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 
I don’t know if this is my ONE secret but it is one thing that has happened to me. Much like yourself, I was mistaken for a hooker but by a john and my parents were nearby trying to figure out what Chinese restaurant to go to in Toronto’s Chinatown. Neat.
WOW! So many people who were thought to be hookers. I guess if this blogging thing doesn’t work out, we’ve got something to fall back on.
I want to be a stay at home mom with no kids too….oh wait, I do have a kid. Yikes, that’s terrible. I guess this is my confession then.
I also want that, and I have the two kids. So I am twice as terrible. High five, sister.
You can live vicariously through me.
Oh so funny. Thank you for a great start to the day! I have 2 confessions… I love that my youngest child can’t understand language yet. The passive-aggressive in me can be all like “wow you really stink like something crawled up your arse and died ten thousand deaths” in a sing-songy voice and he will smile back sweetly. Keeps me sane. Second confession is that I’d love to be vegetarian because I hate killing cute little animals but I love meat and have no will power.
I love doing this to kids! My friends have a child that will absolutely not sleep through the night. He’s a great kid but is a nightmare at night. Well, they often go in the room and say, “Please shutup you little jerk!” in that voice you’re talking about. It’s brilliant, really.
Where oh where to begin…? Confession I guess.
I once –stalked–… –I used to read–… –there was this writer–… Okay, enough about the restraining order. All’s well that ended well. Wait, okay… I know… my writing once got compared to that of Richard Brautigan. But I’ve been told I have to lay off the fish and chips since my gallbladder removal, so I don’t think that counts either. I guess my biggest confession is I tend to FORGET my toothbrush. And after reading this post, I can tell why you and I are friends, what with the tomato boogers issue and all. Oh, and kids are overrated. Just ask mine.
Now I’m off to –stalk– politely comment on other parts of this thread that have anything to do with me.
Stalking is just intense dating where the other person doesn’t know you’re a couple. Right? I once had a relationship with a guy for 5 years and he didn’t know!
You forget your toothbrush? You better hope that: (A) You have a good friend who will lend you one or (B) You’ve got a GREAT friend who keeps a spare. Either way, get those toothies brushed, son.
And yes, no fish and chips. Not even from “famous” places that Yelpers love. What do those beach-loving hippies know?
Re: “Stalking”…
Best. Comment. Ever.
Up until the moment I first suspected I was pregnant (25) I had no intention of ever having children either. I was going to be a career woman & I was well on my way to becoming a leader in my field. Once it was confirmed I was pregnant I couldn’t dream of not having children.
I think something (usually) happens to a woman, chemically, which puts her in mom mode once she finds out she’s pregnant. I know a few people that has happened to, and I’m sure I’d be the same way. Can’t fight biology! Still, that sperm thing.
I didn’t know there was going to be a pop quiz, I was just enjoying your hilarity and basking in the glow of a new Jen and Tonic post.
If brilliance strikes, I’ll be back. Otherwise, you should make something up about me. I’ll bet it’ll be more fun than the truth. 😉
Here’s your story: You once robbed a bank, and your getaway car was a T-rex.
You’re welcome!
I live such an exciting life!
Jen,
You’re funny as hell, I got excited when I saw you posted today and spilled my coffee. Nice to see you again.
It took me a while to come up with a random secret event, here it is:
When I was a senior in high school I had a great older English teacher who encouraged me to write and introduced me to Richard Brautigan. Towards the end of the year he asked me to go to lunch with him in his old VW bug. On the way to a Fish and Chips place he reached into his ashtray, pulled out a joint and lit it up. We got stoned and ate the shit out of some fast food and went back to school. Best day of high school! That summer he eloped with one of the cheerleaders and moved to Oregon. He was in his 50’s back then. Maybe he’s that old guy that lives next door to you…
Red
I made you spill your coffee? That’s gotta be some serious offense in the writing world. I’m going to be sentenced to read Twilight or 50 Shades of Grey.
That story is hilarious! I would have loved to smoke pot with my English teacher in high school. All mine did was criticize my grammar and ask me if I was “slow”.
No surprise that he moved to Oregon eventually.
