Friday, August 14, 2009

No No - We Don't Talk About That

Growing up, I got "talking at inappropriate times" checked on my report card e v e r y s i n g l e 6 w e e k s, but still managed to be a tiptop student with my "terrible" conversational habits. Sooo, I would argue that if a+b=c, then a generous social life is integral to a successful education. After all, one must have balance in life. Even in 3rd grade.

I was put in Mrs. Burg's class, the same teacher my sister had two years prior (I think it's a straight up educational conspiracy to place sibs with the same teacher. It's like having a 3rd parent! Kids need a break from favoritism, ya know). My sister is an unequivocal genius. She was born an old soul, thus, my "talking at inappropriate times" and flare for the dramatic stood out like a sore thumb for Mrs. Burg who quickly became good friends with Mom trying to straighten me up before things got really bad. I even think a frontal lobotomy was suggested, but that was before they started passing out Ritalin like Vitamin C.

To add insult to injury, this was also the year I started asking about sex. Mom tried to change the subject, but I was relentless. I needed to know RIGHT THEN why I felt warm down there when Ariel kissed Prince Eric. I needed to know RIGHT THEN why laying in bed with your friends naked while playing house was all the rave, but wasn't okay with the Big People. I just needed to know. I mean, does this look like the pose of an innocent angel?
I think it was then that my precious mother realized her baby girl wasn't missing a chromosome or an extremity, but worse- I was missing a filter. I talked at inappropriate times AND I talked about inappropriate things. This would only get worse as the years wore on and I became a sassy pre-teen in middle school... then sprouted very small breasts and found my rythym in high school... then became a sexually liberated young adult at Rice, running around campus naked with other naked nerds ... and now, as a Free Spirit, I have a blog.

Now having said that -- I do have a line. Some of my friends consider it more of a "dot" per se, but it's there. And it is crossed many times on one of my favorite websites, which is probably why I go there... it makes me feel like that innocent angel I never was.


If you're not familiar with the site, it's a compilation of, get this, texts from last night. You can enter your texts and they poll readers on whether they think it was a "good night" or a "bad night". Based on the subject matter of the entries and the comments, I think the main demographic is Male and Female, 15-25. Or Male, 15-45. Some of the most hilarious (and toned-down-for-sake-of-my-timid-readers) entries include:

(562): Whatever. They have the same name, so it's not even cheating. It's brand loyalty.

(303): We just made watching Intervention into a drinking game. We drink every time someone does drugs.

(612): When I m@sturbate I pretend my %*$# is the slap chop and I'm destroying vegetables. Do you think that's an eating disorder?

Come on! I don't care who you are, those are funny. But it's definitely touch and go for me. If I read it on a good day, I'm laughing hysterically. If I read it on a bad day, I feel overwhelmed with pity for a teenage society that glorifies a complete disregard for the law, for their health and for their bodies on a regular basis. Most of the entries I think are gross have been voted on as a "good night" by thousands of site visitors and that concerns me. Then I think about my life, starting in 3rd grade, and I read something like this....

(248): Sometimes I forget to take my socks off when I m@sturbate. This always makes me feel like I'm accidentally in a p0rn.

and I just start laughing again. If apples really don't fall far from the tree, I don't know how I'll sleep through the night when I'm a parent.


joanna said...

I read every word of your first three magical entries and immediately craved more. I feel a tiny ebb to the deep unsatiated urge-for-more-ashley-in-my-life. However, as it is just a tiny ebb, expect a phone call soon :) Thanks for dropping a line-- i'm driving south from Maine in about an hour and can devote half of my brain to you... (apologies in advance to other motorists on the road at that hour).
Love love,

Anonymous said...

The line is definitely a dot to you love . . . here is to Elizabeth Gilbert . . . and more hilarious blog entries.

Janelle said...

I feel closer to you with every line!! It's making me miss you more while at the same time making me miss you less :)