I Guess I Gotta Give You Part II of My Confessions

I'm a compulsive liar. I figured I could use my blog to disclose my many falsehoods and ease this crushing guilt.

If I'm gonna tell it then I gotta tell it all.

EVERYONE WHO BELIEVED THAT I HAD A SECRET ADMIRER:

I made some stuff up. My bad.

All I want is for people to think that I'm popular. It's true today and it was true in grade school. I did this thing where I would write secret admirer notes to myself and discretely place them in my cubby. I did it over and over again in different grades and in different states. This great nation is littered with my lies. And notes.

In order to make a letter more convincing/I'm pretty sure I saw this on Arthur once, I signed 'Love, Timmy' but then crossed out 'Timmy' and wrote 'Your Secret Admirer'. I then had my classmates examine the letter where it obviously had once said Timmy. They all assured me that this meant he didn't have the courage to tell me how he felt...yet. Timmy cornered me to say that he didn't write the letter.

I accused him of lying.

Tales from the Projects: The Very First Time I Was Ever Punched in the Face

When I was 5 years old, I lived in the projects outside of a reservation in South Dakota. I was playing in the jungle gym when this horrible 9-year-old boy and his cronies chased me off and told me that girls weren't allowed to play there.

I have some sweet gossip about this kid, readers. He was the illegitimate child of an American Indian guy from the nearby reservation which doesn't really have anything to do with this story, but I think it might explain the mean thing he's about to do. He probably had abandonment issues and didn't know where he belonged...like Hercules. Although Hercules never punched a little girl. Just saying.

I ran away, feeling guilty about violating the rules. By the time I got back to my house I realized that he obviously didn't have the right to tell me where I could and could not play. I concluded that the brave thing to do, the right thing to do, the thing Captain Janeway would do, would be to march back to those boys and give an impassioned speech.

Feminism!

So I did that.

And he punched me in the face.

I came home in hysterics with a black eye. My mom freaked out and put me in the car because she insisted on going straight to the authorities. We drove past that kid's house so that my mom could scream at them out of the window because we're pretty white trash. There's no denying it at this point.

That's right, we had a Geo Metro.

Epilogue: 

I'm not really sure what the Cops can do about a mean 9-year-old to begin with, but I wasn't going to snitch. I thought it was my fault that he punched me because I was the one who came back to the jungle gym/gave a speech. When we got to the Police Station, I just sat there and cried when they tried to ask me questions. Captain Janeway would have been so disappointed in me.

Complaining about The Kennedys

That title is misleading. Let's get one thing straight: I love the Kennedys. I was referring to this miniseries.

A little background info: History Channel produced The Kennedys but, due to early controversy and bad reviews, decided not to air it. The miniseries was picked up by the ReelzChannel (I've never heard of that, have you heard of that?) and now it's on Netflix Instant for the enjoyment of all (well, until everyone cancels their Netflix accounts).

I started this post with every intention of writing a mildly humorous review (since I hoped to turn those wasted 8 hours into something worthwhile), but I've just decided against it because A.) I don't feel like it, and B.) no one cares. Okay, I just want to talk about Bobby now. So to sum up: The Kennedys made me mad and kind of sucked, surprising no one.

My friend Brendan once called me a bobbykennedysexual because I'm not attracted to anyone who isn't Bobby Kennedy. That's a slight exaggeration but admittedly, my feelings for him are weird and creepy. In The Kennedys, they made Barry Pepper wear false teeth and a prosthetic nose which looked hilariously terrible. I kept shouting things at the TV like, "WHO IS THIS TOOTHY GEEK?" and, "I HOPE HE GETS SHOT." By the 6th hour, the Bobby Kennedyness of it all had come through, and I had fallen in love with him. I ended up crying like a baby when he was assassinated. Ironically, I didn't cry when JFK was shot, and I ALWAYS cry when JFK gets shot.

