EEEEP! It’s a Blogversary COMPETITION!

It’s my Blogversary!

Well, strictly speaking, my first year blogversary falls on the 12th November, but I’m ready to start celebrating NOW! WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! That’s right, one year ago today (and also a week or so later), one confused Stuffed Olive started a blog. With next to no idea what a blog actually was, I began writing, telling stories, having the occasional rant, and of course, mucking around for hours and hours (and more hours) on MS Paint.  And Confessions of a Stuffed Olive was born.

A year later, here we are. People actually read my blog! People other than my mother!!! I find this fact quite astonishing, and take it to mean you are all very strange, which is, obviously, an essential character trait for those aspiring to, or currently experiencing, true awesomeness! You guys are awesome! Strange and awesome! It is no exaggeration to say that whenever anyone likes an Olive post, tweets a link to my page, shares my page, or comments on my page (etc etc etc), I get an instant injection of +400 happiness to my brain. So… THANK YOU!!!!!! 😀 😀 😀 You get all the Olive-LOVE! Pat yourself on the back, and go eat something deliciously naughty from your cupboard by way of a prize.

But wait! There’s a REAL prize… not that food you already had in your cupboard isn’t prize enough, but I’ve also decided to have a Blogversary COMPETITION to celebrate and thank you all for being so completely, amazingly, fabulously, olivisly WONDERFUL!

Prepare yourselves…


Confessions of a Stuffed Olive Blogversary COMPETITION:


Send me your most socially awkward moment stories. Those moments when you wish the ground would gobble you up because, yet again, you offered a stranger your half eaten piece of cake, or accidentally sang a Britney song out loud in the middle of the supermarket, or you scared away potential tenants by discussing your cat’s desire to rule the world, or you just generally stuffed up yet another social interaction.

Those moments that left you feeling like this:

Or really any personal anecdote about an incident that left you feeling particularly like… well, as stuffed olive!

You can send me your tales of stuffed oliveness by simply commenting on this post, via Facebook, or by sending me an email.

Stories will not be judged on writing, but by which story most makes me laugh and cringe at the same time!


The most stuffed story I receive will be turned into an Awkward Comic! I will create a new hor d’oeuvre character especially for the winner, who will be the star of the next comic to appear on the site. EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!
Yes, I’m rather excited.

So join in the excitement and send me your tales of social woe!

Embrace it and we can be social failures together. Freaks unite!

… Oh. Right, the deadline for sending in your anecdotes is the morning of Sunday the 11th November, just in time for Blogversary celebrations on Monday!! whenever, right up to the (as yet unknown) time that I post the winning comic.

Do iiiiiiiiiiiiiiit!!!!
Oh yeah! And tell your peeps too! Woooo!

Author: Stuffed Olive

My awesomeness intimidates some people, others just point and laugh.

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    Which awkward life situation can I use?……

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  2. I have two with a official titles as they get referred to regularly. They are The Ants in the pants story and The Spare pair of undies story.

    The Ants in the Pants
    Living as a student in the tropics it was common at the time to have to let your clothes hang on the line for some time before they dried out. It never really worked, in the tropics it’s a race between rot and wear to see which causes you to dump your old clothes. In any case my undies had been “drying” on the line for 2 days.

    Another feature of the tropics is the wonderful abundance of insect life. Their is a particular species of ant (Singapore Ant I believe) that likes to nest in clothing that, clean or dirty has been in contact with the sweatier parts of the human body. Its not uncommon for people to find the crotch of their underwear eaten by these ants if left in a hamper.

    Another feature of this ant is that they attack en mass, a pheromone is emitted that instructs all 1mm long ants to bite at the same time.

    So one fine morning i raced out to the line, grabbed my underwear and quickly put them on while hurrying to get dressed. At first it felt a bit ticklish, then it was like being hit with a hammer in the nuts.

    Funny you might think, but not especially embarrassing. Not embarrassing until it gets trotted out to new friends by your other half as one of her favourite stories.

    The Spare pair of undies

    I used to work in one of those really casual call centres where the dress standard was whatever as clean and comfortable and didn’t offend others. So it was okay to wear tracksuit pants and a tshirt. It was a bookmakers, so the atmosphere was a little blokey and only really serious when it came to making money.

    So one fine Sunday morn I got up, changed into a fresh pair of undies and picked up the tracksuit pants I had discarded on the floor and cycled across town to work.

    Now the call centre was open plan, the roster displayed on a wall to one side. It was while examining the roster that one of the bookmakers, in fairly thick and loud Aussie accent said,

    “Who dressed you this morning?”

    I had no idea what he was talking about, but everyone was staring. I patted myself down and realised that somehow the dirty pair of undies from the day previous had caught over the waist band. This would have been less of a problem if the colour had matched the grey track pants, but they were bright red.

