Confessions Of A Play-Doh Binge Eater
In my previous years spent working as a campaign lackey, I learned a thing or two from savvy politicians. For one, if you can’t prevent A Bomb from dropping, that’s when you step in. And drop it yourself.
Yes, you drop that bomb on your terms, thereby controlling the message.
With the knowledge that childhood friends occasionally pop by my blog, I’ve anticipated there will come a day where an undesirable comment will appear and out me about something humiliating. (And I’m the only one who can humiliate me around here.)
So that’s why I’ve decided to beat them to it.
These confessions are nothing like the one I once made regarding my plagiarized story that won a writing contest. No, nothing I’d wear as a badge of honor. You’ll see these are genuinely dreadful confessions, stories no one would enjoy purging. But, with time, I hope we can move past these dark days, and you will learn to love me again, even one day vote me into public office.
Mmmmmm....is anyone else getting hungry?
1.) I ate Play-Doh. And liked it. Well past the age where it was normal for kids to be sticking nonfood substances into bodily orfices. I’ve always had a liking for salty foods, and Play-Doh gave me the fix that pretzels could never quite deliver. If around observing childhood pals, I would “accidentally” drop a glob of it on the floor. Then I’d sneak bites under the table while pretending to pick it up.
2.) I tried out for the cheerleading squad in 7th grade. And, even worse, I was mortified when I was rejected. If you know me in real life, you’d know I’m the person who mocks the “sport” and will sell myself as the plucky anti-establishment too-cool-for-school kid who pushed up against the conventional and would never want to belong to such a lame, personality-depleting cult. Not so. They just wouldn’t have me.
"Word to yo motha! Don't forget the Doritos."
4.) I maimed my dog. At age six, while my parents were vacationing
abroad, I wrapped a rubberband around my dog’s ankle to give him a “bracelet.” And I guess our babysitter didn’t recognize Bandit didn’t typically hobble like a wounded gazelle. When my parents returned, my dog required significant veterinary intervention. And then, for several weeks after that, he had to wear a plastic cone around his head to prevent him from biting off his gimpy leg.
Despite my mom’s many attempts to bait me – “What in the world, he must’ve stuck his paw in the garbage can!” – I never confessed.
5.) I was a pants-piddler. Well past the age where it was common for kids to be piddling in their pants. Oh, don’t worry. I didn’t have a bladder disease. I wasn’t born with one kidney. I wasn’t emotionally abused, outside of everyday sibling brutality. No, I was just your run-of-the-mill spaz. And apparently I laughed with all my organs. Until I had to tie a Smurf windbreaker around my waist. You’ll be pleased to know I outgrew this issue* and you will not need to roll up the rugs in your house before I enter.
[*My husband might comment about a past incident that involved him singing a spirited rendition of the theme song to Good Times, specifically the moment he threw back his head and delivered the show-stopping line “Temporary layoffs…” This is pure fabrication.]
6.) I made up a boyfriend. In 8th grade, despite having had boyfriends, I was terrified of swapping spit with them and avoided all chances of doing so. So, rather than being left behind by my friends, I concocted a make out partner. Yes, I met “Corey” while on vacation with my parents. “While staying at a Holiday Inn.” And we might’ve “made out” a bit “near the Holidome foosball table.” And, come to think of it, that creepo “never called me.” Perhaps his parents wouldn’t let him make long-distance calls from his home in Complete Bullshitland.
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***Paid for by Angie Z. for Play-Doh Consumer Council.***
Ok, so you sell me out on Facebook and I don’t even get the drop on you with this stuff? (actually I only knew about #4) That’s unfair, sis. Just remember your birthday is coming and I’m leaning towards hand delivering a case of deluxe, atomic noogies.
I will not accept or sign for those.
I hope your mom doesn’t read your blog? (poor doggie!)
Interesting about your play-doh eating..I still catch my daughter sneaking off and coming back with bright pink play-doh stained lips. Good to know one grows out of this affliction. (you did grow out of it, didn’t you?)
Fortunately, he fully recovered. I don’t know that I did. I was certain at that very moment I would be beamed straight down to hell.
To answer your question, are you talking the homemade kind? If not, the answer is yes.
