I can turn my tongue upside down and make it into a cloverleaf.

Just look at me, strung out in the public eye like that.  Children, look away!

Every once in a while I accidently take something from Target, if it happens to hide in the cart.

I don’t like parties.

I don’t like the bottom half of cakes. 
I like to eat the top half with the icing (/syrup/fudge/fruit).

I used to erase random stranger’s large library fines when I worked at the public library sending out fine notices.

When I was 15 and before I had my drivers license, I “borrowed” my dad’s 10-ton dump truck (which looked like this) and drove it to a school dance because I didn’t feel like walking or taking a bus.

(Oh, ‘mouse.  I’m feeling more and more sorry that we didn’t go to high school together.)

In 1987 I was asked to leave the Soviet Union.

Trucks and secret acts of good… No wonder I like this place.

I once dressed as the Baroness at a Sound of Music Sing-a-long.

I can’t read the word “mango” without thinking of ‘mouse!!!!!

Oh, Jo, you and I have to compare notes on our respective Russian sojourns.  :)

Moving right along…

I miss rootbeer-flavored Kool-Aid.

Although I have never been asked to leave Russia, I have had to bump chests with an angry Russian and force him and his friends to leave the house.

i still enjoy a good sweet pickle and mayo on sourdough sandwich.

Really? You know Hysterium personally?

And dancing, no less! Real life is so odd!

Oh!  The Scrine confession booth is back!  I forgot how much fun this was.  Shall we resurrect it for 2008?

I’ll start:  I have always wanted to wear a rubber party dress, the kind that Dianne Brill describes in Boobs, Boys and High Heels, or How To Get Dressed in Just Under Six Hours, but just haven’t had the nerve, the confidence, or, in all honesty, the figure.  That might be changing, though.  >:)

I’ve still never eaten a mango.

I was 35 when I attended my first funeral.

Be careful when skimming through the old confessions.  I just read, “I miss robot-flavored Kool-Aid.

Some people have a list of 1000 things to do before they die, I have only one:  Get Bakerina to show us (or at least me) her boobies.

I slept with my youth group leader when I was 16

@mouse: To quote one of my favorite Adrian Belew songs:  “Well, don’t hold your breath, ‘cause it’ll make you blue.” :P

When I was 12, I ruined a pot of homemade chicken-rice soup because I thought that rosemary was one of those herbs that weakened, rather than strengthened, with long cooking, so I kept adding more at 1/2 hour intervals.

When I was 11 my 13-year-old-cousin who was visiting for a month gave me at least three clear indications that she was really hot to engage in sexual games with me and it wasn’t until a year later that I realized I’d been propositioned and completely missed the opportunity (if you’d call it that).

When I was 18, I got to third base with my stepmother’s brother one night in the back seat of a van, while my dad and stepmother were driving in front, totally oblivious.

Pam is my new hero.

I often find myself staying in my office at work even though I have no reason to be here and every reason to go home and do much more enjoyable things.

I didn’t lose my virginity until I was 22. And it wasn’t that good when I did.

I secretly long for a chip butty.

Shhh.  You think I don’t feel ashamed enough already?

Ohmigod.  I hope Bake doesn’t read this. 

In my defense… Oh, hell.  There ain’t no defense.

I gave someone directions to the arena once when they’d asked for directions to the convention center, and I didn’t realize it until they drove away and I’m still plagued with guilt two years later.

I threw a drink in my soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend’s face, after he broke up with me by asking for my best friend’s phone number.  Even as my heart crumbled to pieces in the days and weeks that followed, I had to admit that that one little gesture felt like a million bucks.

By the way, Bake.  You’re my hero for the day.  I always wish I’d done things like that, but frequently don’t have the gumption.

Hmm, that sounds like a confession.

After the disaster of my last confession, I’m not sure I should do this, but (big breath) here goes:

I’ve watched The Gilmore Girls.  More than once.

Even though I watch and cheer for football I have no idea how it is actually played.