    There’s really nothing you can do from that point.

    I quite liked the nickname Superman though.

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  3. Oh. I’ve got one. My most RECENT social failing.

    I think people’s impressions of how intelligent I am vary from class to class, and if that’s true… My college Spanish class must think I’m a real freak.

    First, a Thing You Need to Know: When I know information, especially random information, I like to share. This has been an ongoing problem throughout my life. Even at age 8, in the first stories I ever wrote, characters would pause to talk about why Native Americans were called Indians, or how polar bears’ hairs are actually transparent and they just LOOK white clustered together.

    Fast forward to Spanish class. Some capitals of Latin American countries were listed, and we were supposed to answer what countries these cities came from. I got a fair number right, and got some strange looks.

    Me: *out loud* THANK YOU, SPANISH RAP.
    Class: o.o ???

    I meant the rap they taught us in high school to remember Spanish cities/countries, of which I remembered about a third. Only later did I realize it could have sounded like I listen to Spanish rap music on a regular basis.

    Nothing against Spanish rap music, but I do not.

    THEN the reading mentioned tapirs. And I love tapirs. I love any random animal that most people haven’t heard of.

    No one in my Spanish class had heard of tapirs. My Argentinian, thickly-accented prof tried to explain.

    Prof: They are…boar-like, and–
    Me:–and they have trunks!
    Prof: o.o ???
    Me: Like… *tries to explain/illustrate with arm*
    Class: o.o ???
    Me: Never mind. T_T

    Yeah. They definitely think I’m weird.

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  4. Two years ago I applied to Monash University for entry into a few of their visual arts degrees. I already have over 1/3 of a visual arts degree from the University of South Australia with a distinction average, Letters of Commendation, member of the Golden Key, blah blah. I was forced to withdraw after the Human Rights and Equal Opportunities Commission made a finding of disability discrimination against UniSA – things got WORSE. I moved to Melbourne, planning to start again. I applied to Monash University and I didn’t get in after the first round of interviews. I applied for reconsideration, meaning I had a second interview.

    Burbank Homes, my builder, was also in the process of dragging me through VCAT because Burbank didn’t want to comply with the Building Code and the building contract. Having been screwed over by two lawyers at a cost of $10,000, both lawyers telling us to accept being screwed by Burbank, hubby and I sacked the lawyers and I represented us. I was INCREDIBLY STRESSED. It was also January. The combination of stress and the season meant that my asthma was OUT OF CONTROL. This meant I was on meds AND 12 PUFFS OF VENTOLIN at a time, every 4 hours or something. The reason I hate taking ventolin at all is that I get the shakes.

    I showed up at that interview with a HUGE amount of artwork, showing my research and my artwork. I was shaking like a vibrator! I was aware that anyone who didn’t know me would probably assume I was a junkie. I was up front about what was happening to me and why, and that I’m not usually in that state.

    During the interview I was asked, ‘With the high standard of your artwork, why do you want to do this degree?’ With the HIGH STANDARD. I explained how I’d been discriminated against and I wanted to finish my degree, and I wanted a future.

    I’d applied for a few degrees through Monash, including one degree – Bachelor of Visual Arts – where you don’t need a portfolio or an interview to get in, application is solely based on previous academic record.

    Monash University CHANGED THE RULES of entry even for the Bachelor of Visual Arts and rejected me on the basis of my interview and portfolio.

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  5. PS After three more court appearances Burbank Homes LOST their application to VCAT so badly that they were forced to pay most of our court expenses. Violating court orders makes sitting members a leetle tetchy. 😛

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  6. My most recent socially awkward moment is this:

    So it was a Monday morning and I was quickly getting ready for school. I grabbed some shorts to wear and threw on a shirt and slipped on some flip flops.

    So I get to school and it’s really crowded. When I spot my grounp of friends, I sort of fast walk toward them, weaving between the crowd. I’m about to say hi when I stepped up on to the curb and my flip flop caught on the edge and I tripped. Full out landed on my hands and knees.

    I sat there for a moment before I looked up and saw that not only had I fallen in front of my friends and a security guard patrolling the area but I had landed directly in front of my crush. And was currently kneeling in front of him.

    I got up, trying to laugh it off but the security guard was running over and people were staring and my crush was asking if I was okay and my friends were giggling. And, to top it all off, I was also badly bleeding on one of my knees and already bruising.

    The security guard then called the nurse to tell her I was coming in and selected the closest person to me to help me out. And that person happened to be the guy I was crushing on. Luckily we got to the nurse without further tripping and I was able to patch up my scratches pretty easily. But my crush stayed THE ENTIRE TIME just watching and smiling and I died.

    And I still have a bruise on my knee.

