Five things that should be sources of deep, abiding shame for myself, yet aren't:
1. When a best-friendship turned sour on me in high school, another friend and I toilet-papered the girl's house and I mean, thoroughly, ending with the throwing of eggs at the door and a frantic dash home. The next day I called her up and complained my own house had been TP'd, so she'd think some other girls who hated us did it instead (she bought it). My only defense here is the usual high school era one: She started it.
2. I love musicals. I even like this one
, and it features Clint Eastwood singing. He sings about as well as you'd expect Dirty Harry to sing.
3. I found out, ah, all about, uh, er, my anatomy, by reading Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Sex (But Were Afraid to Ask)
. Let's just say there were things I didn't know I had until I read the parts list.
4. I've confessed this on my own blog
before, I think, but my favorite movie is Urban Cowboy
. Hey, shut up.
5. This behavior isn't usual for me at all, but on my last birthday I began the evening by downing the better part of a fifth of Goldschlager. My date then took me to my favorite restaurant, where I promptly fell down in the lobby. He hauled me back up and, once seated, I announced I could not read the menu as "there's two of everything," and demanded my date pick me out an entree. Immediately upon his placing our order, I told him I couldn't wait for the food "any longer" and requested the car keys. My date led me to the car, wisely retaining the keys, and returned from the awkward "Ah, could we get all this to go
, actually?" conversation with the waitress to find me desperately trying to start the car with an imaginary set of keys. I'm not ashamed this happened, but I am slightly ashamed to know that most folks get this kind of drunken idiocy out of their systems at 21 or 22, whereas I waited to do it until my 34th birthday. I always was a late bloomer.