As a mean prank on a junior high substitute teacher, I helped instigate the class to commence humming whenever she entered the room, causing her to swat at her hearing aids constantly.

superbutty.

I’m the one who farts and then claims it wasn’t me

no, wait, now that’s neil young.

A dreamer of pictures
I run in the night
You see us together,
chasing the moonlight,
My Froot Loop Girl…

I believe with all my heart that if you aren’t at least conceptually willing to kill it, gut it, skin it, cook it, and wash the dishes afterward, then you have no right to eat it.

Yeh, sure, this is veering toward “this I believe” but the harshness with which I hold this conviction is the actual confession.

That would give you a big fat conservative bellyache.

I once caught, gutted, cleaned, cooked and ate a fish.  It kept me sleepless for the best part of a week.

I once copied a CD in violation of the copyright notice.

Oh, outstanding idea.  Thanks, darlingses.

I once contemplated going on a diet so that my socks would fit better.

Have I anything left to confess?  Perhaps… Perhaps…

I shaved my feet once.

I goaded my daughter on when she decided to fill out the stupid interview form for her summer camp this year with answers like, “The best thing about last summer was learning to curse in Chinese,” “One of my special talents is shortsheeting my friends’ beds,” “My favorite foods are peanutbutter and banana sandwiches and fried twinkies,” and “The water activity I most enjoy is dunking people.”

Hooboy, nowhere near as much as me.  It’s only 10.30am and I’ve pretty much wasted away a whole day already.

I don’t know how Bunni knows, but I much prefer to eat the top part of the cake with all the icing.  Hooboy, this is “confession booth/find your soulmate” methinks.

O!M!G!  Bake gets today’s prize for most ballsy (?) confession.

However, I hope I am still in the running for most-time-wasted-today… Confession: I just looked up “The #1 Song on the Day You Were Born,” discovered it was The Monkeees “I’m a Believer” and just played it through three times loudly while catching up on confessions.

I love that song.  That’s hardly a confession.  Damn, now I have to waste YET MORE time and see what was on when I was born. 

I had a crush on him too.  But worse (and here’s my confession) I also had a crush on the guys in the Bay City Rollers.

(oh, I can never show my face here again)

Since we’ve entered the Embarrassing Musical Confessions hour here:

1.  I have seen Loverboy live.
2.  Twice.
3.  Each time, I spent weeks afterwards wearing bandannas tied around my thigh.

(Cut me a break.  I was 14.  I lived in northeastern Pennsylvania.  My standards for exciting live entertainment were kind of pathetic.)

Hey I grew up in rural CT. My idea of a fun friday night was watching joe bob briggs on monstervision.

I have two different pairs of nipple tassles: red and black....Or at least I did. I haven’t used them in so long I don’t even know where they are.

On positive vandalism, my sisters and I once went and planted a heap of new and pretty plants in a person’s garden in our shared neighborhood after hearing that OTHER people walked by and pulled up her plants.  Bastards.

On stupid stuff: I once had a brain scan after falling over and hitting my head very hard (yes, in a drunken state) on a wooden floor while out with friends.  I had the mother of all lumps on my head and had to go and get the scan so that one of the people I’d been out with would stop their well intentioned nagging.

Yay. *claps*.  They’re all mad here (except me, of course) but that’s why I love them all.  Welcome to scrine :)

I am daily amazed that I continue to not be flattened by an asteroid or space debris or that fat dude with the sweat stains that sits on the bench next to the bus stop and eats ice cream cones (WTF?!), such is my eternal and award-winning pessimism.

I unplug the sattelite dish before I go to sleep because I SWEAR I can feel vibrations coming from it and it gives me a headache.

When I adjust the volume on the TV or car radio, I have to stop on an even number.

I’ve only spent one night in jail.

I loathe and detest Facebook and my shiny, shiny boots will be in covered in clods of 6 foot deep clay before I join up.  How do I know I hate it?  People have (oh my god, I can’t believe they thought this would work on me) used high-school pressure techniques to try to get me to join their little cult.  (Besides, someone showed me their account.)

