There are moments in your life when you say something so dim-witted and unintelligent that you know you will never, EVER live it down as long as you are alive. And it’s never around your dumb friends you watch football with every Sunday. Ohhh no. Moments of humiliation are reserved strictly for the people you want to impress the most. It’s usually when you are sitting around a table with a bunch of creative geniuses hell bent of saving the world that you will say, quite possibly, the dumbest thing you have ever said in your life. Jessica Simpson is infamous for her “blonde moment” when she questioned the true nature of tuna. After last night, I will be notorious for mine.

I vividly remember the first time diarrhea of the mouth struck. I was 15. I was visiting my dad for the summer on the East Coast. The local golf course happened to be hosting the US Amateur. I got stoned with my gay uncle and went to go check out the scene. Right around the 18th Hole I bumped in to my dad who was having a chat with another man I didn't recognize.

My dad: (lovingly) Oh, hey Bridge, I was just talking about you. I wanted you to meet John. He is in charge of the X-Games. Maybe you can get a job when they are here next summer.

Me: (stoned) Yeah. Cool. Cute guys.

Silence. The sound of a golf ball getting driven through the Grand Canyon echoes through my head for what seems like an eternity. My father is speechless with mortification. John is embarrassed for me. Just writing this still makes me sick to my stomach. I am praying that the Lord might smite me with a quick bolt of lightning to put me out of my misery, spare the planet any chance of my reproduction and answer my father’s immediate prayers.

That was single-handedly the most humiliating moment of my life. Until last night. I was invited by a very good friend who is quite possibly the most amazing human being on the planet, to a dinner with a bunch of his other amazing business partners and artists. I made up a word for this: entreprenactivists. Let’s just say I was definintely the least remarkable person present; a kid at the grown up table.

I got to talking about my favorite local pub.

Me: (excitedly) It has shuffle board and pool tables and jenga and fusbol!
Genius 1: Does it have pinball?
Me: (confused) Fusbol?
Genius 1: No. Pinball. With the ball and the flippers and the blinking lights.
Me: (I can’t get the image of fusbol out of my mind. It sticks. It won’t let go. I want to go play it immediately). Fusbol?
Genius 1: No. Pinball.
Me: What’s pinball?
Silence. A fork clinks on a plate. An ice cube rattles in a glass. A plate is cleared in the other room. A homeless guy sneezes across the street. Time stops.
Me: OH!!!! Pinball!! Yeah of course I know what pinball is!
Genius 2: (the one who invited me…utter disappointment) Bridge….
Genius 1: We almost had to kick you out of the dinner party.
Genius 3: OK Jessica Simpson.

I hang my head in shame, embarrassment and disgust for myself. Jessica Simpson ain’t got shit on me. What’s pinball? What’s pinball? Did those words actually come out of my mouth? I. Am. An. Idiot. I laugh and laugh and laugh at the hilarity of the statement. I’m just mad that this time I can’t even chalk it up to being stoned.

In fact, I am still laughing. I was brushing my teeth as the question “What’s pinball?” ran through my head over and over and over again. It cracked me up every time until I was reduced to uncontrollable fits of the giggles. I laughed myself to sleep.

Being good people, the geniuses were good sports and “the pinball moment” became an instant classic. It was used to describe any stupid thing that was said for the rest of the evening. It will probably forever be the way I describe any foot in mouth, Freudian slip or Tourette’s Syndrome outburst for as long as I walk this blue planet.

I have been working like a maniac. Particularly writing like one. Simple things like how to read, pronounce words and speak English have been going out the window. As humiliated as I was, the pinball moment made me remember a simple truth: The brain is a muscle. You can’t do 1000 sit-ups and keep going. Eventually, you have to give the muscles a break or they start to show signs of strain. And if you don’t give the mind a break, you might be able to write a fuckin’ novel--but you won’t even remember what pinball is.

No matter how self-conscious the pinball moment might have made me—it sure was a keeper.