Tell 43 secrets

After many “confession Wednesdays” on the blog, I have finished today…43 confessions.

Of course I will still keep up on my weekly ritual (that got out of whack on the weekly bit many times)...it’s totally fun and recommended! :)

Miss Hunt was my music teacher back in year 8. She wasn’t particularly mean or horrible.. just a victim. One of my friends (the leader of this particular group to come) Anna* took a particular disliking to her, and as a young, vulnerable and easily influenced teenager, together with other friends, we ganged up on her!! Each lesson we looked for and found a way to wind her up. One day an opportunity came along. In one of her 6th form classes, she wrote her address on the board. On of the 6th formers was friends with one of the group that “terrorised” her. “Naturally” he turned it over to us. One day, Anna and I went looking for her house. We didnt intend to cause any damage to it and we didnt when we did found it. To this day it is not clear why I did this as it had no particular interest to me.
One evening, me, “Anna” and an additional friend went out. I am not sure if this next part was plan, but I still went along with it. We brought 6 eggs at a local shop that evening. We walked the short trip to her house. Before we entered her road, we each took one egg, zipped up our coats and pulled our hoods over our heads. We walked pretty quickly down her road and each launched an egg at her house. 2 missed but Annas hit her house. We all ran as fast as we could round the corner. There, we picked up another egg and went back 4 more. The additional friend “accidentally” (although wisely) managed to crack he regg on the short walk down the road back to her house. She hung back as me and Anna continued to her house, Once here we launched the other 2 eggs. I can still remember the sound of the eggs cracking against her car. We all ran most of the way home.
The following day at school we were all questioned, but we had an alibi (clever us and helpful friends) but it was obvious they didnt belive us but the headteacher said as we weren’t usually in trouble, the case would just be “dismissed”.
There were later 2 more incidents which i’m pleased to say I wasn’t involved in. Although as a result, 4 others were suspended for a day and 2 of them were forced to change form classes (as this music teacher was also our form teacher…)
That’s an incident I’ll never forget.

Every spring our house was inundated with fieldmice, tiny and velvety with big brown eyes. They enchanted us. Not so my parents who grew tired of chewed up bags and boxes and piles of mice turds. Traps were placed everywhere; any chance my brothers and i got we tripped the switches. One afternoon while hunting through the cabinets I moved a jar of oil; to my horror three drowned fieldmice floated in the thick yellow liquild and seemed to stare back at me. Oddly enough, they appeared to be quite alive; their tiny feet were postured as if they were swimming…which, of course, they were not. Each occupied his own spot inside the bottle so if you turned it around there was a mirrror image. I quickly grabbed it and took it back to my room to study. Upon examiniation it was apparent the cap had been loose and they had managed to squeeze their soft bones through the narrow opening. The question hanging in the air was “What to do?” And so, naturally I called Gracie.
A bit of background history: Gracie and I were now sophomores in high school, both of us doomed to Home Economics class. Mrs Voytek was an ancient, hefty, mean-sprited teacher; was extraordinarily fond of corporal punishment. Knuckle rapping, ear pulling, hair yanking and random pinching were her favorite punishments. I suspect she began her training in a Catholic School.
Well, guess who immediately came to mind for a visit with Frankie? I might add, there was nary a doubledogdare…she was a free throw. The temptation was overwhelming; a food supply closet, a classroom and Mrs Voytek.
Monday Gracie and I got to school early, sneaked into the supply closet and placed the “seasoned oil” next to another jar.Our greatest hope was that scheduling allowed us in the classroom when she discovered it..but it was not to be.
By noon that morning, the story was all over the school. Mrs. Voytek found it, screamed, dropped it and Frankie and friends lay in a puddle of oil..(sigh) Not long after that, Gracie and I were called to the principal’s office to face an interrogation session. As always, we denied any knowledge of the incident. After all, we had a reputation to maintain…................

I dont believe in this friendship anymore.

I have dated the same kind of guys for the past year based on my first love;
tall, dark, athletic, handsome, charisamtic.
I’m terrified of what people would say if I started dating anyone less than perfect. I’m terrified that I wont have another realtionship like with Him, so I make them into him.