And I had the exact same brief moment as Keith.  Some things are always worth a second read.

[edit: it’s unclear what the confession is here, but it’s definitely the whole ‘loathing and detesting to the point of being unreasonable’ thing]

At this moment, my feet are freezing—but I know they’ll get me where I need to go, and they’ll warm up soon enough. ;)

I used to sneak into nursing homes at night and spin the elderly round and round in a chair and then laugh as they tried to toddle away, flinging their canes and walkers into the air as they fell ass over teakettle.

Wow am I glad to finally admit that.  It’s been tearing me up inside for a long time now.  I owe you one, ‘mouse.

HAHA...Mouse, why can’t you work at my county library!?  $342 IS A LOT OF MONEY! lol

Also, Mouse, when I was 14, my friend Jamie and I would steal the “S” and the word “car wash” from the sign at the car wash. 

Everytime they replaced it, we would steal it again…

“Try our pot free...” hehe

I close other peoples open drawers and cupboards when I’m in their house.

JB, if you comment, you gotta spill.  It’s all about the quid pro quo in this comment thread.

I goaded my brother into buying a sportscar recently just to get him in trouble with his wife.

I stopped eating meat for no particular reason (or at least none that I can remember) so now, just for the fun of it, I make up all sorts of crazy reasons why I may have stopped eating meat when talking to total strangers.

What’s the best one so far you ask?
My cat was crushed by a frozen slab of cow and now I can’t bring myself to eat beef without thinking of her… :(

I have a “girl crush” on a lesbian with whom I know I would never sleep...I’m very, very straight, but she’s so damned amazing!!!

And I *did* do the stolen credit card thing...We had some nice stuff to be in high school… (I LOVE statutes of limitations...)

School doesn’t start for seven more weeks, and already I’ve found a classmate I want to slap silly.

I loathe tomatos in most of the sandwiches my wife makes for my lunches, but rather than tell her to stop putting tomato in, I simply pick out the tomato slices and throw them away.

Oh, this raises all sorts of questions.  What sort of sandwiches does your wife make for your lunches?  What sort of tomatoes is she putting into them?  What would happen if you asked her to stop putting tomato in?

Since we don’t get out of here without a confession:

I am thinking some supremely uncharitable thoughts about a certain giant accounting/auditing firm right now, so uncharitable I dare not share them, lest my hair catch on fire.

Whilst I might have started a new and excellent job, several times on my first day I found myself thinking “No Scrine, no Scrine!”

Yeah, yay!  Thanks, e.

Um… confession, confession.  I’m sure I had one here somewhere… (pats pockets) Oh!  Years ago, I once posted myself something just so I could have something appear in the mailbox of my new residence.

Not so much a confession-although I can make it one. When I was in high school, my mother jokingly hailed me as the last serious letter writer in the US. I saved all the letters I received (and still have them in storage in upstate-well a mouse is probably nesting in them). Although now I only write letters about once a year, I still love receiving them.

I think we should all make a pact that if we desperately need mail, we will mail each other. I know I love getting stuff and mailing stuff (although I am a bit slacktastical about getting it out.) Whose with me?

You, lady, have a deal.  I think I might buy a few US-Scriner-friendly postcards today.  I have a couple of addresses (or, I did… okay, I may have to ask for them again).

I confess, I’m not going to confess anything this time.

er, um, mine?

I’m actually a scriner but I’m too scared to post this with my real identity in case someone reads it:

I said I loved him but I don’t really know that. I’ve never been in love before and when he said “I love you” I felt obliged to say it back.

To Wombat:

I remember when the Great Failed Love of My Life said “I love you” to me for the first time. I had told him I loved him a week before when he said he was worried I was going to leave him. He hadn’t reciprocated then. We went to a party a week later, and he drank more than I thought. As we walked home he seemed fine, we sat on the curb at Union Square and he said to me finally, “I love you. I’ve felt it for a long time, but I was scared to tell you. When you said it last week, I wanted to tell you, but I thought you wouldn’t believe me because you said it first. Like I would just be humoring you.” We kissed, and I helped him inside. Twenty minutes later, he was throwing up in the toilet while I rubbed his back.

