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.
Story of my life
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.
Screw comedy. THIS is my dream career.
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.
My pasty Mexican brother from another mother, Louis CK
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?
Sips of Jen and Tonic 
My nails and hair grow at ridiculous rates.
MINE TOO. I’m like Wolverine minus the killer six pack.
HAHAHA. Just paint it on. That’s what I do. Every morning. That’s dedication, yo.
You’re not the only one that strangely gets mistaken for a prostitute. Check out this text from last night.
(514): OH FOR FUCKS SAKE! SOMEONE TOOK ME FOR A GODDAMN PROSTITUTE!! IM WEARING LEG WARMERS!!! THAT IS LIKE THE LEAST HOOKERISH THING TO WEAR! http://tfl.nu/abrr
WHAT?! That shit is hilarious. I must say, legwarmers do look prostitute-ish.
I have a story that would make a nice companion piece to your first confession, at the halloween parade in Greenwich Village, many years ago.
Oh, and try chopping up the tomato guts and mixing them with rice and parmesan.
Very tasty.
How dare you try to make me a tomato booger convert. I thought we were friends.
Loved this. I have never been mistaken for a hooker but while I was in college a friend invited me to a Bible study for hookers at Caesar’s Palace – it was lead by a guy named Charlie who called himself the Strip Chaplain.
They have bible study in Las Vegas? I guess there is quite a bit of sinning going on there…
They do have them – I think there are more churches per capita in LV than just about any city in the US – of course that includes wedding chapels.
I have to do a post like this now. Would you and Becca mind if I snagged the idea and linked back to both of your blogs? Pretty please with nipples on top?
I went to a bar with my husband (almost 30 years ago) and some pimp tried to convince me to work for him. Told me we could make a lot of money. I wasn’t sure whether to be offended or complimented. My husband thought it was hilarious.
A confession? When I was a baby, pacifiers didn’t do their usual awesome job and I developed an addiction to the smell/feel of silk and started sucking my thumb. I didn’t stop until some time during my teenage years.
I no longer require some silk to fall asleep (the weed takes care of that…lol) but my passion for sucking has remained. Go figure.
No, please go ahead. Actually, you may have already done it. I’m so damn behind because of work. I suck.
Your passion for sucking does not surprise me in the least bit. You saucy minx.
Hilarious Jen.
You could come over to my house and we can practice stand-up.
I totally look like a David Hasselhoff action figure.
Also: this is my only joke: “Do you like kids? Yes, but only in moderation.”
I’d have to practice being the audience.
YES! I do love a captive audience, and by that I mean one that can’t escape while I’m telling bad jokes.
You don’t need any other jokes, that one is perfect.
Hi! I *JUST* figure out how to get my e-card of that joke to load onto WordPress! I actually have two jokes… they are both here: http://thelifeofkylie.com/tag/someecards/
GENIUS.
I never heard of the secrets but I’m gonna go there asap! Hmm, I was cast in a film as a prostitute and actually got propositioned by a guy as I was walking back to my car after shooting the scene. Closest I’ve gotten! Super nice to meet the real you!
That speaks volumes to your acting ability!
The only reason prostitites don’t wear overalls is that they never spent their early twenties getting it on in a scene shop attached to a theatre. Two words: easy access. I mean… I read that somewhere. Totally not from my own experience.
The only reason prostitites don’t wear overalls is that they never spent their early twenties getting it on in a scene shop attached to a theatre. Two words: easy access. I mean… I read that somewhere. Totally not from my own experience.
You and I need to talk. You sound like a woman who knows…I mean, READS, stuff.
Okay, here goes: First time I went to the gyno at 15, I had really bad gas. Right before he went to examine me, I let one go (on accident). I think I almost killed both him and the nurse. Talk about front-row seats. After that, no trip to the gyno seemed bad. I feel so much better now. Only three people know about that. Now the whole blogosphere does. Goddamn, I am glad I am undercover.
You farted in your doctor’s face?! That’s a bold move, ma’am!
I prefer the term “passed gas” or “made a rude noise/smell.” Farted is so… so… um… distasteful. Of course, if it happens in someone else’s face, it’s par for the course. 😛
Here’s my secret – I LOVE the documentary movie “The Lifestyle: Group Sex in the Suburbs” and almost every person (not in my immediate group of friends) that has watched it seemed appalled that I would recommend such a movie…(I totally don’t advocate eating when watching)…My favorite line is summarized as this: “It’s sport fucking with a pot luck” …
Another secret – I have never seen an awards show and I am woefully ignorant about boy bands and the Bieb…I didn’t even know he was Canadian until recently… that must be hard for Canada, with Celine Dion and Bryan Adams to explain away…
I love documentaries like that too! I’m seriously obsessed with reading about sex workers, fetishes, lifestyle issues, etc. I’ve never seen the one you’ve talked about, I’ll have to add it to my list.
It’s hard to find on DVD – the guy that did this movie is one of the camera guys from Errol Morris… have you seen his “Vernon, Florida”? If not – GET IT TONIGHT…I would bet you dollars to tonics that you’ll become an instant fan (the sound sucks but it’s worth putting on the subtitles). And if you watch it… Gobble-gobble…
a teaser –
I must see this.
Oh yes, you must.
The trailer for the lifestyle – I love the couple 44 seconds in… they’re hilarious…
Oops, I mean Zumba shots. I just love to dance and drink and whore out my better half.
Your husband is a lucky man.
I once tried to get my husband to sleep with my best friend. Just kidding. Or maybe not. Those Zuma shots were so potent I stopped counting.