Wednesday, February 22, 2006


The Catholic church believes that if you are truly sorry for your actions, you will be forgiven. I have a few regrets that have taken place over my life, and I feel like this thing offers enough of a catharsis for me to bring these out. Please, don't judge me too harshly.

First off, please forgive me for blatantly starting at Kristie's chest in freshman year of high school. She's a very pretty girl, and she had this one low-cut shirt. We were in computer applications and there was some boring "copy this directly" assignment out and I couldn't help it. There was no hiding it - unabashed starting at her breasts. She caught me, and I didn't know for like two seconds. I finally looked up, made eye contact with her, and had no idea what to do. She stared me down, used to it probably, with a look of "oh c'mon, you can do it better than that!" on her face. I shrank. I then looked to a computer to the left and saw my then girlfriend and thought "OMG I HOPE SHE DOESN'T FIND OUT!'

I would like to please apologize for being such a little bitch for eight years as well.

Please forgive me for dodging Tara during the 7th/8th grade dance when I was in eighth grade. There were a few problems with this dance. First, I was told by the people in my French class who were running the dance that it was a semi-formal, so as to avoid the thug gangster wigger invasion that was sure to happen (and the skanky ass girls in little skirts and spaghetti straps) . The problem was that no one was told of this semi-formal thing but me. Needless to say, I felt like a real asshole as my friends wore Rocawear while I was rocking a white button-down collared shirt. There was another kink, however, and its name was Tara.

It was the first time a girl really wanted me (except for my neighbor Kim, who at age three asked to see my pickle; I did not understand the subtle sexuality she had). The problem was that I was not really attracted to Tara. The most pressing hiccup was that I had no way how to tell her. I didn't want to be mean, and I didn't want to see her face when I told her that I wasn't interested in her womanly advances. So, I did what any reasonable person would do: I ran away from her every time I saw her. It worked for about two hours, but at the end of the night, my mom didn't pick me up in a timely manner and there was a final confrontation. She asked where I had been as she wanted to dance, I said something along the lines of "I didn't want to dance with you....or anything else, kinda." The romance died outside of the mini gym with La Bouche blasting out of the doors.

Please forgive me for getting uppity and threatening to call the cops on my mom. I had neglected to clean my room when I was around 11 years of age. Cathy got tired to asking me--then telling me--to clean, so she went in to do it herself. I tried to stop her, and was being a really mean li'l son of a gun. Eventually, I pushed her to the point where she was going to backhand me, and warned me before hand of the possiblity of the smack coming. I told her "go ahead, I dare you, I'll call the cops on you so fast and you'll be locked up." Yeah, that was really dick.

Please forgive me for treating my Uncle John poorly. My Uncle John was the youngest of the kids on my Mom's side, and was "the cool uncle" since he was always around my Grandma's house. We didn't learn until later it was because he was a recovering alcoholic and couldn't really be on his own, nor had the funds after living through a divorce (yes, living through) with his primary job as an NYC transit cop. One day, he gave me a gift of an Eric Clapton double-disc live cd. I promptly screamed "THANK YOU!!! right in his face to be funny. He recoiled, I got yelled at, and I still feel foolish.

The other thing to feel bad about was when my cousin Sue and I called him gay. It was a joke, and I don't think we even knew what being gay was (we were in like 7th and 5th grade, respectively). He took it to heart, and thought maybe the whole family thought he was gay as he hadn't brought a girlfriend around for a while. He then felt a need to bring a girl to my house as a date for Christmas. Unky John managed to bring the most annoying, unattractive woman he could have possibly found, as if to drive home the fact "not only am I not gay, but I'll show you how gay I'm not by bringing this mess around." I have never regretted a comment more, as it just led to nothing but pain.

Just recently, something occurred back home and I didn't really like it, but I never spoke out about it. The only way I can is by writing, being a scared asshole and hiding behind words on the internet. Instead, I'm writing a script loosely based on the experience because it's the only way I can try and get others to not do the same things. Please forgive me for being brave only through writings.

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