Two years later I went from Love of His Life to person he wouldn’t acknowledge he ever met. On one level, I wonder if he ever loved me. On another, considering what we went through together, I think he had to. The truth is, I’ve thought I’ve been in love many times, and in retrospect wondered if it was true or if I was just hoping that it was.

Hope that counts as a confession.

I agree with e...You’ll know.  They’ll know...BUT that doesn’t necessarily mean that it is easy to speak of.  Some people are so afraid of being let down that they cannot bring themselves to even say the words.  I have a friend that cannot even tell her family she loves them.

Also, on the same path as dear Bunni, I have said I love you to men because I really thought I was at the time.  I was trying to convince myself that I was not scary and damaged and that I could love these wonderful men in time...Looking back, I realize that it may have been a type of love, but not the type it should have been.  You can love different people for different reasons, but in the end, there is only one type of unthinking, unconditional, blind, and very true love.

On my own tangent, just because someone doesn’t love you the way you think they should, doesn’t mean they don’t love you the best way they know how.  Sometimes, love really does mean letting someone go, but just because they don’t return, don’t assume they don’t love you.  Dealing with people that are broken, sometimes they love you enough to let you go your own way only because they know that you shouldn’t be subject to the bullshit.  They are sort of saving you from themselves...That is part of the deepest, most painful, unconditional, blind love that exists.

But of course, maybe they didn’t love you to begin with.

Oh JadedBeauty,

You got me all warm and snuggly there with that maybe they were trying to help you line, unfortunately if that was true I suspect he wouldn’t have sent me an email two years ago calling me pathetic and insane. Maybe that was his way of loving me, if so I’m glad to be rid of it.

Confession: I suspect that a former student, who is now a friend, has a crush on me. I don’t discourage it because secretly I enjoy the fact that someone 12 years my junior is still “hot for teacher.”

Some men are just insane...I think you caught a crazy one...AND YES, you are better off without it!

I’m not a teacher *YET*, but it seems anytime I’m at the bar in heels and skirt, SOMEONE always asks me if I am.  Then usually breaks out with that damned song!  It’s flattering actually, but I was going more for the Naughty School Girl look.

My little brother grew up thinking he was kidnapped/adopted.  This is only because I told him he was and said no one would admit it because they didn’t want to hurt his feelings.

Despite all he said he broke up with me to date someone he had a flaming crush on all through our relationship and, surprisingly, I never felt more free in all my life.
I think next time I’ll look for people who actually have stuff in common with me, rather than those who I think would go out with me.
Thanks for the advice Scriners!

Part of the reason I don’t date Jewish men is because I think all of them pray at Temple Ikantschtupp.

I am so sorry to hear that Bunni. My friend and Yiddish folklore scholar, Rabbi Ira Ikanschtupp says that he can introduce you to many a fine young Jewish male that isn’t afraid of playing Adam to your Eve...if you know what I mean.

I may be showing some ignorance here, but doesn’t “goyim” denote gentile or non-Jewish men? I think Br. Ezra knows some nice Jewish men you might be able to bring home and are still a little naughthy.

As a Catholic I have always wondered if we took away Jesus and our Grand Poo-Bah if we would just be gentile Jews? Our mother’s seem to be opperating with the same handbook. My grandmother’s admonition to “meet a nice Catholic girl” always seemed to mean, “be sexually frustrated before and during your marriage.” Unless said Catholic girl was Catholic school girl in one of those sexy plaid skirts and knee high socks. Sometimes you could convince them to do a three-way with their dorm roommate - especially if they have had enough to drink.

Whenever I end up walking behind anyone whose debilitating love of cake and/or pie and/or deep-fried everything has left them hopelessly large, I mentally apply a tuba-rich soundtrack similar to this.