Video killed the internet star

“Look at me in the eyes.” 

There has been only one other time when she’s asked me to look at her square in the face. And it wasn’t pleasant. So, I sat up straight, folded my hands on the dining room table and looked into her eyes. I had no idea what she was about to ask, but her look was serious and, more importantly, I had a feeling she knew the answer to whatever it was she was about to ask me.

“Have you shown the video of us playing Ultimate Dance 3 to anyone?”

Without thinking about the consequences and still reciting the tell-the-truth mantra in my head, I answered quickly.

“Yes.”

I’m not going to bore you with the details of what ensued after confirming her worst fear. I will, however, confirm that the continued showing of this video is now grounds for separation.

Here’s how this whole thing started:

Pre-Video

A week ago today, we unwrapped “Ultimate Dance 3,” for the Wii console. By unwrapped, I mean I tore the plastic off the DVD case. It wasn’t a Christmas gift. We had purchased that game months prior and just hadn’t gotten around to playing. I loaded the game and yelled across the house to The Librarian to get into the living room. She was in the bedroom changing into her pajamas.

We strapped on…the controllers and danced our first song. It was intense. To play, you must mimic the moves of the animated dancer (in a pimp or hoe costume). To win you must hit every move at the right time. I wanted so much to look over at The Librarian to see how she was doing, but I didn’t want to lose my concentration – it would cost me too many precious points. So, halfway through the song, I decided that I would record our next dance.

The Deal

“What are you doing?”

“I’m setting up the laptop, so we can see what we look like.”

“Oh no you’re not.”

After some more arguing, we finally negotiated a deal. The following were the terms of our agreement:

  • I would record us from the laptop.
  • I would swear never to show anyone.
  • I would take off my pants and bra to ensure that I would never show anyone.

Ultimate Dancing

We danced the disco song again, we followed it with Britney’s “Hit Me Baby One More Time,” and finished it off with a Bollywood song. She in her pink pajamas. I, in white v-neck shirt and horizontally stripped underwear. When we watched the playback on the laptop, I knew there was no way I was going to be able to keep this a secret. It was too big. Like my ass in horizontally striped underwear.

Show and Tell

The next day. That’s right. I didn’t even wait a full 12 hours before playing it before a small audience. The next day, I opened my laptop and my engorged thighs to an undisclosed, inner circle of friends. From the moment I clicked play and heard that first, “Oh my God,” all the way to when the laughter was so uncontrollable they actually had to hang on to each other for fear of falling, I knew that I had a blockbuster in my laptop. I, myself, had to grab tissue to wipe the tears and snot from laughing so hard.

Master Plan

Reeling from the success of my limited release, I began brainstorming ways to show this video “accidentally.” I thought about pulling a “Weiner” by tweeting it and telling The Librarian that I meant to send it as a direct message. But, then I thought that was too predictable. My next thought was to open a Gmail account and send out the video in an email blast. But, she’d figure out that samraediram@gmail.com was me. The best idea was to schedule the publishing of the video on this blog at 11:59 pm on 12/25/11. You see, we’re hopping on a cruise for Christmas and it is at that precise moment when we will be in the middle of the ocean, well on our way to the Caribbean, completely disconnected from the interwebs and, more importantly, she will very much disoriented from an excess intake of Dramamine and lobster bisque.

Master Foiled

Back to where we started, I’m not sure what tipped her off. Perhaps she saw a tweet that one of the undisclosed video viewers sent out to Ellen DeGeneres mentioning what she had just witnessed. Perhaps I was too quiet about the video. Perhaps she is a ninja. I don’t know. But, I do know enough not to show that video again.

Technicality Found

I promised not to show the “video.” By definition that means I cannot show the recording composed of visual and audible components. And, I won’t. I stand by my promise.

However, I can show screen shots.

Want to see more? Help me convince The Librarian. Leave a comment for her below.

The secret

I have a secret.

Sure. Everybody has at least a dozen secrets.

But mine is juicy.

Not like other, stupid secrets. Like the kind of secret you pinky swear about as kids. It is not at all like the time in junior high when my friend Yvette told me she was going to have sex with her boyfriend and showed me the condom she was going to use. No. Those are secrets you keep because you are told to.

I keep my juicy secret hushed because it is just too much to unleash onto the unsuspecting world. Too much embarrassment, too much explaining involved.

If you’re thinking it is a silly secret that I can easily divulge after a few libations, you’re wrong. It is not as simple as the time I made my high school boyfriend ejaculate on the tree in my front lawn. And it is much more complicated than the secret I’ve poorly kept about making that same guy attempt anal sex on my parents’ washing machine to preserve my virginity.

No, the washing machine was not on at the time. I don’t know why people ask me that. But they do. My reaction is always the same, “No, it wasn’t. Are you going to pay attention? I’m telling you a secret!”

People never really grasp the gravity of the secret you are telling them. After the initial shock of whatever it is you’re telling them in the strictest of confidences, their eyes glaze over as they run through their mental Rolodex of people they NEED to tell right away and the other group that they will tell in exchange for a favor.

You know these people. They are the types that say, “If you lend me your car I will tell you who landed in jail for soliciting a prostitute.” So annoying.

That’s what happens when your secret is a verbal one, though. Everyone owns it and repeats it at their discretion. You have no control over a word of mouth secret. Even if it starts out as a written secret, like, for instance, let’s say you found your father’s will that was supposed to have never existed, or so you were led to believe by your mother who made you sign sixteen affidavits assuring the court that there was no such will and even if someone would one day find it you would not pursue what was on there. This is just an example. That secret, although written, would then be spread verbally all over town after the angry daughter found out about it.

With that said, my juicy secret is on video, which makes me have the upper-hand in secret keeping. I have sole custody of the video, which means I am the only one that gets to show it. My own movie house of the secret. I get to press play and watch everyone’s reaction.

In case you are wondering, it is not that kind of movie. Although I did once steal an adult video from a family member’s home. Well, more like borrowed. Permanently.

It is the perfect item to permanently borrow, too. Think about it. Accusing you of taking it only means they have to admit to owning it in the first place. And no one wants to admit owning Stuff and Munch 4.

The thought of them using this video was repulsing. I was doing it to prevent my vivid imagination from envisioning this particular person using this movie for pleasure. That and I needed proof that they were a big fat perv.

Proof. That’s what videos are. Proof we went to a concert. Proof we had a surprise party. Proof we ran down the street naked in the rain. Proof we recorded an unsuspecting co-worker when they were having a meltdown. We all walk around with our phones, ready to record evidence of our lives. Only, this one time, I stumbled on something so dark, so twisted, so wrong that it should never be repeated, over and over again. It’s enough to see it twice in one seating.

I’ll show you if you promise not to tell anybody.