Confessional Booth

[unpredictablebijou]

Post your confession.

And/or impose a penance and absolution for the previous poster.

Or whatever.

 

[UnderYourSpell]

I've flashed

 

[unpredictablebijou]

I'm up. Cause I've never gotten over this one.

In junior high I had a mad crush on a guy named Eric. The 8th grade Fall Dance was coming up and I really wanted him to ask me, but he didn't. Mostly he was way too cute and popular and I was an EXTREME GEEK.

A gawky, oafish, dull-witted but very nice guy named, of all things, Guy, had been asking me to the dance for a full month, but I'd been putting him off, just in case something better came along. Two days before the dance, I caved and said yes to him, because it was better than not going at all, and because he was sorta insistent - if I didn't commit, he couldn't buy the tickets and the corsage in time. Poor guy. Poor Guy.

An hour later, here's Eric, asking me to go to the dance with him. Completely agonized in the way only a 12 year old can be, I told him I'd already accepted an invite. As he started to walk away, I said, in thorough desperation, "You could go stag and I would dance with you..." and then nearly slit my wrists in embarassment for letting that fall out of my mouth.

Guy picked me up (his mom was driving.) He was wearing a powder blue suit jacket. He looked ridiculous. He brought me a corsage that was too heavy for my dress and pulled the shoulder all out of shape. I probably didn't look any more graceful than he did - it was 8th grade, after all. As I remember, I had a godawful beige rayon disco dress, the sort that was all the rage in 1978.

When we got to the dance, I danced with Guy once and then sat down all depressed and ignored him. Suddenly, Eric walked in! He was surrounded by a beatific light and looked exactly like Montgomery Clift, at least in my memory now.

Suffice it to say that I spent the evening ignoring Guy and fawning over Eric. Guy mostly sat against the wall, looking bewildered. It was just awful of me, and I've always felt terrible about it.

I've never gotten over the way I mistreated that poor boy. I need a real penance and absolution, so I can let this go.

 

[unpredictablebijou]

I've flashed

Hmm. Your penance is to spend one day wearing something terribly conservative and uncomfortable. It must involve pantyhose. Then you will be absolved.

Go, and sin some more. I mean NO more. Or something.

bj

 

[PandoraGlitters]

I've flashed too, but I really hate pantyhose. Can I get spanks instead?

 

[unpredictablebijou]

I've flashed too, but I really hate pantyhose. Can I get spanks instead?

Spanking does not constitute true penance for people like us, I'm afraid. Besides, you only need to do penance if you actually regret what you did.

But I'll spank you anyway, just for the hell of it. Or wait... I'll call for volunteers.

bj

 

[Homburg]

I would be here until some time next week.

Somebody just assign me some penance. I'll probably ignore it, and thus rack up more sin, but it might do someone some good.

 

[sassynyc]

I would be here until some time next week.

Somebody just assign me some penance. I'll probably ignore it, and thus rack up more sin, but it might do someone some good.

i hereby decree, your penance shall be to rise above your snarky eliticism and post a poem in the snarky elitist poet thread.

*bong*

sassy has spoken.

 

[normal jean]

.......................

 

[LadynStFreknBed]

There is no yard gnome, there is no yard gnome.

My daughter would consider that blasphemous. But, she's wonderfully weird that way!

 

[Homburg]

i hereby decree, your penance shall be to rise above your snarky eliticism and post a poem in the snarky elitist poet thread.

*bong*

sassy has spoken.

Oh suuuuure.

 

[PandoraGlitters]

I volunteer to spank Bijou on behalf of Guy. By the way. Just to be a good citizen, and all.

Oh, and I confess to having taken myself too seriously. (And that too often.)

 

[Homburg]

I volunteer to spank Bijou on behalf of Guy. By the way. Just to be a good citizen, and all.

Oh, and I confess to having taken myself too seriously. (And that too often.)

I volunteer to watch.

For your penance, you must do something public and non-serious, and it must be something that materially threatens your too-serious self-image. If, however, the threat to your self-image is truly of staggering proportions, you may do so privately in front of a witness so long as the person witnessing it is of reputable character.

Be creative. And non-serious.

 

[loststar]

In a moment of pure fustration I uttered "I hate love" and thus I have betrayed myself, and my own philosophies, I do regret it, and thus I need pennance

 

[UnderYourSpell]

Grumble grouse mutter ... uncomfy

 

[UnderYourSpell]

I would be here until some time next week.

Somebody just assign me some penance. I'll probably ignore it, and thus rack up more sin, but it might do someone some good.

You must be tied to the bed tickled unmercifully on the bottom of your feet and suffer a good sound spanking by all who wish to do it ....... *books ticket*

 

[Homburg]

In a moment of pure fustration I uttered "I hate love" and thus I have betrayed myself, and my own philosophies, I do regret it, and thus I need pennance

Truly you have trangressed against yourself. I proscribe a long drive, preferably on moderately twisty roads with good scenery. You must do so with the top down, sunshine on your skin, and wind in your hair, burning at least a quarter tank of gas.

I realise that it is an onerous penance, but you need absolution, and a reaffrimation of what is good in this world.

Go forth, and sin against yourself no more.