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  7. Too many possibles to choose from but here is one …
    I live in France and I am also slightly deaf. The combination of the two caused this social “can I die now please?” moment.
    At the laboratory, full of people, where I was delivering some papers to do with a particularly feminine problem, I thought that the assistant was asking me about my cycle. Unfortunately the word for “pay-up” (regler) is nearly the same as “period” (regles).
    Yup, you guessed – thinking it had a bearing on my treatment, I merrily blasted out at the top of my voice
    “Yes, my period started on Monday”
    Total silence and synchronised-staring from the assembled customers. Blushing from the assistand and a slightly louder hiss of “Yes but are you PAYING now or when your treatment is finished?”

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  8. I’m afraid all the awkward stories I can think of are borrowed – maybe I blank out my own? This is a story about my boyfriend Stephen, and I’m not sure if you could illustrate it without giving away the ending, but hopefully it will make you smile.

    When he was slightly younger, Stephen was very shy and very self-conscious, especially when he had to go out on his mobility scooter to walk his dog Bullitt. He felt that people were looking at him and there were sometimes comments.

    One day, he put his walking stick/ cane in the slot at the back of his scooter as usually and set off to the park with Bullitt. This day, it seemed that absolutely *everyone* was staring at him and giving him strange looks, as if they’d never seen anyone using a mobility scooter before. He felt awful, and just wanted the ground to swallow him up. When one little old lady gave him a particularly frowny look, Stephen – who is about the most mild-mannered person you’d care to meet – lost his cool and glared right back!

    He returned home early and still, all the way home, it seemed that everyone he passed gave him a peculiar look. And only when he got home and reached for his cane, did he realise why.

    As he had left the house, he had taken the scooter under the washing line, upon which his sister’s clothes had been drying. As he had past, the walking stick must have caught her very large, very lacey and extremely red bra! And thus he had trundled off to the park and back, with this big red bra flying like a flag from the cane on the back of his scooter. And that poor little old lady did not deserve to be glared at, but was quite naturally curious as to why a young man might be displaying such an item wherever he went.

    Happy Bloggiversary! Here’s to many more!

    P.S. I suppose I might have had an awkward moment when I mistyped this address as studdedolive, but fortunately your leather-wearing alter ego hasn’t nabbed that url yet. 😉

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  9. Here is one from my deepest dark past. I have to take a deep breath first…..whooosh. OK, I can do this for Olive because she gives me so much happiness. As a naive young Tasmanian just arrived in London circa 1974 I was terrfied at the thought of negotiating the tube system. The automatic doors were my greatest fear as I thought they would close on me and that I would suffer awful internal injuries. Well the day came when I had to venture in alone. When the train came, instead of allowing the passengers to disembark I blundered heedlessly on and crashed into a lady with a large shopping bag. All her shopping (food, clothes etc) fell into the famous ‘gap’ and onto the train line. For what seemed like half an hour I sat there as she and lots of other communters looked at me in wordless horror. Oh, dear I need a glass of water. I travel to London quite often these days but every time I use the Tube I feel a bit sick.

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  10. Oh, I was so shaken by revealing my story that I forgot to say happy anniversary!

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  11. Whee, congrats Holly! We must have started blogging around the same time, my one-year anniversary is coming up as well, on the 29th. Technically it was in July, but when I started I kinda wrote two posts and then did nothing for six months, so it doesn’t count. I don’t have a socially awkward story for you (well, I have lots, but none that stand out at the moment), but if I think of one I will post it!

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  12. Thank you everyone for all your well wishes AND ESPECIALLY for your awkward moments!! I can’t wait to pick a winner. You all crack me up!!!

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  13. Happy Blogversary!
    Awkward moments are my forte, or at least this is what my husband tells me (isn’t he nice?)
    Seeing as how Halloween is recently passed, I’ll share one of my many awkward moments from this fine holiday.
    I love Halloween, I love dressing up, and I have small children so now I have an excuse. Last year, we were invited to a friend’s house for a party on October 29 – it was a Saturday two days before Halloween, and I was excited to get dressed up and go. I had the perfect Halloween costume — I was going as Darth Gator. I had a Darth Vader helmet, a Light Saber, and a long black graduation gown. All I needed was an alligator mask, which I spent several hours crafting with my sewing machine and a dose of insanity. I dressed up and ignored the fact that my husband was wearing just his normal clothes (he can be a party pooper). And we went to the Halloween party.
    Only… it wasn’t a Halloween party, it was just a party. And I was the only one dressed up. AND no one (I mean, no one) got what I was supposed to be. People guessed “an alien” (how generic), “Darth Vader” (really, did Darth Vader have a long protruding green face with sharp teeth?), or “some sort of animal wearing Darth Vader clothing” (I need better friends).
    One of them took a picture of me that night and sent it to me with the caption saying, “Darth Gator. How clever of you.” I’m pretty sure my husband put her up to it.
    Can you say AWK-WARD????

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