For any of you still in school, and under parental care, just cover your eyes now. This information will only lead you on a slippery slope of deception and mayhem.

Backstory: Over appetizers and wine with Warrior Woman, we were telling stories to one another about our younger days. WW interjected frequently about each topic being blog material, but when I told her this one, I ran and wrote it down. I knew I would use it.

I was always a good student. My marks and class participation were good, I enjoyed reading, and I had insight that allowed me to giggle at the naughty bits in some of Shakespeare’s plays. The principal, who also taught senior English, answered my giggles with a huge twinkle in his eye. We were the only two that got it. He also gave me a 100% mark on my senior essay exam, which I think was to discuss imagery and some other stuff in MacBeth.

My mildly amusing but OCD stepmother hated writing excuses to cover absences from school, so I devised a system that made it easier for her. I would write the body of the note, and have her read and sign it.

What she didn’t know was that I never submitted those excuses. Instead, I wrote in my own handwriting my note and forged her signature. Then, when I wanted to jig* school, I could word my own excuse and forge the signature so all submitted excuses looked similar. My handwriting in body of note, forged stepmother’s signature.

Genius.

My brother, Mr.Trick? Not so genius. Or maybe just lazy. He would only forge the note and signature when he was up to no good. I think his girlfriend had introduced him to pot, and maybe he didn’t think things through.

Eventually, the principal noticed the discrepancies in signatures on his notes. Because he only forged when he had to. Doofus. What did my formerly favourite brother do?

He ratted me out.

The principal examined all of my notes, which matched. He didn’t believe rat boy. I wasn’t even called to the office.

Rat boy was so mad that he couldn’t take me down with him. Ungrateful bugger. Serves him right for stealing my idea and executing it sloppily.

*jigging school was the vernacular for playing hookey.

I was out to blow the stink off me on Saturday past. It was a very cold day, but preferable to today, where it is raining with the big wind.

I was accompanied by Warrior Woman, and on the bus ride I made a few observations, which prompted her to ask if I would blog about it. Since anything is blog fodder, I said not only could I blog about it, but she could too, and they would be totally different in tone, detail, and emphasis.

When she asked me how to set up a blog, I wondered why, because she doesn’t talk a lot. Turns out she has plenty to say. And? She says it well. I like that in a woman.

I have to confess I have a thing about riding the bus. Not a good thing either. I’m a bit of a germophobe, and the bus just makes me want to wash my hands. Immediately.

As we sit down, I notice immediately opposite me a man who is mining for nose nuggets. Of course, he was going to touch everything possible, and he did. He isn’t the only one who I see doing that kind of thing. There are more fools sneezing INTO THEIR HANDS than I care to count. And they all do it on the bus, I swear. Then they touch things.

One thing I like about winter: gloves.

So booger man leaves. Across from me are now two people, not together. They should be, because they both have the same dead look in their eyes. What? Am I the only person who looks in people’s eyes? Dead, I tell you. The woman, well, I suspected by her sniffing that she had more than a cold making her eyes dead. I think a drug habit would account for both affects. Plus she had some growly, hateful vibe rolling off her.

The man didn’t seem to be on drugs. I think the dead-eye action could be despair. As in: Forty years old, and still riding the frickin bus.

There are the crazies, the old and lonely,(they usually sit up front because the driver will talk to them) and then there are the teens. In couples, all snuggly and giggly. In packs of same sex riders, usually a lot of loud, inappropriate talk. They’re kids. Let them be happy and obnoxious. They don’t care, and they’re too young to drive.

But let me tell you. When that bus has puked me up to my destination, I am a happy camper to get off.

And then I go and wash my hands. Immediately.

You can go shopping without going near a bus. Right here. Depending on how disgusting your keyboard is, you may have to wash your hands afterwards.

I was toying with the idea of giving this to the award winning commenter Old Knudsen,just to see how many of these he was willing to slap up on his site. But that would be wrong of me, and all others would abandon hope of ever acheiving his stellar comment status.

This week’s award goes to Bluebella, who added nicely to the discussion of my post with her own experiences.

I’m with you on this one witchpoo . . .reincarnation really seems to be the only answer as far as I’m concerned. You know that feeling where you know someone too well to instantly to not have known them before in a former life?
I’ve not had an experience as vivid as yours, just a very longing, lonesome feeling as a child like the adult I had been didn’t know what to do again as a child.

This award is courtesy of Loralee at Loralees Looney Tunes and should look nice with your blog design.

And in other news, Warrior Woman asked me yesterday how to start a blog, and looky here! She did! And a mighty fine voice she has. Check it out.

Six quirky things about me: Tagged by Cookiebitch, who says she has a face for radio.

• Even though my mom died in 2005, I still avoid stepping on sidewalk cracks. “Step on a crack, you break your mother’s back” I hear her in my head laughing at me when I avoid them. I don’t mind mom in my head at all. Do you find that creepy? I miss her, I’ll take what I can get. *wiping eyes*
• I still eat some form of bread with Jello, or canned fruit, because when I was a kid, mom made our meals stretch by filling us up with bread. “Eat bread with it” lives on, even after she has died. The only difference is I only buy or make whole grain/whole wheat breads.
• I never read for myself, and seldom get anyone to do a reading for me. I like surprises. Except where it involves money. Then I like happy surprises.
• In the summertime, I like to put green streaks in my blonde hair. They’re fun, and make me insanely happy. I don’t know why.
• I can’t reproduce a musical note. When Dances with Shrapnel was about two, I used to sing to him, until he put his hands over his ears and screamed “DON’T SING!!!!” It hurt my feelings because I didn’t think someone that young would be able to ridicule my singing. When I was begged by Ass Burger Boy to go Christmas Caroling with him, I was so humiliated, I had to explain that mom has a very, very, bad singing voice. I wish I had thought of lip-synching.
• I like to make up words, and have my own nicknames for other people’s pets. It drives Warrior Woman crazy that her cats, Salem and Luna, are referred to as Satan and Looney. Another friend who does not want to be identified had two adolescent sibling kittehs, which I promptly dubbed “Heckle and Jeckyl”, a nickname that only old people would get. Sometimes, people like the nicknames so much that they start to refer to their pets by my nickname for them. Score!

Fascinating, I know. Sorry. If there were two of me, I would call myself Lame and Lamer.

Now for the lucky tagees: No need to thank me, really.

• Because I want to know something more personal about her, ALF
• She says that memes fill her with happiness. I am about to become her happiness fairy. I hit Candy lightly bonking her with my magic wand. On the head. Get your minds out of the gutter.
• Of course, Zoe, who really doesn’t have enough to do what with taking her oldest son to medical appointments all the time and looking after three other kids when she isn’t at work. I heart her.
• Because he has the vilest tags for memes, and abhors them, and because if you follow his link, you will most likely see vile images,but lots of funny, I dub Old Knudsen
• He dreams of populating the world with genuine bloggers.Jeremy
• I would like to know more about him. He wrote about bacon. Funny, but not personal. Ten