Curvy Jones on: These Are My Confessions, Round III

Disclaimer- My confessions are my real and true thoughts and are not intended to be Politically Correct. If you want me to lie about how I feel, I require dinner first.

I confess that I hate small talk. Ooooh. Hate. I am shy (seriously) and I don’t like having to think of inane things to say. I don’t have a feeling about the weather. I really don’t. It’s cold or it’s hot. Okay. That’s about as far as that conversation is going. I was taught that a conversation is like a game of volleyball– each person is responsible for volleying “the ball” over the net and not letting the “the ball” hit the floor. I hate sports analogies.

I confess I will roll my eyes if someone sends me a video link to YouTube. I don’t want to see a six year old dance to Single Ladies, a talentless hack embarass him or herself in front of the nation and so help me Jeezy, if the link is the cast of Glee even breathing, I will cut.you.

I confess that I think the new We Are The World is Shiteous. That’s shitty + hideous = Shiteous. People who are all ‘positive’ about it are making me want to scream. Poor Haiti, we couldnt even write a new song for you. We just gathered up a bunch of no- talent famewhores and stuck them in a room and had them sing- badly- one of the greatest charity singles of all time. I actually like Celine Dion but I want to cut her for singing the Cyndi Lauper section. Damn you Michael Jackson, for not being around to stop this.

I confess I still watch cartoons. I just watch different cartoons.

I confess that I’m a great speller but not the best typist, and sometimes I am not all that diligent. Sometimes I will just type any old thing, let Google point out that I am a dumbass with that red squiggly line, and then right click and let Google correct it, if it’s so damn smart. I just had to add ‘dumbass’ to the dictionary, by the way.

I confess that if a guy has dimples, I am pretty much down for the count. They aren’t required for attraction, but they’re pretty hard to overcome.

I confess that sometimes Dr Phil shows make me reconsider a point of view that I’ve held for quite a while, and that sometimes scares me. How am I so easily swayed by a hokey Texas accent?

I confess that I probably, (okay definitely) need some kind of therapy. I confess I can think of 25 things I would rather spend my money on. Sometimes I just need someone to care because I pay them to care and not try to solve my problems. Let me answer the hard questions myself without being uncomfortable that there are hard questions that need to be answered.

I confess that sometimes, though, like a new Christian or a newly ‘out’ person, New Therapy People annoy me with their need to pass on everything they’re learning as they learn it. I’m not IN therapy. YOU ARE. I see myself as capable of being highly annoying (thinks back to when I read The Surrendered Single and pushed it on everyone in the most annoying way possible).

I recently read this incredible post at Hope Dies Last about needs and compromise. I confess Ive always been the person who stoically claims there are worse things than being alone, and I truly mean it. It stems from watching unhappy people trapped in unhappy relationships in severe contrast to those in happy relationships. Her post sort of threw me for a loop and made me think, though. If a relationship is important to me, am I willing to compromise a few needs in order to maintain overall happiness? And is that different than settling? I think compromise and settling share a thin line. I’m scared of the wrong side of that line.

I confess that after thinking on it for a few days, I don’t know what I need. I don’t know what I want. I don’t know what I could give up or compromise on. I am too old for playing around to try to figure it out. I have the luxury of not having a ton of relationship baggage– but only because all that other baggage keeps me from ever really exploring relationships.

I confess that sometimes I get in the elevator and just press the button. I don’t wait to see if anyone is coming and hold the door. In fact, Hold the Elevator !!! is a sure fire way to get me to press ‘door close’. Oops. The elevators run all day everyday. It’s like it only runs once a day and you’re about to miss that one time. There will be another one in 60 seconds.

I confess I get jealous watching House Hunters International. Here I am, slaving away to live in these here United States, and people can afford to buy a home in, say Cabo San Lucas or Fiji or France… I think people are just showing off. Quietly, I’d ship myself off to the Greek Islands and never be seen or heard from again.

I confess I think I’m pretty damn funny. Hilarious, actually. It’s a defense mechanism. My ex called me on it, and I had no idea what he was talking about. Now I notice it about myself. I think I am naturally funny, but when I am uncomfortable I make a joke. That’s probably normal, though. Right? (say yes)

I confess I don’t understand non-Catholics observing Lent. I understand a show of solidarity. I guess. But… I don’t observe Ramadan or Hanukkah in any kind of show of solidarity. Why Lent? So we’ve taken a tenet of Catholicism, but one we like– not the confession or the daily mass, or the the rosary, not even the Ash Wednesday observance, but LENT– yeah, we’ll do that cause we need to do it anyway. Why can’t we let Catholics be great? Let them do their thang, dawgg.

I confess I ate an entire box of Cheerios between Saturday and Monday. This is why I am not allowed to buy cereal.

I confess I am also not allowed to watch Infomercials. I have a Fluidity Bar in the middle of my dining room that is on the verge of gathering dust. I’m going to use it. Soon. Promise.

I confess I hate pills and don’t take them. I’m not on birth control, but if I was, the pill is not an option. Plus, me on hormones is just not a good idea because I am halfway crazy already. I hate the smell of them, mostly. If I take a pill, it is a sign of impending doom. The Apocalypse, if you will. Let it be known, however, that if I get a headache (which rarely happens) I have to end it or it will make me physically ill. So. I just took two Advil. Stand by for fire and brimstone.

I recently told my mom that I wasn’t feeling well. She says to me, “You should keep some medications around, you know. Some Pepto or Tylenol, some cough medicine, you know, things like that.” To which I replied, “Yeah, I don’t like to take drugs.” To which she replied, “Well it’s not like I told you to stock up on heroin!” That wasn’t a confession. I just find my mother hilarious (no shocker that I get my sense of humor from her) and I was reminded of that while confessing to actually taking pills.

I confess I don’t like the touch, the feel of cotton, the fabric of our lives. Well, pure spun cotton. It gives me the heebs. You know how people react to nails on a chalkboard? That’s how my body reacts to the feel of cotton. I do not own cotton balls, Qtips, or those cotton makeup remover pads. I cannot touch them.

I confess I think sex tapes are boring. So you have a sex tape? And? Its going to be dark, grainy, mostly soundless and highlight the fact that you couldn’t strike a rhythm if you were trapped in the same room with one. Spare me the drama- its not that you have a sex tape. It’s that people will find out that you’re boring as fuck.

I confess I think that snowboarder Shaun White is kind of cute. But I’m still hating the Olympics.

These have been my confessions, sponsored by coffee, cheerios, and CVS.

Curvy Jones is a northerner playing a southerner who is living, working, playing in metro Atlanta.

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Tags:  2010 · confessions · Thursday