Embarrassment comes very easily for me; it started when I was walking down the hall with my class in the second grade and noticed that my pants had somehow fallen to my ankles, and hasn’t stopped since. But I’m at peace with my embarrassment, I’ve accepted it as fate’s input on my daily to-do list, and I’ve moved on.

So, at age 19, when I found myself falling right leg first into a very uncompromising position in the lobby of my New York City apartment building—directly in front of my pseudo-celebrity crush—I was not at all surprised. My slippery cheap boots were at fault, of course, but the fact that my heart’s obsession at the time was walking up the stairs as I was walking down didn’t help. He was laughing in my face, and I had to accept that he’d probably be telling all his pseudo-celebrity friends about my less-than-flattering moment.

It all started one night as I was entering the building after the most horrid date I had ever had and couldn’t help but notice the cute boy passing me by. As my eyes followed his curly jewfroout the building, I realized I had seen that boy before; not from school, not from work, but from a movie, a very very very bad movie that need not be mentioned. I immediately rushed over to my doorman of the hour and squealed, “Is that who I think it is?”

A few nights later, the doorman claimed he had “talked to my boy,” who was having a party that night and wanted me to come. I was reluctantly led up the stairs, arguing every step—citing my social ineptitude, my lack of a plus-one, and the fact that I’d probably say something stupid. I had to beg my sister to come along, promising her free booze and endless post-party stories—she finally agreed.

Inside, we were the only normal girls in a vestibule of models, B-listers, and children of celebrities. “So you’re the girl that likes the host, huh?” one of the models asked me. I wanted to vomit all over her overpriced, custom-made, dazzling designer dress. Huh? Was, instead, all managed. “Well he said when he walked you in, that you’re this neighbor girl who had some huge crush on him.”

I didn’t get it; surely I didn’t hear any such thing from him as I entered. Do these people communicate at a frequency I am unable to pick up? Probably, and either way, vomit. I felt all their eyes upon me, judging me, laughing at me, scrutinizing me. I felt like shouting, “sorry I know I am merely middle class and do not belong here.

”Somehow, we survived. We retreated to the corner, watched Jumanji, and stuffed our faces with cheese and crackers. The night didn’t make us famous, didn’t land us new friends, and didn’t change our lives—but it did remind me that embarrassment, obsession, and ridiculous social chaos can coexist with perspective, humor, and a little sisterly solidarity. Somehow, surviving it all made me feel a little more invincible, even if just for a few minutes.