Alright, basically ever since I had the capacity to imagine, I have always wanted to publish a book. When I was six or seven I would make these little illustrated books using computer paper stapled together. I even made a series about "Marvin the Mouse," the first one being about him when he noticed a pretty girl mouse for the first time when he was 11...or around there. I even wrote and illustrated this book about a girl bunny who got mad that her mom, who was busy on the phone, wouldn't pay attention to her. So she runs away. And then gets married and lived happily ever after. I'm not sure what kind of message I was trying to get across....kinda sounds like the Little Mermaid....
Anyway, so being the clumsy person that I am, I have accumulated many a good embarrassing moments in my life. So I thought it might be fun to document them. So, I'm going to try them out on my blog, see if they're a hit, and if anything, at least I'll make my friends laugh.
So, introducing: The Angela Chronicles (Title subject to change.)
CHRONICLE #1: My Earliest Memory of Humiliation
The first time I remember actually feeling embarrassed happened when I was seven and in the 2nd grade. I had had this little game I played during recess with my male classmates, that I guess was kind of like a form of tag, only I did all the tagging. It went like this: chase boy around the field until catching him. Kiss him on the cheek as he screams in agony of obtaining girl cooties. Release. Chase new boy. Kind of amazing I remained a VL until I was 20. There was this particular boy, Frasier, that I frequently preyed upon, but eventually I decided that I had become mature enough to stop "kiss tag," and felt it my duty to let my male victims be aware. So, one cold recess day, I saw Frazier on the bright rubber-plastic play equipment and caught up to him. Our conversation went like this.
"Frazier! I don't kiss boys anymore!"
Awkward pause.
The kid gave me a weird look and responded, "I'm not Frazier."
We stared at each other. This carbon copy of Frazier was giving me a most repulsive 6-year old face, and I realized in horror that it indeed was not my kissing victim. And now this Frazier look-alike, who I had never before met, knew about my horrible Kissing Game and would now judge me of being a kissing whore. I didn't know what a whore was back then, but my feelings were something to that effect. I think I made some brilliant comeback, like "Oh..." and then we awkwardly parted. I never was able to tell the real Frazier that he would be able to freely roam the playground free of my kissing escapades. And at the end of the year, I moved to California, so there was really no need, except that Frazier never got to glory with me in my overcoming of an addictive habit. I never saw Frazier, nor any of my other kissmates, ever again. And I didn't kiss another male until 13 years later. Go figure.
Thus, the Frazier Incident became engraved in my mind as the first of an endless series of traumatic events in my life. To end the story, I recently did some facebook stalking and found who I think is the real Frazier (and hubba hubba!) He seems to be emotionally stable after recovering from 2nd grade sexual harassment and probably has no recollection of me.
...Hopefully.
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