Win Tickets to a Screening of Mortified Nation

Categories: Film

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Mortified Nation/ Instagram
We bet it seemed lke a really good idea at the time

While most of adolescence is embarrassing -- pimples, braces, having to wear that ugly sweater aunt Edna gave you -- there are a few moments that stand out in everyone's puberty years as completely mortifying. (We bet you're thinking of that moment, right... now.)

Well, filmmaker Dave Nadelberg decided to collect these mortifying moments -- that many of us would like to forget (but probably never will) -- into a humorous documentary, where adults share their awkward memories in front of an audience of strangers.

If you want to reminisce and laugh about those embarrassing days, enter to win a pair of tickets to the Nov. 3 showings (5 and 8 p.m.) of Mortified Nation at the Brava Theater as a benefit for 826 Valencia.

To enter our drawing, tweet your most embarrassing adolescence moment @SFWeekly with the hashtag #mortified, or paste it below in our comments section. We'll select our two favorite mortifying moments and each winner will get two tickets to the showing of their choice. Contest open through Nov. 1.

Can't think of any mortifying moments? There's ticket for purchase too.

For events in San Francisco this week and beyond, check out our calendar section. Follow us on Twitter at @ExhibitionistSF, Mollie at @MollieM10, and like us on Facebook.
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1 comments
realmatchmakersf
realmatchmakersf

When I was 18 years old, naive, and reeling from breaking up with my high school “sweetheart”, I decided to hit the information super highway for love. I started chatting online with some righteous babes right away and quickly became addicted to the plethora of young available guys prowling the net. I spent countless evenings exchanging flirty banter, taking the perfect self portrait on my webcam, and then one fateful night I found him.

His screen name was Tahoebro78 and he was oh so dreamy. He regaled me with tales of road tripping across the U.S. following Phish tours and breaking his leg rock climbing.After chatting online with him for 2 days we set up a day to meet up and spent the remainder of that evening talking on the phone. I was smitten. I was ready to meet my future husband.

I had never been on a blind date before and I was so nervous that I spent the entire day changing my outfit, curling and re-curling my hair. At 6:00 I finally had chosen the perfect outfit. A cotton candy pink zip up sweater, light blue flare bottom jeans, and white and pink converse. I sprayed myself down for the 50th time with Tommy Girl Perfume and hid in my room until the door bell rang at 6:15. I answered the door and there he was. Every bit as gorgeous as I had pictured in my mind. He was sweet and boyish with thick chin length blond hair tucked behind his ears and wore a thrift store sweater and corduroy pants. We exchanged an awkward hug and I am positive that I giggled some nonsense about leaving before he had to meet my Dad.

I don’t remember what we talked about on the ride over to the game park where we were to race go-carts, but the conversation went smooth and easy like the green hit off a freshly packed water bong. We laughed together and sang along to the soundtrack of The Grateful Dead playing on the cassette player that sat between us on the center console of his shiny Super Wagoneer.

As we pulled into the parking lot he playfully mentioned that he was actually quite competitive and I had better prepare myself to be left in the dust. Little did I know that in mere moments I would be eating his words.

Being the perfect gentleman that he had turned out to be, he told me to wait in the car so that he could come around and open the door for me. He grabbed my hand and kissed me on the cheek as I hopped out into the giant gravel parking lot of the game park. We linked hands and began to walk up to the entrance when he turned to me and asked…

“Wanna race?”

He could have asked me if I wanted to do The Worm over hot coals and I would have acquiesced if it meant he would fall in love with me.

Since it had been a good 10 years since I had last sprinted full throttle I thought that this very moment was as good as any to take it up again. I looked into his dreamy blue eyes and accepted his challenge. Before the words could leave my lips he was in a full on sprint with a good 5 yard lead. I took off behind him doing my best to keep up. My mind was racing along with my legs and I’m thinking:You know, this is kind of ridiculous. What kind of guy challenges his date to a race? He’s totally kicking my ass too. Oh my god…I hope I don’t have pit stains after this. 

Pit stains would be the least of my worries. As my body careened onward I could feel the weight of my shoulders pulling me down. Picture a duck with its wings tucked back, gaining speed, neck craned out into the universe, propelling itself faster and faster before it’s grand ascendance. That was me, but there would be no grand ascendance into the horizon.

Fortunately, Mr. Granola was so far ahead of me he had no idea that there was such a spectacle going on behind him. Feeling a bit of relief that he was completely oblivious to me, I began to recover my stride when the unthinkable occurred. I could feel my pristine white and pink Converse One-Star make it’s great escape from my right foot. There was nothing I could do to compete with the force of my body’s increasing speed in conjunction with the betrayal of my footwear.

I was going DOWN. 

I slid into the asphalt like it was a Slip n’ Slide. The all too familiar sting of gravel infiltrating my palms brought me back to my childhood, and that really isn’t ever a fun place for my mind to wander. It took me a moment to collect my thoughts and take inventory of what had just transpired. When I gathered the courage to look up, Mr. Granola was charging up the steps doing his best Rocky Balboa impersonation. He looked behind him as he reached the top of the steps, arms still pumping in the air when the Security Guard tapped him on the shoulder and pointed across the vast parking lot at me. I was still on the ground waiting for the universe to do me a solid and swallow me whole.

Mr. Granola rushed back over and peeled me up from the pavement and hugged me. It was then that I looked down and noticed that my clothing was streaked with asphalt and my jeans were ripped at the knee exposing a gnarly glistening strawberry. I looked like I had just been run over by an 18 wheeler. Attractive look for a first date, no?

In retrospect, I question his chivalry because he didn’t offer to drive me back home to change. I’m a trooper though and I made a weak joke about how he would look after I kicked his as on the go-cart track. He ended up pummeling me in that department as well. So much for a pity win! Competitive indeed, no lie.

There are some real charmers wandering around the internetz.

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