Embarrassment
That Time I Blew a Career in Publishing and Lost a Friend
I was living in New York, having made it back after graduating from college a year earlier. (I previously lived in New York City for a year after my sophomore year, dropping out of college, not sure if I would go back.)
Steffany RitchiePublished about a year ago in Confessions'Get the Guy', 'Make Him Yours' and Other Propaganda
As a teen raised on Disney fairytales and Hollywood romcoms, I always dreamt of meeting the one. The perfect partner that ticks off all of my boxes and matches me like a piece of a puzzle. Someone I'd feel we were meant to be together with and will live happily ever after.
Autumn RosePublished about a year ago in ConfessionsThe Little Blue Box
Jim breathes in another sip of his coffee, baring hazelnut and cherry undertones. His favorite brew. “Mmmmmm.” He smiles while imagining himself in the mountains, surrounded by the quiet environment he craves beyond comprehension.
Rachel BishopPublished about a year ago in ConfessionsThat One Time In French Class
In high school, you would think meeting your soulmate would be by being exposed to a crowd, such as parties, group hangouts or house parties. I met mine in French class—a guy who has been in my class for two years. We might have exchanged hellos and fist bumps. It was a typical pandemic day where some students were exposed to the virus and had to take a two-week leave and stayed home for everyone's safety. That happened to my best friend, a girl sitting beside me. This guy then sat in the seat next to me. Surprisingly, his intent was to ask me if he could use me to cheat in class, what a classic lazy bum.
Sunshine In the StormPublished about a year ago in ConfessionsDon't Read Too Much Into This
To the guy I locked eyes with on the subway, to the lady who caught me staring at the Captain Crunch cereal box at the grocery store in aisle four, and to my mother's life mission that trips my self-esteem:
Madison RosserPublished about a year ago in ConfessionsMy boss is a peace of shit
Do you ever just try so hard, and it’s never good enough ? This is that story. My boss seems to lack personal understanding, but I mean I guess all bosses do, maybe? They are usually power hungry people with nothing better to do but to make someone feel worthless. How can I blame them anyway ? They lack some sort of intelligence, or their ego has grown immensely since they don’t know any better. Either way we can all agree it’s wrong, right ? Or am I crazy ?
Queen anonymousPublished about a year ago in ConfessionsSome More Thoughts On My Writing Difficulties
Introduction Although I publish a lot on Vocal I do have difficulties in writing, and this generates a lot of anxiety in me. I am lucky enough to be able to pull ideas and subjects almost out of the ether, to actually create a Vocal story, while I never seem to hit a writer's block I do seem to continually have the anxiety that goes with that.
Mike Singleton - MikeydredPublished about a year ago in ConfessionsThe Christmas Eve Trip to the ER
The truth is I love Christmas. I love everything about it from the decorations to the music, movies , food , spending time with my friends and most of all just all of the festivities that had to go with it. But of course there was one thing that I disliked. I hated the jarred cranberry sauce that seemed to magically appear on the table every Christmas Eve Christmas day dinner. I hated the smell, the texture, and most of all the way it fell out of the can with a plop.
Avril DoucettePublished about a year ago in ConfessionsThe Cat and the Crab
‘Twas the night before Christmas and as guests gathered round the dining table I’d gone to grab the crab. Only the crab was not alone, far from it in fact as I gazed upon Selvestee paw deep in our Christmas feast. Shouting his name briefly brought his face out of the dish, tiny chunks of crab flecking all white whiskers. Dinner was ruined, four hundred dollars worth of Snow crab flushed down the litter box and fourteen house guests waiting patiently, now only to be served sides. Everything should have been perfect for a seafood Christmas extravaganza yet here I stood in a gunslinger standoff with a punk ass cat Mac-daddying the main dish. Grabbing Selvestee and throwing him out onto the yard I survey the damage. Pulling all the meat out of the legs had been a mistake. Some pieces had hairs on them, others small nibble and teeth marks, but for the most part the cab was intact. So I had a choice; throw away a rents worth of meat and disappoint my guest or pick off the cat eaten pieces.
Lilly WagesPublished about a year ago in ConfessionsPoor Judgement Leads to Turkey Mishap
I’ve always loved the idea of hosting a dinner party and what is Thanksgiving, if not the ultimate dinner party? I practically begged my family to let me host the first year my husband and I were married. We lived in the crappiest apartment in PG County, Maryland, but I was determined to throw the best Thanksgiving ever.
Leslie WritesPublished about a year ago in ConfessionsCarp, Catholicism and Culture Clash
Carp, Catholicism and Culture Clash – A collection of Millennium Mishaps. Ever since he swept into my school cafeteria dressed like a film noire detective back in 1998, I knew I was going to marry Eoin and have his babies. He took a little longer to come around to the idea, but by the end of 1999 we were engaged and facing our first major dilemma – whose family to spend Christmas with.
Angel WhelanPublished about a year ago in ConfessionsThe Truth of Consequences
Oh, dear. Oh, dear… This is a true story, and one of those holidays that still crushes me. It was a typical Canadian Thanksgiving, meaning that it was celebrated by immigrants and took place earlier in the year than the one celebrated by our neighbours to the south. With my family, it was West Indian fare mixed in with turkey, pasta, salads, cakes and all the dishes that friends and family could bring over in the growing autumn cold. My mother was in charge of the kitchen, leading the other housewives and cousins and aunts and other female relatives whom I knew since I was a child. My father, as was common with the men in our families, had sports as a distraction on television (football and maybe hockey), or played dominoes on foldable wood and metal chairs and tables. Kids, if we were smart, had commandeered a television that was available in the basement and had our VCR ready to go with a choice of videos brought over or recently borrowed for the day (yes, the 1980s were a very different time). I would sometimes join them, but I was becoming a teenager. Most of the kids there were too young for me to play with, and the one who were older were not there (other friends and other events took over their lives). I was on my own. And I did not mind. I did not want to watch another comedy whose ending I could predict from the opening credits…or tape cover. I did not follow football or hockey (with the latter, I waited only for the playoffs), and with the kitchen, it was a no-go zone until I was called down to deliver grace and then eat. That would mean me, my room, and my guitar.
Kendall DefoePublished about a year ago in Confessions