True Confessions

Sometimes it's good to just let it out...tell the truth, no matter how ridiculous it may sound. Perhaps this is connected to my Catholic upbringing; this need to be absolved from my little mundane sins. Alas, here I am purging and begging for blog-god's forgiveness.

I steal toilet paper from hotels. It all ends up in the same place in the end anyway (Oh jeeze, no pun intended!) so what difference does it make if it's used here in Red Lake or used there in Winnipeg or any other place that happens to have a hotel with an extra roll of t.p?

I am slowly poisoning myself with lipstick that is full of lead because it's a really nice colour and stays on forever ( I once was completely debilitated with a nasty virus and ended up vomiting profusely every 1/2 hour for a whole day. At once point, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and was totally impressed that my lipstick was still in tact during this fiasco. That's good lipstick and also the reason why it will eventually kill me. It's gotta be toxic if it can withstand perpetual puke.)

I secretly think that people complain too much about illness and think that hypochondriacs are super creepy. People that focus on their childrens' illnesses are even creepier in my books. Who gets off on talking about illness? Does a person really need that much attention that the only way they feel they can go about doing it is by talking about their oozing sores and phlegm filled lungs? Why don't they go and run a marathon or write a great book or bake a wicked cake so that they get some cool, positive attention instead?

I think my dog has put her tongue in my mouth way more than is reasonable and it has definitely not been by choice. But today when it happened I actually thought to myself, "Now that's enough. I'm tired of snugglin' my dog and having her rotten old tongue go in my mouth." Why the hell can't I just keep my mouth closed when I'm petting my dog? No, I have to get in close and talk all goofy to her with things like, "Hi my little smooshy smooshy."

My sister got me a wicked Napoleon Dynamite toothbrush and the design is highly disappointing. Who doesn't want to have the sweet voice of Napoleon and the funky tunes of Jamiraquai jamming in their mouth at 7:15 every morning? But you have to put the right amount of pressure of the brush on your teeth in order for it to work, and it sounds all weird and muffled and makes my ears tickle just a little. My sister had awesome intentions and the toothbrush is a let down. I knew I should have kept it as a collectible but I'm constantly worried about becoming a hoarder so I use what I'm given.

Is it really graffiti if it has an important message? I think it's more like an art installation.

I walked into a dollar store in Winnipeg and actually had a bit of a panic attack because the whole place smells so bad of toxic plastic crap that I felt like I was being poisoned by cheap toys and gadgets. I feel extremely sorry for all of the workers in China that have to go to those factories every day and endure that nauseating odor. It also makes me crazy that people buy that shit, because I always see that kind of stuff at garage sales, and if they don't sell there, then I see that crap at the dump. True confession; that seriously makes me crazy and I have to calm myself down so that I don't go into freak out mode when I see stuff like that. (Refer to blog regarding precycling...)

The first time I said the f-bomb was in Grade 4, playing soccer at recess with the boys in Ignace. I screamed out, "F**k off, Billy!" because he was relentlessly teasing me. I found out later that he had a crush on me, but I just thought he was being a pain in the ass.There is a fine line between a crush and a pain in the ass and I'm kinda sorry that I didn't know the difference at the time because maybe Billy would have ended up being a great boyfriend.

I got caught raiding a garden when I was in Grade 6 and even the cops were involved. To this day,
 I think that the cops should have told my parents but instead they just gave us a big lecture and let us off the hook. It worked for me; I never did that again and felt horrible about it, but I still think the cops should have made more of a stink about it. If someone raided my garden I'd be devastated because we're actually really dependent on it every year and tending a garden is a hell of a lot of work. I think I was actually in university when I finally told my mom what I had done.

I have a potty mouth and like to say things like bite me, suck it and blow me. I know it sounds horrible, but saying those little phrases sometimes gives me sheer delight because they're just so damn straight up and to the point. Sometimes there's no better way to say that you're angry with the world then a good ol' "suck it". My son has given me time outs for swearing. I take a nap on a chair for 5 minutes. It hasn't made me want to stop swearing. Time outs blow. (As a side note, you should go into the bathroom, close the door, turn on the fan, and just say "blow me" really loud. You'll feel silly at first, but if you say it a couple times, I can guarantee you'll feel better.) I really have to work hard at not swearing at school every single day. I hate hearing kids swear. I'm a hypocrite.

I have a crazy obsession with teeth. I will be completely attracted to a blithering idiot if he has nice teeth...super nice teeth. I kept my wisdom teeth and made them into a necklace that I wear occasionally and people always say, "Are those your teeth?" and give me a look of disgust. Teeth are awesome. I was a dental hygienist in my past life.

I have grown up on the lake all my life, and I have never run a boat motor by  myself. I don't know why because I'm not afraid to, but every dude I've asked, including my dad and many other men, won't let me. What's up with that? I feel completely incompetent without having that checked off on my to-do list. Is being a part of the boat motor society kinda like being a part of the Mason's? Is there some kind of weird initiation or hazing that I don't know about? It also took me forever to build up the nerve to pump my own gas.

I think if I were to ingest a pickled egg, I would spontaneously combust. On the same topic of food, if you eat a banana beside me, I'll probably punch you in the face. I hate that sound more than anything else in the world.

You know, this feels really good. They may seem like mundane little tidbits of whatever you wanna call its, but it feels nice to actually let these thoughts out. My brain has a file folder, no probably a whole filing cabinet of useless facts and information that just sits there without being given an opportunity to just go. Isn't that what dreams are for? To get rid of the excess stuff, small little morsels of guilt and frustration that we have running around upstairs so that we don't have to think about it anymore? I don't recall ever dreaming about chewed bananas or hypochondriacs, but it feels good to purge about it all the same.

You should try it. Or better yet, share them with me. I'll absolve ya' of your guilty conscience. :)

Check out Napolean's sweet dance moves