 

[Homburg]

You must be tied to the bed tickled unmercifully on the bottom of your feet and suffer a good sound spanking by all who wish to do it ....... *books ticket*

I'm not ticklish. And tying me to the bed would probably require a tranq gun.

 

[champagne1982]

It has been a lifetime since my last confession.

My sins are many but the most harmful of these is that I am overly self-effacing. I can't gracefully accept a compliment. My darling, Michael, has concluded it may be guilt at the ease with which my thoughts flow into being that makes it difficult to admit I can make wonderfulness from inanity. I do try to be gracious, but still, sometimes it's easier to say how much nothing it all is.

 

[Homburg]

Horribly juvenile farcicial poetry.

I am awful. Mock me.

 

[champagne1982]

Horribly juvenile farcicial poetry.

I am awful. Mock me.

why can't a cock be a cock?

I like how long it's been a cock
and always how big and round
I cannot say that I like
how when he walks
it dangles and scrapes the ground.

But, monkey knuckles and gorilla feet
should brush the forest floor
and when his cock fucks into me,
I'll scream and shout for more.

Hop on cock
though cock shouts,
Stop! Stop, don't hop
on cock, instead let cock
drop a load in you

It's not enough to say it's cock
the verse must always rhyme
for such a character is best unlocked
when Suessified all the time

Cock, rock, stock and sock; mock
this talk about a cock
since my poems all rock
even though they're stock
in a drawer of socks.

 

[Homburg]

I feel properly mocked.

 

[Angeline]

I'm up. Cause I've never gotten over this one.

In junior high I had a mad crush on a guy named Eric. The 8th grade Fall Dance was coming up and I really wanted him to ask me, but he didn't. Mostly he was way too cute and popular and I was an EXTREME GEEK.

A gawky, oafish, dull-witted but very nice guy named, of all things, Guy, had been asking me to the dance for a full month, but I'd been putting him off, just in case something better came along. Two days before the dance, I caved and said yes to him, because it was better than not going at all, and because he was sorta insistent - if I didn't commit, he couldn't buy the tickets and the corsage in time. Poor guy. Poor Guy.

An hour later, here's Eric, asking me to go to the dance with him. Completely agonized in the way only a 12 year old can be, I told him I'd already accepted an invite. As he started to walk away, I said, in thorough desperation, "You could go stag and I would dance with you..." and then nearly slit my wrists in embarassment for letting that fall out of my mouth.

Guy picked me up (his mom was driving.) He was wearing a powder blue suit jacket. He looked ridiculous. He brought me a corsage that was too heavy for my dress and pulled the shoulder all out of shape. I probably didn't look any more graceful than he did - it was 8th grade, after all. As I remember, I had a godawful beige rayon disco dress, the sort that was all the rage in 1978.

When we got to the dance, I danced with Guy once and then sat down all depressed and ignored him. Suddenly, Eric walked in! He was surrounded by a beatific light and looked exactly like Montgomery Clift, at least in my memory now.

Suffice it to say that I spent the evening ignoring Guy and fawning over Eric. Guy mostly sat against the wall, looking bewildered. It was just awful of me, and I've always felt terrible about it.

I've never gotten over the way I mistreated that poor boy. I need a real penance and absolution, so I can let this go.

I actually went to my prom with Bukowski. Really! Ok, never mind that I don't even remember his real first name. Everyone always called him Skip. Skippy Bukowski. (I also dated an Einstein but his first name wasn't Albert.)

So Skippy was in my French class and I noticed he had my name all over his book cover. And then he asked me to the prom. I wasn't even planning on going because most of my friends were older, out of high school and I was a hippie girl anyway and hippie girls are not into proms. But Skippy was very persistent and I agreed.

My mother wouldn't get me a new gown. She made me wear the same one my sisten had worn four years before. It was orange. Orange is my least favorite color. As in I hate it. So already I was going to something I didn't really think I'd like, in a dress I hated and with a boy named Skippy I had very ambivalent feelings about. My night of golden memories.

And then there was my hair. It was then (as it is again now) to my waist. And I have really thick hair. A lot of hair. It took the hairdresser over three hours to get it all up. It was massive. And it had orange doodads in it.

Skippy picked me up (we double dated with a a boy and his girlfriend who actually had a car). The prom was boring. I remember I spent most of the time in the ladies room because my big hair was teetering on my head, threatening to fall over. There were many bobby pins involved. Maybe I needed flying buttresses in my tresses.

After the prom we went to the Hawaii Cottage, which was as over the top as it sounds. It was shaped like a big pineapple and had tiki gods and drinks (you could drink when you were 18 then) in hollowed out pineapples and coconuts with many umbrellas. There were leis and contests and oh god it was strange. Then we went to the beach. This is a very New Jersey thing to do: you go to the beach after your prom to watch the sun rise. Skippy turned off the Beatles on the radio to put doo-wop on. That was it for me. No Beatles! Skippy was done!

It took three days for my hair to get back to normal.

No penance for me. Jews don't do confession and penance.

 

[champagne1982]

Darling,
That hair was pennance enough.

 

[champagne1982]

I feel properly mocked.

Have I ever told you how much I love you-
-r sense of humour and inate ability
to make people feel better? I do,
this 's for you.