You know how, when you look back at your yesteryears, you remember certain incidents or phases you went through and you just wince? I'm not talking about stupid fads you've participated in, like listening to the Xanadu album over and over again or tying a bandana around your thigh.   I'm talking about behaviors you exhibited that were unique to you and/or to the event at hand which, if you could turn back time, you would totally revisit and declare a do-over.

If you can't relate to this feeling, then I doubt we could be friends in real life because that means you were undoubtedly cool, which in turn means that you would have initially pegged me as someone who might be cool except for the fact that she talked just a little too much about some topic that was just a little too ... uncool.  Or she made a joke but then tried to follow up with another joke that just wasn't as funny, except she couldn't stop there - she had to keep trying to tell more jokes, each of which was more unfunny than the previous joke until you, um, ye-ah -- had to go.

On the other hand, if you can relate to embarrassing phases,  I invite you to comment on this post with details since shame loves nothing more than company. 

[You know what this means, don't you?  It means no one will comment with their embarrassing phase stories and I will be left standing there telling bad jokes because you, um, ye-ah -- had to go.]

Whatever.  You are all SO on the not-even-real Internet so I don't have to care. 

Enough procrastinating. I will begin with 3 of the most embarrassing phases I can remember so far. 

1. As a Peace Corps Volunteer, I began signing my letters to friends and family at home with this utterly asinine closing: "Peace to the Corps!".  This behavior is so freaking moronic that I can't even re-read what I just typed without wincing.  At the time, of course, I was oblivious to how stupid this sounded.  After about a month of this ridiculousness, Sandie finally came to the rescue with about three sentences:  "P.S. What is this 'Peace to the Corps!' thing?  It's kind of weird."  The very instant I read that sentence, I knew she was right and I so wanted to take back every single letter I'd sent.  Peace to the Corps: WHAT KIND OF A FREAK SIGNS THEIR LETTERS THIS WAY? It is an absolute wonder I managed to find anyone to marry me.

2. In 6th grade, I decided that I hated my given name and thus declared to the world at large that my new name was LIZ.  Everyone, both at home and at school -- teachers included -- was to address me by my new name from here on in or otherwise face the WRATH OF LIZ.  I clearly remember signing all my papers "Liz", writing my name on the blackboard as "Liz", refusing to answer when called upon by my "old" name.  Yeah. It was ugly.  My wonderful grandmother was the only one who acted as though this were completely normal behavior. She even went so far as to buy me a booklet of approximately five million stickers that read "Property of LIZ", which I promptly disseminated onto every single object located in my brothers' room, furniture included.  This phase seems to have died a slow death after about 3 months, but, given that my family has a remarkable memory for all shameful and/or embarrassing events visited upon its members, they continue to call me -- no, not "Liz", that would be too kind for these people.  No, they occasionally call me "Lizzy" using the most moronic voice they can dream up.  

3. I took up archery for a while.  I'm not talking about the cute, YMCA Camp archery where you stand in line with a wobbly wooden bow until it's your turn to stand behind the line and miss the target pinned on a hay bale the size of a barn.  No, I mean I was 19 years old and dating a guy who was a consummate hunter, licensed with every legal hunting weapon one can be licensed with for killing any species of animal in any given season, and naturally, to encourage his sensitive soul to fall in love with me, I decided that I would take up Archery with a capital A and together we would go ... arching (or whatever) on the weekends.  We would have this hobby in common and who knows, maybe we would enter some kind of Doubles Arching contests and win some prizes.  Kind of like doubles tennis, only with weapons. 

 --- Hey, look: I warned you people that this was going to be embarrassing, but let's keep in mind, shall we, that the fact that I'm able to identify this as a wickedly embarrassing phase means that I'm am fully aware that I SHOULD be ashamed by this behavior and means that I've grown past it. --

My new hobby involved wearing a special leather glove, hoisting an approximately 6 million pound titanium bow in front of me with nothing but my meager bicep, then carefully aiming and shooting razor-tipped arrows at -- ha, you think I'm going to say DEFENSELESS ANIMALS, don't you? Well, my internet friends, I was not that unprincipled, even for love. (Except for one unfortunate squirrel but that is another story entirely).  No, I aimed at hay bales.  But these hay bales were much further away then they were at Camp, and the target paper was smaller.  

Ok, so maybe you're thinking that the archery phase was not all that embarrassing. That's because I didn't highlight the camouflage pants I bought for target practice. 

All right, Internet, I have bared my soul enough for one evening.  Now it's YOUR chance to confess by commenting with any of your own embarrassing phases.  

My mother, after a glass of Merlot, asked the following question of my friend / dinner guest this evening:

"Is crack granular?"