But everytime I think of them as more than sex-
them touching me affectionately, or in my home getting to know me-
I literally feel sick to my stomach.

Is there a woman out there who doesn’t dread the annual GYN exam? We called it the GooGoo exam, Gracie and I not only hated the exam but in addition, we disliked our doctor. Growing up in a small town doesn’t always afford choices. We were stuck with Dr. Simon. He was as friendly as a porcupine, devoid of any bedside manner. I suspect he was so overbooked with patients he had no awareness of their humanity. We were faceless vaginas, identified only by our last name. He was Dr. Sourpuss. Always defined by his demeanor and often by his duties. Ha!
Sooooo—one cold wintry night, snowbound and bored, Gracie and I began brainstorming…and it was that dark side of our brain that grappled with our self control. We bounced insane ideas off each other; of course, Dr. Simon popped into the mix. I had an upcoming appointment…and there, why there sitting so quietly, so benignly on the shelf above my bed was a little life-sized pink rubber mouse. I HAD AN IDEA! Gracie and I were somewhat intimidated by it because it was bold, even by our standards. We threw down odds and evens to see if I should do it…and I lost. The plan was in action.
Three days later I bathed, washed my hair, dressed in finery as the hapless victim. Gracie and I drove to the doctor’s office. Let me rephrase that; Gracie and I and the little pink mouse drove to the doctor’s office. When I was called in for my appointment Gracie asked to accompany me because I was nervous. The nurse left us alone as I changed into my paper gown. I squatted down and the little pink mouse was soon surrounded by matching pink flesh. Hi HO DADERRIO THE CAT CAUGHT THE MOUSE. Dr Simon came in shortly, my legs went into the stirrups; he began to spread my with the speculum. OUT popped the mouse. I glanced at Gracie who was doubled over in her chair but she managed to say squeak squeak through her laughter. Dr. Simon uttered a short gasp and quickly pushed himself from the examining table. I could not stop laughing; somewhere in the distance Dr. Simon was telling me how disturbed I was. My little pink mouse sat quietly on the paper between my stirruped legs…grateful, I suppose, to have escaped the cat…

...yes it was me. I’m sorry I lied about it…. (oh shoot I forgot his name!!)
I was in year 5 (aged about 10) at primary school and my friend Emma and I came up with a devious plan (although it wasn’t that great)!! We found a way to steal one of someone’s Pokémon trading cards!! These were a craze at one point when I was younger and everyone brought them to school. The moment me and Emma came up with this plan we decided to try it out…without thinking it through properly!!
We approached this boy who was younger than us and asked to see his cards. Emma took them off him to look at them, she was still standing next to him though, then she saw the WARTORTLE one (this wasn’t even a very good card, it was just the fact we were stealing one) and said “oh I like this one, maybe I’ll trade it with you when I’ve finished looking through”, she then put it on top of her pile of trade cards. I then said “Oh Emma can I please have a look at your cards and took them off her”. I quickly shuffled through them, and it was at this point when the boy started to get a bit suspicious so he asked for his cards back. As he took them off Emma, I took his WARTORTLE one and put it in my pile. He soon realised it was gone and asked us for it back but we were convinced we didn’t have it (yea right)!!
The next day the head teacher came into our class with the same little boy, me and Emma looked and knew why they were in our class instantly!! The head teacher told us al to get back on with our work. She then told the boy to pick out the table the pupil he wanted sat on. He didn’t want to pick one of us out in front of the whole class the people on our table went outside. There he picked me out and the rest of the table went back inside. I was then questioned but I denied having his trade card and denied having any of my cards in that day (so he couldn’t go through tem and pick out the one I stole. I got away with this…well…sort of…the whole school got banned from bringing in any Pokémon cards…and if they did…they were confiscated….hmmm…recalling this… I now know why I got given such strange and evil looks from the deputy head teacher when I was taken to his office to have my cards confiscated. Bastard.

On my blog every week on Wednesday I do “Confession Wednesdays” -sometimes they are juicy and sometimes they are fun…and a few are lame. Either way this week was #23!

