C4w. I feel your pain.
4th grade. The dragon lady puts a paper on the door of her classroom encouraging students to write "things that are green" in honor of St Patrick's day. At some point she storms into the room, snarling like the rabid cow that she was.....demanding to know who had done it....done what you ask, as I did at the time.
As she stamped across the room towards my desk she ululated " someone....(looking at me) wrote "a booger" on the things that are green board. I will have a confession or no one goes on the fir,d trip or ever has enjoy,net in their life again". It is worse than after flick comes in after the flag pole. The class is restless. It's obvious she thinks I did it. The class is unsettled and stammering whispers iof "admit it" checker the room. The uterus of doom obviously thinks I did it, kids are starting to assume I did it.....so to save the team, I confess to a crime I did. It commit.
The wicked witch of 4th grade rips me from my chair by the ear and arm and essentially pummels me across the room, pushes me outside and begins to slam me against the door several times as she screams gibberish about how terrible I was and that I had ruined the holiday in which we stereotype the Irish for everyone. Worst person ever! Destined to fail...
I spend the next hour standing in front of the door, scribbling over the dreaded "a booger" text. Do you know what happens when you scribble on the same 3 cubic inches with a green marker for an hour? It breaks through the paper and then you spend a couple of recesses cleaning the spot on the door.
The sonnabitch who did it never confessed, they could have at least thrown the standard jawbreaker candy apology my way.
To this day I hope her vagina fell out. Innocent. I should seek reparations.
2 short years later, the jelly belly caper.....but at least my friends did that and I was there.
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Iowanian, you didn't happen to get dragged to the principals office in 6th grade by the ear by Mrs. Watts? Or get accused of stealing money out of the UNICEF box in 4th grade?
Story:
1970.
I am just over 1. We are going to church in a 63 Ford. Dad, mom, my sister (6) and I are in the front seat. I am sitting on my sisters lap.
Stopped at a corner, dad looks for oncoming traffic, moms head gets in the way. Dad pulls out and gets t-boned by another car. I am assuming the car is traveling well over 60 because there was no speed limit. We had no seat belts (not required then) and no car seats.
Sister and I lunge forward hitting the dash and both sustained massive concussions. The car spun, and at one time was told I spun out of the car. (don't think that happened)
Dad gave me mouth to mouth, as well as the person that lived on the corner.
To me, I should not be here today. As far as I know, no lasting effects other than my right eye is not the greatest. They never talked about the crash.
Mom and dad are both gone now. Mom lost her fight two weeks ago. Some of you may remember me talking about her.
Been a bitch of a two years.
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This was the first one that I ever wrote (and saved)...way back in 2006:
One of My Babysitters Became a Stripper
http://ricoswaff.com/blog1/?p=33
One random weekend night about 5 years ago, my friend Poff, some other dude I didn’t really know and I journeyed across the Mississippi River to the bars in East Dubuque, Illinois after the Iowa bars closed. For Iowans who reside on the Eastern border of the state, bar close is 2:00 AM, but if you are not finished partying by the time the bars close in Iowa, you have the opportunity to cross the Mississippi River to Illinois where there will generally be a small podunk town which primarily consists of nightclubs and strip-joints that stay open until 5 or 6 in the morning. East Dubuque, Illinois is an example of one of these podunk towns across the Mississippi from Dubuque, IA (Northeast Iowa), which is where I went to college. Gulfport, Illinois is an example of one of these podunk towns across the Mississippi River from Burlington, Iowa (Southeast Iowa), which is the general region where I grew up and currently reside.
When we arrived at the East Dubuque bar strip, Poff wanted to go to a strip club. I was annoyed. I admit, for a party-hardy inclined, social, sexually active male in my 20′s, I have an unusual opinion regarding strip clubs. I don’t like them. Straight up. If you ever catch me at a strip club, then the only reason I am there is because someone who I was hanging out with that night wanted to go. It is never my suggestion to go to a strip club.
Why don’t I like strip clubs? A variety of reasons. I experience an array of unpleasant thoughts whenever I am in one.
The first and most consistently present thought that crosses my mind is ”man, I hope I don’t have a daughter who becomes a stripper.” Nothing personal against all you stripper whores out there. Make that money how you want to, if you want to. I just don’t want to be the father of a daughter who turns out like you. I would want to beat the shit out of every single dude that had my daughter’s boobs in their face.
Another thing that bugs me is the people you see while you are there. I hate observing uncomfortable, awkward and blatant displays of loneliness and creepiness. This is something you are destined to encounter at a strip club. And it baffles me that there seriously are dipshits out there who are so sex-deprived, desperate and/or sex-addicted that they eagerly throw down wads of cash….JUST TO GET SOME BOOBS IN THEIR FACE. I just…never really thought of getting boobs in my face as a difficult task by any means. I surely wouldn’t pay for it, when I know damn well I can get it for free if I want to. You want boobs in your face so badly that you are losing money over it? Well, a solution to that would be growing a pair and learning how to spit some game. And if you feel you are too ugly for your “game” to work, then either use your pair and hit the weights or start running or tanning or something and maintain your hygiene, OR swallow your damn pride and lower your standards and spit some game to a girl who you evaluate as being as ugly as you. You just might hit the jackpot and get some boobs in your face for free.