RFK and Ethel were so hot for each other. Those 8 hours I spent watching them in The Kennedys really made me want to get married. I should watch what I say before my Mom calls and tells me to stop reeking of desperation. Mom (if you're reading this...?), I'm not saying I want to get married per se, I just want to already be married. I just wish I could go forward in time and skip all this dating/talking-to-people mess. Here is a hilarious mock-up I drew at the age of 17 of a future family photo. I hate myself.

What we can learn from this:

1. My future hypothetical husband is a cranberry farmer

2. I'm apparently going to dress my child in cat costumes

Confessions: Part 1

I'm a compulsive liar. I figured I could use my blog to disclose my many falsehoods and ease this crushing guilt. 

PANERA BREAD:

I deceived you; I am sorry.

Sometimes when I am very hungry I want to order two of your sandwiches to-go, but I don't want you to judge me. I pretend to be getting one sandwich for me and one for my imaginary boyfriend. I keep up this ruse by pretending to talk to them on the phone as I enter your establishment and then saying things to your cashiers like, "oh yeah, he wanted chips." I'm very convincing. In actuality, I will be eating both sandwiches. And all the chips. Alone.

TV Raised Me Better than That

I have been watching kind of a lot of Disney Channel lately. It has mostly been Fish Hooks because that show is hilarious and awesome. I have come to realize that I am exactly like Clamantha in every way.

Except the obvious not-being-a-clam way.

I started thinking about the role models I had as a child. Naturally, they were all on TV in the 90s. I wrote down their character traits to see how I've stacked up and if my hero worship actually had any effect on the person I am today.

Captain Kathryn Janeway

 Trailblazer

 Starfleet Captain

 Bossy

Special Agent Dana Scully

 Logical

 Sensible shoes

 Red hair

Martha Stewart

 Crafty

 "Crafty"

 Total B-word

If I had to choose a role model from the current crop of women on television, I think I would go for Leslie Knope from Parks and Recreation. She's smart and funny but emulating her would give me the wiggle room I need to be both annoying and socially inept.

Also she loves waffles.

Tales from the Projects: Ice Truck Killer

The ice cream man doesn't take food stamps. I don't understand why he would choose to include the projects on his route, but I suppose that's neither here nor there. As a child, I witnessed a pair of sisters harassing our ponytailed ice cream man and demanding that he give them his lunch.

He ignored their demands and started to drive away. They chased him on their rollerblades. Keep in mind that this entire scene is playing out to the tune of Pop Goes the Weasel. Ice cream trucks don't go very fast, so the older sister was able to skate in front of the truck when suddenly, with a loud thud, he ran her over.

Her leg was broken or something, so we all carried her back to her notoriously mean mother. I want you to imagine the meanest, scariest, angriest person you know. Now I want you to imagine that their daughter was just run over by an ice cream truck.

No Rules: My Philosophy on Blogging plus Unsolicited and Unqualified Parenting Advice

In preparation for this endeavor, I have been obsessively reading every blog ever created. No judgements, but why do you all feel the need to confine yourselves and your blogs to such arbitrary rules?

Dramatic interpretation of every other blog on Earth:

I'm not about rules. I'm going to write whatever I want, whenever I feel like it. I will explore the past, the present, and the future. I will write about things I have no business writing about. I'm going to write about setting traps for fruit flies and watching the same episode of Jersey Shore 5 or 6 times. I'll talk about how I measure everything in Barbies and maybe post my doodlings of Mars colony infrastructure. No I won't, that sounds embarrassing. I can write about this lady I knew with sideways feet though. Actually, all of those things sound boring. I probably wont write about any of them, but I could if I wanted to.

On a related note, I don't think children should have rules. Literally zero parents agree with me on this one, but I didn't have rules as a child so I had no reason to rebel. I turned out great! We have laws that keep kids from stealing cars, and we have religion/personal morality/the golden rule to keep them from saying mean things. As an adult, I don't have rules. I can go to bed whenever I want, and I can eat ice cream for breakfast. It's awesome. Did you see how messy my apartment was in that video? Kids should have that same freedom. Rules make you miss out on having a magical childhood. Children should be able to build tree houses and catch fireflies and knock on the door of the scary haunted house only to find that the creepy old woman who lives there isn't really so bad after all.