This Earle of Oxford, making of his low obeisance to Queen Elizabeth, happened to let a Fart, at which he was so abashed and ashamed that he went to Travell, 7 yeares. On his returne the Queen welcomed him home, and sayd, My Lord, I had forgott the Fart.
I was never much of a singer. I was terrible. It's embarrassing: I was trying to sound like everybody else. I went through a big Cure phase, so I was trying to do that kind of dramatic voice.
I spill water on myself all the time at nice restaurants. I've run into poles and knocked myself out.
Thank you ... San Francisco. All right, you're ruining the show. Thank you ... for clapping for what my parents are ashamed of.
What I remember most about junior homecoming was my date getting sick afterwards. That kinda sucked. Then, senior year, someone got gum in her hair when we were dancing. She had to get one of the chaperones to take her to the office and cut up her hair. I felt really bad for her, but it worked out fine.
Good writing is remembering detail. Most people want to forget. Don't forget things that were painful or embarrassing or silly. Turn them into a story that tells the truth.
I'm definitely shy, so it was definitely acting for me to drop a trench coat and be in a bikini and try to get my cousins out of trouble by using my body. That was definitely acting.
I don't tan on my upper thighs, so when I first wore those [ cut-off jean short shorts] I look like I was walking on two cans of milk.
I was the world's ugliest baby. I have photos of my folks leaving the hospital with sacks over their heads... I asked my mother how to turn off the electric fan. She said 'Grab the blade!
There's like ten minutes when it's like, 'Okay, wait, who is this guy again?' And then, you know, I just put on the calculator watch and the glasses, and just be all, you know, inappropriate. And then it just works out fine.
If you're going to do an interview about a movie or anything like that, you're vulnerable. You say stupid things. Or if you're applying for a green card you feel very vulnerable and you're likely to spout out something stupid in the middle of it all.
I have lots of hard-earned knowledge about women through heartbreak - and social faux pas. When I was about 15, thinking I was engaging in light conversation, I asked a woman when she was due. Of course, she wasn't pregnant. I learnt the lesson never to ask again.
I swear, sometimes I am convinced my life is just a series of sketches for America's Funniest Home Videos, minus all that pants-dropping business. Except my life really isn't all that funny if you think about it.
It's all fun and games until someone gets a boner.
Teas, Where small talk dies in agonies.
Obviously, I'm going to be embarrassing to the kid. There's just no way not. I just hope the kid has a really good sense of humor... My husband's very serious - he doesn't find me funny at all - so I'm hoping the kid is like, 'Mom is hilarious!' That'd be really great.
I'm always ripping clothing. It's so embarrassing.
I'm really clumsy, so I trip and fall a lot. And every time I perform in New York my pants split onstage. That's happened four or five times. Every time, I pull on my mom's jeans as fast as I can, so there we are, standing backstage without our pants on. It's like a curse.
Palindromes are the number one conversation stopper, like party killer, I think I've ever seen.
When I was a kid, in a very white boarding school in England in the '90s, I had this sort of middle part that kids had - that sort of long, floppy hair. So I was always desperate to have long, floppy hair, and I would try and brush it and spray it, and it would just look like a Brillo pad!
There are a lot of words that I knew first as a reader, and I never put the pieces together in my brain. The word segue I thought was pronounced "seeg," I think until I went to college, which is horribly embarrassing.
People, when they come up to me, are like, 'Did we go to high school together? Or did I make out with you at sleepaway camp?' And oftentimes, yes, that is the answer, because I went to a giant high school and made out with everybody.
I'm somewhat socially inept. Slide me between two strangers at any light-hearted jamboree and I'll either rock awkwardly and silently on my heels, or come out with a stone-cold conversation-killer like, "This room's quite rectangular, isn't it?" I glide through the social whirl with all the elegance of a dog in high heels
When I met my husband, I refused to invite him home for Passover because I was embarrassed my mother might serve all the catered dishes in the wrong order.
Most everybody had made at least one bad, drunken decision in their lives. Called an ex at two in the morning. Or perhaps has a little too much to drink on a second date and wept inconsolably while revealing how simply damaged one was, while nonetheless retaining an uncommonly large capacity for love. That kind of thing was, while regrettable, at least comprehensible. But waking up with someone generationally inappropriate, like your grandfather's best buddy?