I have made the kool-aid kind at home. My kids love orange. (I love the chocolate, helps to curb my cravings!)
I feel like you’re writing this in a foreign language. You’re telling me there is a playdough recipe that exists that is meant to be eaten? With no shame involved?
Now that I think of it, I also remember you begging mom to purchase Pepsodent toothpaste and then watching you eat it like frosting. And you ate that flavored Lip Smackers lip balm in the little gold tins. Oooo! And you and Katie ate grass, I believe.
None of this sounds familiar. I don’t have a very good memory.
Pa-DOW! Found em. Is the mouth starting to water??
http://images.thriftyfun.com/images/database/tff40837498.jpg
Holy cow, where do I find those??? I mean, I have chapped lips is all.
Do you remember mom making homeade play-doh? It was this lovely shade of mint green.
Yes! Knowing Mom, she didn’t want to waste too much food coloring. So that’s likely why our homemade playdough was always in pastel shades.
haha, this had me laughing out loud often! Sounds like a troubled childhood, with no Doritos and all. Thanks for sharing your stories, I feel much better about myself now :) Haha.
Yes, definitely fell on some hard times when the Doritos were gone! I could relate to the plight of Orphan Annie and her bowl of mush.
Beyond brilliant. I was laughing the moment I read the title.
Why neither of us are billionaire authors living in Barbie-style mansions with our husband’s faces surgically altered to look like Shaun Cassidy is beyond me.
Yes, about that…sometime I’ll have to talk with you about a fabulous opportunity called “Operation Coattails.” The “fabulous opportunity” part relates only to me, but I thought you might want to know about it since it involves your coattails.
This is what I call a Brave Blog. I often wonder, if I admitted to my atrocities, would anyone notice?
Good job!
Les
Thanks, Les! Well, it depends on what those “atrocities” are. If one of them involves pants-piddling, people might notice, sure. Perhaps on their living room chaise.
You had me at, “temporary layoffs.” Actually, I laughed the whole way through this one. Just like the others. Love ‘em, Angie!
When you wrote “had me,” I’m guessing you didn’t mean it in the same way that Temporary layoffs allegedly “had me.” Thanks for stopping by, Mary!
I love the detail in your lie about the 8th grade boyfriend. If you had just said you met him on vacation, I’d never have believed you, but it takes an experienced B.S.-er to add the idiosyncrasies of a Holiday Inn and a Foosball table.
Experienced B.S.er, yes! (Takes one to know one.) I actually thought I was being rather “obvious” with that lie. I thought everyone made out next to the Holiday Inn foosball table in junior high. Not so?
If said incident above did actually happen, your husband would be forced to note that the piddling didn’t happen with the “Temporary Layoffs” line but the “Easy Credit Ripoffs” line, which was delivered with all the necessary flair it deserved…and then resulted in said reaction.
Excuse me, do I know you?
Mark is obviously passionate about easy credit rip-offs. No doubt he has been doing research.
That sounds about right.
Tony – I have a reverse mortgage business opportunity I’d like to talk to you about. You just need to get 2 people under you, then they get 2 people to buy in under them. It’s quite simple, really.
Yes, and then we have a work-from-home opportunity we need to tell you about as well. It’s easy. First you need to buy a candle-making kit. Over time, after you sell enough candles to your friends, you will earn back that money times fifty. Which will then go to more wax and so on.
Does it involve beachfront property in Lincoln?
No, Burwell. Are you in?
I love the fact you made up stories for your diary! Why didn’t I think of that? Great confessions! Here’s mine: http://jessseeker.wordpress.com/2012/01/26/the-true-confessions-of-me-aged-29-and-a-little-bit/
Thanks — I was a true master when it came to being devious. I see your confession that you sometimes eat your way through a Pringles can, and I raise you one weekly binge on jalapeno kettle-cooked potato chips. Amazing.
Who doesn’t love a little play-doh binge now and again??
Ah, validated at long last! Thank you for that!
I love this blog! Glad I found it! Love froma 70′s baby!
Nicki Jay
PS…..following u thru the decades!
Thanks, Nicki — the ’70s were the best! I cried real tears when Robin Gibb died.
It’s the end of an era my friend. :(
Nicki