who dat? contest:
"i know!"
yesterday's results:
porn star
ron jeremy
sluts. all of you.
see i tricked you. now i know you all watch porn. you sluts.
first slut:
todd collins
shame
I used to have a lot of shame. I was ashamed of many things and would sort of try to hide various aspects of myself from certain people. I still do that to an extent, but never was it worse than in a past relationship with, let’s call her… you know, why choose another woman’s name as a replacement if you’re too much of a pussy to use the actual name? It’s so boring …let’s call her... Ralph Macchio. Ralph Macchio was an incredibly sensitive young thing I met in college, and it seemed that anything I did could set her off on a rage or make her weep buckets. She was always jealous (though I admittedly gave her reason to be) and could be very judgmental. Why did I put with all of this? Well, I’d like to say I did it all for the nookie but honestly that was only part of it with Ralph Macchio. A great part but a part nonetheless. Probably masochism (Macchio-ism?), transference over feelings of having to take care of the women in my life, etc. Whatever. As a result, I hid certain things from Ralph Macchio to avoid a scene. From as small as smoking weed to as big as friendships I had with other women.
Luckily I eventually grew out of that (mostly), and can do/say what I feel without much fear of hurting the lady in my life.
So as I’m eliminating shame, I feel like admitting one of the low-downest things I ever done did:
When I was a little kid my sister would baby-sit for a couple down the street. I went to visit, to eat their food (why is it that everyplace you baby-sit, they always have the worst food – or they’re like vegans or something?), and watch cable. They were among the first I knew to have it and I can still remember watching MTV with those stupid astronaut graphics and big-haired VJ’s. Anyway, I don’t know why I did this, but when my sister was otherwise occupied one day, I went into the parents’ bedroom, opened a purse sitting on the desk, and took 5 dollars. I guess I wanted candy or Hotwheels or something. Well, a week later I visited her there again, and again stole money. I was still there when the parents got home, and the wife immediately went into the bedroom and looked in her wallet. They had counted their money very purposefully as a trap this second time, and it worked. They accused my sister (a sweet little boy would never steal money) and she was fired. She ran home crying and I took the 5 and ashamed, I threw it in the neighbors thick blackberry bushes.
Stealing wasn’t the worst thing, it was not having the pre-pubescent balls to admit I’d stolen the cash, thus freeing my sister from taking the fall.
God I was a little fucker. But at least I felt bad, right? I’m looking for some absolution here people.
Well, to be honest, that probably makes up for my sister controlling me when we were little by threatening to jump out the window every time she did something mean to me and I protested – thus making me instantly forgive her.
That, still has ramifications, boy.
On a funnier note, I’ll tell you a good drunk story.
High School. My friends and I drank a lot. I drove drunk a lot. (I do not condone nor do I anymore do that. I try not to.) Many mornings I would wake up and run downstairs to make sure I’d gotten the car home safely. Always, yes. I don’t know why. I got lucky I guess.
One night I was driving back from a party or something and I parked in front of my house and stumbled up the front stairs, only to realize I didn’t have my keys. Somehow I figured out to check the locked car, and sure enough, the keys were hanging uselessly in the ignition.
It is a marvel of the human brain that I could drive home, lock the car doors, make it upstairs, and still think the following…
Looking at the keys in the ignition, I wondered how to get to them. I then realized exactly what I needed to do. Of course, duh. I need to pay a dime to get my car door open. You just slide a dime in the key slot and the door opens. Like a vending machine. Then I can get my keys and go to bed.
So I dug in my pockets and discovered that I only had quarters, and the car-door-vending-machines naturally only take correct change. So I walked a mile to 7-11 to get change for a dollar, all in dimes. Well, by the time I had somehow made it back home, I of course realized that it does not require a 10 cent deposit to open one’s car door, but rather it takes the keys which were at the moment inside the car.
So I tried to take the back door off the hinges to get in the house.
That didn’t go real well.
This is where I let Larry
King take over my body for a few minutes.
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