Are you familiar with PostSecret? You should be. It’s an “ongoing community mail art project” which allows anonymous users to submit confessions/secrets on handmade postcards. Once a week, selected cards are posted on the website for everyone to read. Sometimes they’re sad and sometimes they’re funny, but they’re always a testament to the human experience.
Last week, the amazeballs Becca from 25toFly put up this PostSecret-inspired post revealing her deepest, darkest secrets. Since I’m a huge fan of redheads and bloggers and writing and beer and that time Ashley Simpson did a jig on Saturday Night Live…wait, what were we talking about?
Oh, right. I asked Becca if I could steal her idea, and she said I could run with it. It’s amazing what twenty bucks and the promise of a shared Natty Ice will get a person to agree to. Time for my investment to pay off.
These are my confessions. (Anyone else think of that stupid Usher song?)
I was once mistaken for a hooker
Many years ago I was invited to a party, and dressed in my sexiest overalls. I got totally hammered after drinking a fifth of tequila and three Zimas in a very short period of time. I walked outside to get some fresh air, and propped myself up on a pole which just so happened to be on a street corner. A cop rolled by, took one look at my smeared lipstick and air of desperation, and assumed I was a prostitute. I was insulted because it was obvious he didn’t think I was a $3k/night kind, but the $10 for a handjob kind. He soon realized I was just a drunk dumbass and let me go, and I learned a very valuable lesson: never mix tequila and Zimas.
I am terrible at meeting new people
No, I’m serious. I absolutely hate meeting new people. Something happens to me chemically that makes it appear I’m suffering from every single side effect of a medication. Dry mouth. Sweats. Confusion. Elevated heart rate. Swollen tongue. Loss of bladder control. It’s really awkward when you piss on someone you’ve just met.
My dream career is…
…becoming Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman. Just kidding, I can’t be a doctor. Not only am I not smart enough, but the only prescriptions I’d write would be, “Stop being a little bitch!” No, my real love is standup comedy. The idea of telling jokes to a captive audience (two drink minimum) is my idea of a good time. It’s too bad I have social phobia, and the only people who think I’m funny are my David Hasselhoff action figures.
I don’t want children
Maybe this isn’t such a secret since I wrote about that revelation in this post, but I have never come down with a case of the babies. Don’t get me wrong, I think children are incredible miracles that humble us in more ways that I can count, but I don’t see them as part of my life plan. The thought of incubating someone else’s sperm for that long really freaks me out. I don’t even like that point in a relationship when a guy feels comfortable enough to leave a toothbrush in my bathroom.
I hate the gooey part of a tomato
Don’t get me wrong, I like tomatoes, especially of the heirloom variety. I love Insalata Caprese, tomato soup, bruschetta and other dishes which claim tomatoes as their main ingredient. I don’t have a problem with the tomato as a whole, I only have a problem with what is scientifically referred to as the locular jelly of the fruit. Seriously, how gross does that name sound? Like a cheap lube you’d find at a seedy sex shop. I refuse to eat this booger-like substance, and the thought of it makes me gag.
I’m part Mexican
People never ever ever ever ever ever ever EVER believe me when I tell them I’m part Mexican because I’m 50 Shades of Pale. You have a better chance of scorching your retinas by looking directly at my legs than you do of looking at the sun. I’m not kidding, Bob Ross would consider my skin Titanium White. My Spanish is spotty at best, and my version of salsa dancing is jumping up and down when someone presents chips and dip. Still, if you look closely, you’ll see that I am my mother’s daughter.
Bonus confession: one of my postcards was featured on PostSecret two years ago
I guess what you’ve learned here today is that I’m a translucent street walker who hates eating tomato boogers. I bet my mom is reading this right now and thinking, “I’m pretty sure I didn’t drink while I was pregnant with her.” It wasn’t her, it was all those Zimas.
Now it’s time for you guys to confess something. What, you didn’t think this was all about me, did you? Okay, it is, but I have to pretend to care about you or you’ll stop reading my blog.
If you could only share one random thing about yourself, what would it be?