Doug Parker was the most popular boy in our junior class. Girls yearned for him; some of them even offered up their virginity to him. He was very much a white boy; blond, blue eyed, sculpted perfect features…and extremely wealthy to boot. His parents bought him a shiny red brand new MG for his sixteenth birthday. He was convinced, even more so than those yearning girls, that he had it all. Of course his character never came close to matching his physicality. He was arrogant and meanspirited. His favorite sport was ridiculing those weaker or radically different from himself. Gracie and I detested him. We were in our bohemian period in a class stampeded by sheep in yuppie clothing. Our overwhelming pride and vanity would not allow us to be intimidated by anyone. But we watched Doug Parker. We complained. Sometimes we were vengeful. We expressed our distaste to his face; he was unfazed; we were insignificant flies on a wall to him. Nothing really changed until the Patty Simon incident. Patty was an endearing, homely, slow-witted girl who was the butt of endless jokes. Fortunately, most of the time she was unaware of what was happening around her or behind her back.
One hot, summer afternoon in Modern Problems class, Patty had the misfortune to get her period during class. Every girl’s nightmare. None of us realized it until she left to go to the bathroom. Doug immediately stood up and pointed out the blood smeared all over the seat. The class was in an uproar, laughing uncontrollably when she returned to her seat and began wiping it with paper towels. The teacher was yelling and attempting to regain control of the class but when we looked over to Patty, great tears flowed from her eyes and rolled ever so slowly down her cheeks. Still, we heard snickering. Gracie and I stood up and took Patty out of the room; in one insanely quick moment in time, vengence was ours.
The following day Gracie and I came prepared with long yellow rubber gloves and a couple of garbage bags. We crammed them in our pocketbooks. We spent our lunch hour emptying all the disposal boxes in the girl’ restrooms that held soiled sanitary napkins and tampax. It wasn’t pretty..but it was fruitful. Many a uterine lining had been shed that week. And then….why then, we crept out into the parking lot to Doug Parker’s shiny red MG and emptied the bags all over his soft leather seats. Period.

Gracie and I went through a stage when we were fascinated by animals’ genitalia. Let me preface this story by assuring you this is not a sexual secret. Yikes. No matter how many times we saw our cats and dogs cleaning themselves, it never failed to send us into gales of laughter. And of course, we watched them until they were finished. We were, after all, twelve year old girls. Our shared sense of humor while bold, was also incredibly immature. Our curiosity was insatiable and our common sense, non-existent.
The State Fair was that summer. Gracie and I had been excitedly planning for weeks. We raced to the Livestock Barn as soon as we arrived. We spent hours in there, comparing the testicles of lambs, goats and hogs. Not much chance of a penis sighting in there. Instead, we hunted down the stalls of horses, bulls and ponies. And we weren’t disappointed….every horse had an enormous penis, visable to view. We collapsed in laughter; I’m sure most of the adults surrounding us were disgusted with our behavior. There were dirty looks. Ha! Little did they know. The Doubledog Dare had yet to rise its’ ugly head…......
By the following afternoon, I threw down the dare first and Gracie had no choice. We had spent all day discussing the fair and I had an idea! We had seen the genitalia, we had studied it; we thought we had even smelled it…although it was difficult to differentiate one smell from another in the barn. But who would be the first to touch genitalia? Of course, the one who took the dare. And what animal would it be? NOT THE DOG! We had viewed his penis and it scared us….red and slimey and very angry looking. But..how about the cat? He, also had been seen; his penis was a tiny pink cone…no threat there. Of course we had to wait for him to start cleaning himself; it wasn’t long before we found him, doing just that. We sat down next to him; we both saw that his penis was visable. Gracie quickly reached down and touched it with her index finger. I fell on the ground laughing; she proceeded to run around in circles shaking her index finger and just kept repeating, “Gross Gross Gross”. The cat continued washing himself, oblvious to the finger molestation. We made a pact after that to exclude animal genitalia from any future dares. Hopefully, you will never see Gracie’s picture posted on the FBI’s index finger molestation list….............