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Manic Confessions September 1, 2006

Posted by doctorolove in Pop Culture Rants.

In the spirit of admitting you did something ten years ago that has graced many recent criminals (and it being fully and completely untrue), I have decided to come clean. Maybe it’s the cheap vanilla vodka talking, but I have been at the forefront of many things. Please do not judge me too harshly. I simply want to clear my conscience.

1) I left the cake out in the rain.

It was the mid seventies and I was still rather distressed over the breakup of Sonny and Cher. A couple with their radiatingly amazing repartee was a boost to short, ugly men like me. If Sonny could bag a woman of her beauty and talent, maybe we all could. (Grant it, I was only three at the time, but I was already building Lego castles at a third grade level. Marriages that seem that perfect (She picks on him and he just laughs) should last for a lifetime. It was because of my inner turmoil (as well as my three year old still-yet-undeveloped motor skills) that I left the cake in the rain. My mind was racked with confusion, shattered by the hollow promises made to me by “I Got You Babe.” I figured that I could placate myself with a tasty lemon custard shortbread cake that had taken several long hours to bake. I had intended to eat it under the 1978 sunfilled sky but was distracted by a shiny button that had popped off my father’s jacket. Before I knew it, the heavens had opened and I could do nothing but stare at the rain soaked confectionary delight. I remember hoping somebody had kept the recipe so I could have one later that day, but when the incident drove the baker to write a song about it, I just kept quiet. Even at my young age, I knew when not to squeal (Again, I was very advanced!) I never did see Sonny and Cher get back together, but I can now admit, that I left the cake out in the rain.

2) I stole the cookie from the cookie jar.

I know what you’re saying. Couldn’t have been. Not you. Then who? But I stole the cookie from the cookie jar. And it was really good. It had almonds. And that strange golden cream that isn’t quite caramel, isn’t quite butterscotch, but still tastes like angel dipped ambrosia. And I drank some milk straight from the carton, but I admitted to that one in 1997 after a long weekend involving three bottles of Absinthe and the cast of Caroline and the City (That Lea Thompson and her probing questions!)

3) I’m so vain and I thought the song was about me.

I had received my Member’s Only jacket from my grandmother the same Christmas they took my braces off. And while that year was ripe with amazing Christmas goodies (PXL 3000, Talking Battleship, socks), the Member’s Only jacket was by far the holy grail. I marveled at it’s excessive pockets. I fell to my knees at its’ tan hued altar. I even idolized the strange excessive strap that ran from the shoulder to the lapel, mystified by its’ purpose, or at least the fashion comment it was making. I wore it with aplomb, whatever the weather conditions. There was a club and I was getting in. I was a member.

And it was while strutting ala Tony Monero one day that I inadvertently caused one of the great disasters of our time. Carly was the beautiful woman who lived next door to me. Her face was chiseled from an angel’s wing. Her hair hung around her shoulders like flax from the fleece that Jason guy really wanted. And it bounced in such a way that I was positive she had hired a cast of puppeteers to hide in an invisible spaceship above her head and wiggle it on cue. Yet, not seeing her while lost in my “strut zone,” I accidentally ran into her while she was playing her guitar on her lawn to several cartoon birds and squirrels that had wandered in from the Mystical Forest. She fell forward, severely damaging her facial bone structure on the horns of Mrs. Deer, who really loved a good acoustic set and was planted in the front row. It was only years later when I saw her reconstructed face and felt the pain in her song that I could see the damage my strutting had caused. My jacket had made me vain, and I knew the pain I had caused. AT least that’s how I remembered it going down (I will admit that along with my jacket that Christmas Grandma gave a bottle of her “happy pills,” so most of that three year period is a little hazy. I think I’m still the President of Paraguay, if I remember correctly.)

4) I didn’t dance.

The song told everybody to do it. And they told them to do it now. And people let the music take control, they let the rhythm move them. But me, I had just had a really big lunch (Damn you KFC buffet) and I had this thing with my leg. I tell people it’s an old football injury but really I banged it on a coffee table when I was seven rushing in to watch Jem. And while I was busy telling everybody I did dance, I didn’t. I did however move my body and I pushed it a few times, but as for the dancing, I am sad to say, I was lax.

5) I messed around with Jim

Sure, even I’m not stupid enough to tug on capes and pull masks off of freedom fighting banditos, but I did mess around with Jim. It was college and hey, doesn’t everybody experiment? I was drinking, the lights were low and those “happy pills” were still around. I even trying spitting into the wind, but that was far after college and I blame that one on communist propaganda (The Motherland compels your loogies skyward!)

Sure, I’ve done some other things, but I can finally rest tonight with a good conscience. So tonight, I will pour some sugar on myself and do a turn on a catwalk. But I’ll never admit when I stop the rain. And I will never tell who that girl is.

Even I have standards. Though, Jim, give me a call.



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