I mistake drunk ladies for hookers all the time. Hahaha. Also, those David Hasslehoff figures are right , you are very funny
Oh, so you’re saying, “Hey, if you want sex you better buy me something” confuses men?
If I could only share one thing about myself, it would be something cool for sure. This is not it: not unlike your experience, my girlfriend and I were once questioned by police officers in Lakewood, Washington because according to the police, he thought we’d only known each other ‘five minutes,” and that my girl was a pro.
They thought she was a pro? WOW! I hope you didn’t let that one get away.
I have Native American in my background and I had always thought I was the whitest person on the planet. You can see veins through my skin. It’s super creepy. Also, who didn’t want to be Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman. I mean that guy that played her boyfriend? I’m there.
Sully!!! HAHA. He had long flowing hair. I think he may have been the original Fabio.
Jen,
Zima?? C’mon! Try zomething else for a buzz.
I was underage, and it was that or Bud Light. I refuse to drink that camel urine.
I wish I had more time to read, this was a great post!
I wish I had more time to read too!
Does a hooker in overalls have a pimp that holds a pitchfork? Like a sexier version of American Gothic?
I like where you’re going with this. Maybe we get all of the farm people together and have a “Ho” Down?
And at the prices you’re charging, we’re guaranteed to make 10’s of dollars!
I was once mistaken for a call girl in while hanging out at a Vegas casino bar, which was hilarious (the call girl thing, not the bar) because I was wearing a jean skirt, a tank top, and sandals. The guy thought I was “casing the joint” when I was actually just looking for my cousin, who never showed. At any rate, we ended up chatting until the wee hours in the morning and he realized that I was not, in fact, looking to exchange my services for money. I probably would have donated my services to him had I not been in a (very bad) relationship. I know that sounds whorish, but holy crap was he smokin’ hot and smart and charming. He still is. Which is why I donated services after I broke up with my boyfriend. Ah, memories…
And I also hate tomato snot.
Was that too much for a confessional sound off?
That is an incredible story! It had mystery, danger, romance, sex and a jean skirt.
Hahaaaa. This is going to be an entertaining day. I can feel it in my bones.
I heart PostSecret. It’s just that great. It makes you realize people are human too.
Your version of salsa dancing which involves jumping up and down when someone presents chips and dips is priceless. I took salsa lessons (in South America, no less) and all that twisty gyrating made me wish I’d had another bottle of sangria tucked away in me before those swarthy men took the lead. Aye, Carumba!
You took salsa lessons in South America? Wow, that’s badass. I once listened to La Bamba and tapped my foot a bit. Gotta be the same thing.
It is the same thing as long as you are in the same state of mind I was. And to be honest, I can’t quite remember what that was…
Aw, I pretend I love you, too!
I love this mutually fake relationship we’ve got going on
I get what I need out of it 🙂
Okay I too was once mistaken for a hooker. I was so offended! My friend and I were walking in (Redondo Beach) on a Friday night….along the main strip they called (The Strand) and a cop rolls up to us and gets out and starts asking my friend questions. I was totally defiant..as it wasn’t a crime to look fabulous and be walking down the street I was particularly annoyed that we were being talked to. When the cop pulled away I asked my friend what he had said and she said he was asking if we were working…and I of course being naive didn’t know what that meant…so she said he thought we were hookers. I was both shocked and horrified..we were just a couple of teenagers looking to meet some hot guys… wow. It was a popular hang out and we didn’t have a car to cruise the strand so we had to walk. I love love love your prescription by the the way…it so sounds like something I would write if I were a doctor. LOL I also read Becca’s post and made some confessions there. I of course now want to know what your postcard said. 🙂 Fun post Jen.
WHAT?! We have that in common?! Amazing!
That took place in Redondo Beach? Are you sure it wasn’t Bill Friday trying to pull a fast one on you? Or hire you?!
Now that you mention it…hmmmm maybe Mr. Friday moonlights as a cop? LOL Yes…I grew up around that area..spent a lot of time at Redondo Beach pier. 🙂
Redondo Beach is getting such a reputation on this blog! And seriously, the things I did in the ’70s are, for the most part, sealed. Well, except for that time in Orange County near the Huntington Beach pier. Good thing that was before cellphones had cameras… or the internet.
