The Chihuahua Symphony (as Conducted by Dracula) - i of iii

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The Chihuahua Symphony (as Conducted by Dracula) - i of iii


A tale of a crazy teacher, four yippy dogs, and my artistic beginnings

Fabrication quotient: 1 of 10
Exaggeration quotient: 2 of 10
                                                                                                                         


Once upon a time,

There was a boy who may or may not have been me.

When you were in elementary school - music class was the WORST.  Everyone hated going to music.  You would march to the classroom in a single file, sit in these chairs that were super uncomfortable, and Mrs. J - who was probably the meanest woman you had ever met at that age - would make you read books filled with pictures of quarter notes, half notes, and other colorless pictures designating the rhythms to such childhood hits as "Old MacDonald".  Mrs. Judkins would also make you sit in silence for indeterminate amounts of time, and would pull a "bad card" from her little mini file cabinet of students if you tipped back in your chair.  I remember this because if you had a bad card pulled, she would AUTOMATICALLY send you to the principal's office.  I always thought she punished kids that didn't deserve it. 

I, however, loved to sing, and for this,  Mrs. J adored me, thanks to my golden vocals and blonde-haired brown noser tendencies.  "I just LOVE 'The Music Man' and 'Annie', Mrs. J.  Can we watch them again?"

She loved me so much, I tipped in my chair all the time and never got sent to the office.
                                                                                                                         

The Squeezing Vagina Story - Part 1

a true story of great sex, denial, bad sex, and hulking fathers (in that order).

Exaggeration quotient: 4 out of 10
Fabrication quotient: 2 out of 10
                                                                                                                                           

Once upon a time,

There was a boy who may or may not have been me.

I remember one of my first days in middle school when I was standing in the lunch line.  Some short fat kid who was incredibly popular was standing in front of me.  He had ridiculously curly hair.  It was also jet black, and brown freckles covered his face.  In any other universe besides the vortex that is the southwestern corner of Penn's woods, this kid would be labeled a mega-nerd.  But no, in my school, this kid was royalty.  Oh, adolescent ironies.  (This kid would eventually disappear from my life and re-appear a few years later in high school after losing an inhumane amount of weight, which is great.  I can't remember his fucking name, though.)

Anyway, this day was important to the story I'm about to tell, because it was one of the first days of my true sexual education.  I was a golden child when I was younger.  Church every Sunday, straight A's, sucked up to every single teacher in that stuck up, brown-noser way that makes other children jabber about how that kid falls into three categories: 1) He must come from a well-off family. 2) He was a pussy. 3) He was gay.