This real alligator head can be purchased at Mr. D's Leather and Novelties in Newport News, VA for a mere $45.
Hey, anyone ever been to Mr. D's?
ROAD TRIP!
ROAD TRIP!
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Theres no such thing as free therapy.
I saw PostSecret first.
Damnit, I still need to send that book to Erin.
Damint, she probably already has it now.
DAMNIT, I wanted to send her something cool!
Then, a more basic cyber version on FlawLes TV's website.
Mary B., where I come from, its illegal to be that cute.
Sometimes I think the Universe likes to watch me squirm. Bonus points for all-out breakdowns.
Confessionals.
And not the Catholic-booth kind, which I find uber creepy.
Catholic school, I was 12 and was told that I wasn't "prepared" for the Sacrament of Penance. I've had an aversion to confessional booths ever since. At the time, I thought ooohhhh....something dark and terrifying happens in there. I shouldn't go in there. Ever.
I dont walk to close to confessionals in a church. You'd have to pay me to step in one. I dont like it when authors describe their, or their character's, experience in confessionals. I dont like to see actors in them in movies or TV (exception: Kate Moennig as Shane, season 2, episode 8).
I don't believe in vibes, juju, or auras - I think humans project their own bullshit and then say things like "its just a feeling I have in here." But if there was such a thing as bad juju, 50 bucks says I'd find it in a confessional. With all that sin spewing out of people in those boxes, how in the bloody hell does the wood not rot?
I digress.
No, no, I did not begin this post with that kind of creepy confessional in mind. I am talking about the instant, anonymous, tell Cyber-Les or PostSecret everything and no one will ever know its you, confessional. And I still can't do it. I'm too paranoid. I fear that if I design a postcard and send it in to PostSecret, they will publish the damn thing and then somehow, somehow!, my artistic mark will be so potent, so prominent, that I'll get busted. Freakishly ridiculous.
Same thing on FlawLes. On their website you can post an anonymous confession. Type a nickname, confess and hit enter. I was about to do it- I had my confession all typed out, edited for relevance and entertainment factors, when I noticed a little button...
Then, a more basic cyber version on FlawLes TV's website.
Mary B., where I come from, its illegal to be that cute.
Sometimes I think the Universe likes to watch me squirm. Bonus points for all-out breakdowns.
Confessionals.
And not the Catholic-booth kind, which I find uber creepy.
Catholic school, I was 12 and was told that I wasn't "prepared" for the Sacrament of Penance. I've had an aversion to confessional booths ever since. At the time, I thought ooohhhh....something dark and terrifying happens in there. I shouldn't go in there. Ever.
I dont walk to close to confessionals in a church. You'd have to pay me to step in one. I dont like it when authors describe their, or their character's, experience in confessionals. I dont like to see actors in them in movies or TV (exception: Kate Moennig as Shane, season 2, episode 8).
I don't believe in vibes, juju, or auras - I think humans project their own bullshit and then say things like "its just a feeling I have in here." But if there was such a thing as bad juju, 50 bucks says I'd find it in a confessional. With all that sin spewing out of people in those boxes, how in the bloody hell does the wood not rot?
I digress.
No, no, I did not begin this post with that kind of creepy confessional in mind. I am talking about the instant, anonymous, tell Cyber-Les or PostSecret everything and no one will ever know its you, confessional. And I still can't do it. I'm too paranoid. I fear that if I design a postcard and send it in to PostSecret, they will publish the damn thing and then somehow, somehow!, my artistic mark will be so potent, so prominent, that I'll get busted. Freakishly ridiculous.
Same thing on FlawLes. On their website you can post an anonymous confession. Type a nickname, confess and hit enter. I was about to do it- I had my confession all typed out, edited for relevance and entertainment factors, when I noticed a little button...
"click here for Confessions policy"
Wait, what?
Theres a policy?
Well fuck me, now I have to read it!
Leave it to the les's to write a policy for confessions. I'm not blaming Mary B and Jess for having a policy because I know why they have it. If they hadn't posted their confession policy then they would be accosted by emails from lesbian who wanted to know -
...is this really anonymous?
...what do you do with my "optional" email?
...can you track my IP address, discover my true identity and email my girlfriend/ ex-girlfriend/ boss/ neighbor/ university my confession?
Hmmmm? WELL? CAN YOU?!
Needless to say, I couldn't confess.
While I hate - haaaate - paying $130 to emotionally puke in front of a PhD, I must admit...I appreciate the fact that I can purchase the professional standards of therapists. You see, I know they can't tell. As long as you are not going to hurt yourself or hurt someone else: They - Can - Not - Tell. Ever! Nothing. If they do they risk their license and, hence, their fat-ass paychecks. And I believe in the lure of that dollar. I know how attractive that paycheck must be. I dont think anyone would ever walk away from a job where you sit on your ass all day in a chair of your choosing, making $130 an hour in order to leak some bullshit sob story of mine.
Greed. Keeping secrets secret for millennia.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
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