Just show us the speedo picture already. The world needs this. It may be the key to world peace!
There’s a padlocked steel container, high up on a kitchen shelf, where the world cannot reach…
I’ve got a trick for that.
Jenny Houdini 🙂
Yeah I definitely want to see what’s in that steel container Mr. Friday. 🙂 😉
I’ll steal some confessions I made for an awards post not long ago. Here you go…
1) I’m not Canadian.
2) Canadian bacon and ham are the same thing. I don’t know what that has to do with me.
3) I love Donald Duck. He understands me.
4) I never take off my stormtrooper armor because I’ve gained so much weight I can’t get it off.
5) I have 5 transparent tattoos, but I don’t know where or what they are because I can’t find them.
6) I have hair.
7) My feet are at the end of my legs.
Whoa, whoa, whoa. #7? That is memoir material right there.
Right? I was shocked, too.
“I guess what you’ve learned here today is that I’m a translucent street walker who hates eating tomato boogers.” <— Why I love you.
My secret is that I am actually Ashley Simpson. SO thank you for your kind words about my SNL jig.
You’ve got moves like Jagger.
Yep. We are the same person.
Our DNA must look so awesome underneath a microscope.
RIGHT?! I feel some experiementation coming on.
Those are exactly the type of prescriptions my husband wishes he could write LOL. And I don’t have any secrets, not after the last week or so on my blog. I’ve spilled it all and then some. 🙂 I like yours though.
I love that you write so openly though! You’re one of those blogs which I read almost immediately when it’s published. I’m also super impressed with how MUCH you can write. You must not spend a lot of time staring at yourself in the mirror and crying like I do.
Friggin’ right I do. Or crying into a big bowl of ice cream. 😉
You’re cracking me up, Jen. I’ve missed you. Ok, I burnt ramen once….but that’s only because I was having bad PMS!
Jen: Never heard of Post Secret.. AND You would be AWESOME in stand-up! Go for it.
A secret of mine…let’s think…you got me…thinking…thinking…well, because I am SOOOO shy when meeting people – I would probably sit in a corner all to myself if the place were filled with movie folk – even you know who was there. I wouldn’t go up to him. The fear would keep me silent and motionless.
I’m with you there! I don’t think I could go up to someone I admired for so long and just say, “Hey, let’s get a bit sexy tonight.”
haha – I couldn’t even say my name…let alone THAT phrase…haha…
(sorry for placing my reply under The Bummble Files…oops)
I need to get you a card that says, “Hi, my name is Katy and right now I can’t speak. Here is my number.” That way you can just hand it to him.
Katy,
Maybe you should only meet with those Hollywood types over tacos on the tailgate of a pickup truck. I hear it even makes Scottish folk approachable 😉
I’ve done that too! I left it in the water too long, and the water evaporated and the noodles got stuck to the pan. Sadly, I did it because I was watching QVC and forgot I was cooking.
Actually, Jen…I couldn’t even follow directions at the time. I put boiling water on top of the uncooked noodles in a bowl! I really lost it Ha ha.
I love post secret. Its my favorite voyoueristic exploring!! You go Zima baby!!
I agree! I’m totally devoted to reading it every week.
I heart you. But I can’t believe you weren’t assumed to be a high-end hooker. That cop was obviously a rookie. Idiot.
I’ve never been mistaken for a hooker of any kind, to my knowledge. But I have been mistaken for a wax figure. When Mr. Weebles and I were dating, we arranged to meet one day in front of the wax museum here (yeah, it’s campy, but that’s where we went that day). So I was standing there waiting for him, and a tourist was standing about 3 feet in front of me. I went to get something out of my purse and she freaked out. She said, “I thought you were a wax figure, you were standing so still!” I’m still not sure how/why she figured that. I wasn’t standing any more still than anyone else when they stand, I don’t think. She was probably just a moron.
Wait a second….
Madame Tussauds wax museum…Madame Weebles….
It is all beginning to make so much sense now.
P.S. That shiz is hilarious!
Prostitutes in overalls? That seems like a pretty untapped market.
You’re right! Hooking in rural areas seems like a ripe industry.