Everyone seems to be shoving their 'blog URL' at me lately. I don't mind, I smile and say, "oh cool" but I really think this blog business is a bit overblown. I notice the less talented the author, the more likely the blog to be filled with mostly other peoples blog addresses and articles they lift from elsewhere. Not for me , I tell you.
No, I want that embarrassing tummyachey feeling depth of horror like only an adolescent would really understand. I think of that exhilaration of having a 'best friend' in junior high. Finding some great beautiful jackets when we both go shopping together. Wearing those jackets and being giddy in the back seat of Mom's old beater of a faded turquoise station wagon. We had no idea what waited for us at school.
Perhaps it was fate, maybe just because we looked like idiots, but it happened before we could even finish tumbling out of the wagon. It was being hooted from 20 yards away. Oh it was too late already. "Fagjackets... Fagjackets... two fags in jackets "
Mom could not hear, because that piece of a muffler was not really doing much for the old wagon. If you leaned over and looked underneath you could see the muffler had been repaired by ever clever Dad. You could make out the beer can that had been split down the side to wrap around the busted tailpipe. See the wire wrapped around the beer can patch. Would my humiliation have been more complete if the boys at school could glance under the car? Probably so.
I like that churning in the gut feeling now. But I never ever forget when it did not feel so great. Maybe that is why I transformed the feeling into something I chase constantly.
Maybe I have become a Fagjacket? Gosh the lining is so pretty too. I miss my old Fagjacket, sigh.
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2 comments:
You are a silly monkey! You are Asty's Mommy and You look like a dolly in your picture! *pinch, lick, bite, slurp, chomp*
Human how Dare you ?!? I know from whence I speak, go look it up, complain to the internet. Barbicide
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