If you’re new around here, confessions is a time for us to all unburden ourselves of the silliness we’re feeling at the moment. I share dumb things, then you share dumb things, and we all have a better day because of it.
Let’s get started!
If we eat out at a restaurant, I usually pack my own hot sauce in my purse. Some places don’t have what I want, and sometimes they charge you to make your order spicy.
And it’s never hot enough for me. At my favorite teriyaki place I say “don’t make it white girl spicy”, but they always do. They always do.
My husband Troy is a firefighter. This means he trains at work on how to save lives in really creative ways. If your car flew over a barrier and into a ravine, his crew could pull you out with some Macgyver-style rigging of who knows what.
Give them a ladder, some rope, and um, Big League Chew bubble gum and they’re coming in hot to get you to safety.
But, if your life depended on him putting our mixing bowls away correctly in the cupboard, YOU WILL DIE.
I’ve never been behind a PT Cruiser that was actually going the speed limit. Do they tell you when you purchase them that you must drive 5-10 mph below the speed limit?
We made little goodie bags for the kids in Bennett’s class for his birthday. I have a visceral reaction when he brings home all that plastic crap that will never be played with and just adds to the clutter of his room.
You know that song “Me and Bobby McGee” by Janis Joplin? There’s a line that says “windshield wipers serpentine” but I always sing out “windshield wipers turpentine”. Every dang time.
ETA: since posting this I’ve found out I’m STILL wrong about the lyrics. HA!
It drives me bananas on shows and podcasts when people say “jail” but mean “prison”. “This person did this crime and was sent to jail for 10 years”. Nooooooo, they were sent to prison for 10 years. In almost all cases, jails are only intended for people who are sentenced to fewer than 12 months.
In the same vein, nobody (even reporters) understand the difference between an EMT and a paramedic. And I also never knew until my husband became a firefighter/EMT.
For everyone in the back, listen up. An EMT is someone who has been to school for like three months, got a certificate and passed a test. A paramedic attended super-intense training for 1,200-1,800 hours, and then passed a big honking test.
When I was in high school, I worked as a receptionist at a salon that was pretty close to our high school. We accepted walk-ins, which meant people were constantly coming in to schedule a haircut.
Most of the students who came in would say “hey, you go to (name of our high school), right”? Anytime super popular students who were also jerks would come in and would ask for a haircut, I’d ask them for their name, even though I knew who they were. Watching the damaged ego look cross their face brought me more joy than I care to admit.
Have you ever seen this logo on cars or clothes before:
For the longest time, I thought it was HEDI. And then one day I was sitting behind a van that had it on the back window and all a sudden I figured it out. Doy.
Ok, friends, your turn! What do you need to confess?