True Confessions

Hello, good people of the web. Today I feel the need to unburden myself of some pesky items that niggle at my conscience. After all, I am all about being real. Also, if I can in some small way make you feel better about yourself by revealing my dark, moldy, dust-bunny coated inner self, well, that’s a job well done in my book.

By the way, did you know that True Confessions was a seedy, steamy periodical back in the day? Which day, you ask? How far back, you ask? I’m not really sure. I don’t really care very much, but if one of you wants to research it, or already knows but wants to pretend like you had to research it to find out, well then feel free to enlighten me.

tc

Apparently it consisted mainly of torrid stories of unsanctioned romance and tawdry encounters. Also, it cost ten cents, which I’m sure was quite the guilty pleasure back in the day. How much does one have to pay nowadays to set their senses a-quiver? I’m guessing it’s at least a quarter by now.

Getting on with it (no, not like that):

1. I don’t think Ryan Gosling is attractive. Like, at all.

What’s more, I cannot even comprehend the attraction. He has a face like a thumb. A thumb with a poorly drawn face on it. Okay, so he’s got “abs” and “pecs” and some other stuff going on below the neck, but really? Isn’t that kind of a man-reason to like a man? You know what I mean.

For instructive purposes, I hereby submit two photographs. One is a thumb. The other is Ryan Gosling. You be the judge.

thumb

rg

 As you can see, the difference is hardly detectable.    

2. I wish I had a sensory-deprivation chamber.

After a long day of screaming at my children homeschooling my darlings, I can think of nothing…and I mean NOTHING…better than floating in a SDC. Deprived of any sensory input, either bad or good. Devoid of touch, sound, and sight. The danger would be that I might refuse to emerge, or regress genetically like Eddie Jessup in Altered States.

me

3. Sometimes I don’t return my Wal Mart cart to the cart corral.

cart

This one may get me disowned by my very own brother, who views this as a deep flaw within one’s personality. But I’m being real here. Sometimes it’s too far away. Sometimes it’s three million below zero and I want to get into my car before my extremities shatter. Sometimes there’s a creepy guy checking me out. But most of the time, it’s because I just loaded half the contents of Wal Mart into my trunk and I’m just so damn sick of Wal Mart and handing over my husband’s whole damn paycheck to the whole damn cashier every damn time I go that I figure they can damn well pick up my damn cart. Those cart boys are perfectly capable, and they even have motorized cart-collectors to help them now, the pansies.

4. I want to grow my hair out, but I keep fantasizing about short haircuts.

Really, I have to resign myself to the fact that I’d rather look like this:

MyHero2

than this:

pssh

5. Sometimes I run away from my toddler and hope he gets distracted by something else before he finds me again.

Oh my word. Toddlers are so adorable. But oh my word. Toddlers are so CLINGY. Judah is at the stage where he is learning to Not Need Mommy So Much. However, when he is not on board with this current learning experience, he is certain, nay, convinced with firm, unwavering conviction, that he Needs Mommy At All Times, Without Exception. Even when he is not hungry, poopy, wet, or hurt. Just because There’s Mommy! There She Is! I See Her, Therefore I Need Her!

When he sees me under these conditions, he employs a technique known as “quick, grab a body part and do not let go”, at which point I employ evasive maneuvers. In other words, I run away. I run as fast as I can to a remote location and hope that he gets distracted by something interesting and realizes that playing with his siblings, or with a random toy, or with the dog’s orifices, can be every bit as entertaining as hanging onto my legs and wailing.

At least until he spots me again.

6. It took me all day to write this post.

This may be reason number one why I don’t blog so much anymore.