Three Things Learned the HARD Way.
My pal, Bonanza, and I were talking about our affection for a good blogtag. Then we decided we should start one. After tinking with ideas and numbers, this is what we came up with.
**Three Things Learned the HARD way.**
1. It is very upsetting to salt a slug.
I was 9 years old and my parents were having a party for the cast of my sister’s local production of Biloxi Blues. I was trying to impress some of the grown ups by cultivating a Scout Finch sort of tomboy coolness. I was overusing “ain’t” and “dang” and lying about how I salted slugs “all the time” as I showily picked a couple of scabs. Like all actors, they were infatuated by real-life grittiness, so my audience was eating it up. Unfortunately I must have sold the excitement of it all a little too hard, because one of them said, “let’s salt one now!”
A tip: You have to salt a slug with confidence. If you timidly shake just a bit of salt on just a bit of the slug, only that bit curls up. You might, say, mistakenly leave one antenna-eye to wave around frantically, searching your face for an answer to “Why?!? Good Lord, WHY???”
I immediately grabbed the salt and quick-walked back inside, trying to keep my cool. I think I made up something about needing to go catch a frog or shake a jar of lightnin’ bugs, and I ran up to my room and threw myself on the bed. I spent the rest of the night apologizing to God and swearing I would never kill anything ever again.
2. If you can’t tell people about it, don’t do it.
I once dated a guy I worked with, and he used the fact that we were co-workers to convince me that we shouldn’t tell anyone we were seeing each other.
Exciting!
Secret!
Stupid!
See, if I had just told everyone we were dating, they could have told me about all the other people he was sleeping with. In fact, he was sleeping with SO many people, I had a panic attack and ended up in the emergency room on a holiday weekend asking to get tested for “Everything. I probably have everything.” (Side note - the guy admitting me heard that and started hitting on me, hard. He wrote his phone number on my hospital bracelet, despite my complete repulsion. Nothing is as sexy as a panicked, possibly herpetic, emergency room patient.) I decided then that if I can’t tell people about something or someone I’m doing, then I shouldn’t be doing it at all.
That’s not to say I’m a goody goody who always does the right thing. But, I’ll take the credit and complaints for both the good and the bad. Whatever, live proud ya’ll. Big ups.
3. The the spray nozzle attachment on a kitchen sink is full of pressurized water and should not be cut in an attempt to siphon gas from your ex-boyfriend’s car.
I got really wet and my roommates got really angry.
So now I’m tagging:
* - they did it!
February 21st, 2008 at 10:32 pm
Ha, I believe I may have actually been at that Biloxi Blues party!
February 21st, 2008 at 11:49 pm
Dang, nobody invited me.