When I am in a strip club, I also start nitpicking the hygiene/sanitary issues that I frequently notice. I am always thinking, “God damn, some of these strippers don’t wash their tits after smothering them in these dudes’ faces!? And to make things worse, most of these pecker-heads’ greasy faces make it appear as if they took a Vaseline shower before they arrived.” So basically, when you pay a stripper a dollar or whatever to put her boobs in your face, you are not only getting a face full of boobs, you are also getting soaked with a concoction of facial and head grease from tons of these creepy dudes who got the boobs in their faces prior to you.
The beer is also more expensive in strip clubs. That pisses me off.
So with all that said, strip clubs make me feel depressed and if you EVER see me in one, I am probably pouting and pissed off that I am even there.
HOWEVER, one time I did have a very funny, memorable experience at a strip club……..
So we strolled into this now vacant East Dubuque strip club called “Diamond Jim’s”, and this decent looking stripper immediately approaches me and says with enthusiasm, “OMG, I SO know you!!!!” I replied with, “yeah, I have one of those familiar faces. Everyone seems to have a friend who looks like me.” And she was like “no, I like seriously like, KNOW YOU!!! I haven’t seen you in about 15 years, you are “Rico” (she actually said my real first and last name, not “Rico.”) and you are from Mediapolis, Iowa!!”
Considering the fact that Mediapolis has a whopping population of almost 2000 people, and it is located 2 and a half hours South of East Dubuque, my eyes were officially opened. I was shocked and very curious at this point. I inquired, “ummmm…how the hell do you know me?!?!” She replied, “just look at me closely and try to remember.”
I looked her up and down while she stood there with a beaming smile on her face, in her flossy little red thong and her tiny matching bra for about 45 seconds before it finally hit me. She was my babysitter when I was 4 through 6 years old. I loved it when she babysat me because even back then I thought she was pretty cute. I probably used to pop little mini-boners when she babysat me. Most of all though, she was a total sweetheart. She was extremely nice to us. She wasn’t like the awful babysitter before her, who forced my brother and I to gargle and swallow Dawn dish soap, simply because we asked her when our parents were coming home, which distracted her for she was trying to pay close attention to the Phil Donahue Show. (Oh man, did my parents get pissed…she’s scared of my dad to this day). But no, this babysitter, the one who is now currently a stripper….she was cool shit. (Just to clarify: for those of you who know me well and remember who some of my babysitters were back in the day, I will tell you one thing about this stripper’s identity; It was NOT Tanya Fisher. Thats the only clue I will give you).
When I came to this realization, I was like “holy shit, I totally remember you!! It’s so nice to see you!!! It’s been so long!!!” And it was nice to see her. I genuinely liked her when I was a kid. She was one of my favorite babysitters we ever had. I always wondered how she was doing…
So the genuine thrill of seeing this person who I thought highly of, who I hadn’t seen in 15 years made a quick transition from excitement to intense awkwardness, especially when I asked her how her life had been turning out since the last time I had seen her… as shes standing right in front of me in lingerie, about to strip for 50 greaseballs at a rinky-dinky strip club in a podunk Western Illinois town. I mean, shit, did I really need to ask?
According to our conversation, she indicated that she has had her ups and downs in life, but at the moment she really wasn’t feeling too bad about the way things were going. She did however mention being a bit embarrassed that she encountered a kid she used to babysit at that particular employer of hers.
After a few minutes of chit-chatting with her about our lives, families, etc. the announcer of the club shouted her name. It was her turn to strip onstage. However, he elaborated a bit by saying, “this girl is having a special night tonight, for the boy in the black shirt she is talking to right now is a boy she used to babysit!” Everyone in attendance began laughing, whooping, hollering and applauding.
I wondered how the announcer knew this was going on and was informed by Poff later that night that he chimed in on my old babysitter and I’s conversation and as soon as he discovered what was going on, he thought, “THIS IS AWESOME!” ran in bee-line fashion to the strip club announcer to inform him of this unusual encounter.
So earlier in this post, I made it very clear earlier that I don’t like strip clubs and never pay the strippers to do anything to or for me while I am in one. When I am in a strip club, I am basically a fuddy-duddy drinking over-priced beer, counting the minutes until we move on and get to the next thing. But this situation was different. Much different. My freaking babysitter, who I thought was a hottie since I was 5 freaking years old was employed at this strip club and about to do her thing.
I felt an exception to my usual strip club behavior was completely justified in this situation. I remember thinking “holy shit, she’s about to go on stage. I totally have a chance to get my ex-babysitter’s boobs in my face!!! A chance of a ****ing lifetime!!!” I mean seriously, I probably wanted her boobs in my face when I was a little kid and there I was, age 22, with the opportunity staring me right in the face.
So what did I do? Did I buy a Budweiser for $5, find a seat in the back and pout while simultaneously tormenting myself with an array of depressing thoughts? **** NO!!! As soon as she took the stage, I instantly sat down in one of those pimped out Zebra-stripe colored chairs in the front row and my former babysitter went straight up stripper-crazy on me. Not only did she put her boobs in my face, but she pulled her thong down, flashed me her crotch and fiddled with herself a mere few inches away from my face. And I didn’t even have to pay. She whispered to me that because of who I was, I received a “special deal.” I even got a free lap-dance from her afterwards. It seemed like she wanted to do it, which I thought was a tad weird, but hey, I took it with pleasure!
That was the only pleasurable experience I have ever had at a strip club.
Speaking of her, it’s been about 5 years since that happened. I wonder how she’s doing these days?
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