Oh, If we’re allowed seconds, I’ve got a horrible one. Not quite statute of limitations bad, but still. But before I do, let me add that I’m totally enjoying the olivesmarch4th/Anastasaeon/Bobby McFarin love-fest. Yep. People are about as happy as they decide to be. The key is taking responsibility for your own emotions. How much do you let anyone make you feel anything? Joy is what it feels like, once you decide.
Joy is cool.
Oh, the confession?
There’s usually a Led Zeppelin concert shirt under my dress shirt and tie.
Color co-ordinated, of course.
I call myself a writer but cannot bring myself to retain prose. I churn out out pages and pages of multiflavored excrement and delete them. After four years of effort, my prose invariably has all the grace of Rudy Giuliani in drag.
I drink mostly Coke, or Dr. Pepper. Occasionally I’ll hit the Dew, but that’s a relatively rare choice. (Looks about at his collection of plastic nickels) I’d say about 5 Cokes and 10-15 Dr. Peppers for every Dew bottle I see.
ETA: I think it’s time for a redemption run. At least I have the sense to clean them up as I empty them.
I have the four symbols tattooed on my back. Very few people know that (including friends). I don’t hide it, I just don’t actively bring it up in conversation.
Someone else mentioned confrontation. I’m awful with that. I could go into more detail with that, but everone who hates confrontation knows exactly what I’m talking about.
Hell yeah to the “make your own happiness” sentiment. I cannot stand people who wallow or mope all the time- pain may be mandatory, but suffering is optional. A wonderful lady I know always posts “Bloom where you are planted.”
I try to politely refuse but most of the time my friends are like, “Have you event tried it?” 95 percent of the time is no and most of them know that. So they tend to force the issue with “How do you know you don’t like it if you have never tried it” until I get pissed and storm off.
For some reason trying something new, like sushi, sends me into a panic attack of sorts. If the situation is diverted and I get away with it, I’m cool. It’s when they push the issue that I feel like I’m being attacked or something.
Oh, those obnoxious people can just go on and on, no? I’ve had them tell my kids that they can’t possible like ketchup because their mother (me) doesn’t. I think some people have no life and have to concern themselves with what is on my plate. I avoid these people at all costs. I have no advice for you, but I feel your pain…
This confessions thread is getting quite intimate. :eek: to some of these posts.
YES! I don’t like mayonnaise, or avocado, or ranch dressing, and God knows what else. Why must my in-laws make such a big fucking deal about it, every fucking time we go out to eat together? The should just be grateful that there’s more of that crap for them to eat!
My spiritual leanings are based on premises I learned from a foreign tv show. No, really. Yet - amazingly enough - there don’t seem to be any churches or cults associated with my beliefs. I might very well be the only one that thinks this way; which means I am super crazy and should probably be committed.
I carry guilt from being in close proximity - unknowingly - to a murder in progress. If I would not have been such a pussy, I could’ve saved someone’s life, but I ran away instead. It left a very raw, festering wound on my conscience that never really went away.
And one related to sex (thanks for the shoutout, Silver Tyger Girl!!)…Every single one of my fantasies scare the bejeebers out of my husband.
I agree. I dislike Mexican food and you wouldn’t believe the production some of my friends make when we are deciding where to eat. You’d think that no restaurants exist outside of Mexican restuarants.
I rarely ever use salad dressing. If the salad is tasty, it doesn’t need it. If the salad isn’t tasty, why am I eating it?
I’ve started to read many books in the past few years, and I don’t think I’ve finished any of them. Stuff happens, I get distracted, I forget to get back to it, etc. I haven’t read nearly as much science fiction in my life as nearly everyone who knows me would assume. (I’m even surprised by that fact myself, somehow.)
Loved Firefly, never seen Buffy. If it’s anything like Angel, I’d be bored stiff.
– I, too, usually pee sitting down. It’s not for reasons of cleanliness or anything, though: I’m just lazy.
– I put ketchup on my hot dogs.
– I play poker. During periods when I’m playing a lot of poker, the game gets mixed into my sex dreams. There are no cards or chips are anything like that, but it definitely becomes a competition, and certain actions become equivalent in my thinking to raising, folding, bluffing, etc. Then I wake up and spend 10 confused seconds trying to remember the ways poker is different from sex.
Anyway, it’s not a fetish. It’s just . . . you know if you’ve been playing a ton of, say, minesweeper, you’re going to have minesweeper dreams? Same thing with me and poker, except my sleeping brain can multi-task.
I’m sure some of mine would scare most people. Y’know, sane people. (BTW, PrincessEBee was flattered by your comments. Are you reading her journal yet?)
I didn’t play console videogames after I got rid of my Playstation (first gen!) in 1999 until **Asimovian **gifted me with a hand-me-down PS2 last winter. I haven’t played a Nintendo product since SNES days, and have never used a Microsoft console.
Ketchup is the Devil’s Smegma, and Mayonnaise his - well, you know.
I put on a mask every day of a tough, take-no-shit, iron-pumping Teutonic war goddess. Actually I’m overly sensitive and emotional. I am afraid of being perceived of as weak.
I constantly buy new sewing patterns and fabrics, even though I’ve sewn exactly one thing in the past year. Despite this knowledge, I can’t talk myself out of buying new stuff because there’s a slim possibility that I might potentially find myself with free time and the inclination to sew at some point.
The main reason I insisted that The Boy and I buy a place of our own instead of moving into his condo is not because I wanted us to start on an even footing, but rather because my shoe collection couldn’t possibly fit in his shoebox bachelor pad.
I read incredibly trashy romance novels - so incredibly trashy that I hide them from sight when friends come over, because I know there would be no end to the ensuing mockery. The strangest part is that I often skip over the overblown (and usually silly) sex scenes, because what I actually like about those books are the falling-in-love-and-stumbling-towards-a-happy-ending plotlines.
As obsessive as I am about eating fresh, local foods and emphasizing lots of fruits and veggies in my diet, I must have grilled sausage from a street vendor at least once a month. The only veggie on my sausage is sliced green onions.
