following image was captured, not only by the camera, but by the eyes of married couples, single friends, and elderly strangers alike:


Note: the impressive 2" verticle, the glorified mullet, my face in ecstasy... and oh yeah... the dress hovering around my waist, exposing my pink-striped skivvies.

How does the story end? It doesn't. Neither does the torment from the man behind the camera.

But for the sake of ending my blog in some sort of clever anecdote, here, I suppose, is the moral of the story:

Whatsoever thing goes up, says Newton, must come down.
And so it is with dignity when leaping in a gown.
But if you must ignore the rules, and jump instead of stand-o,
Be sure to thank your lucky stars you weren't going commando.