And for the record, I swallow. Why start a job if you're not going to finish it, AM I RIGHT?

Before we get to today's post, a happy Fibromyalgia Awareness Day to one and all! My mom has Fibromyalgia—a really shitty chronic-pain syndrome for which there's no cure—and it's a total fucking drag on her. So, you know, be aware. I SUPPORT YOU, MOM! I support you in the same blog post entitled, "For the record, I swallow. Why start a job if you're not going to finish it, AM I RIGHT?" I am...something to be proud of. Hugs!


Greetings from the guest bedroom in my parent's house! Or as I call it, "the raped carnage of what used to be my childhood room, now decorated in Ikea furniture, soft pastels and broken dreams." But what's in a name? I have a doctor's appointment at the ass-crack of dawn (read: 9:15) tomorrow (read: today) morning and there's no way in hell I'd make it if I couldn't roll out of bed and directly into my mom's car with a sippy cup full of coffee waiting for me, so here I am. 25 years young. Don't judge me.

I was having dinner tonight with Jill, Anna, Talia and Ruby and we gots-to-talking about my recent post about middle school and specifically Anna gots-to-talking about how she had no idea middle school was so hard for me and how sad it made her. I assured her that save for the occasional whiff of chamomile tea, Clinique "Happy", Stridex pads and Noxema, I rarely—if ever—think about middle school and I swear to Jah I've totally moved on and let go. In fact, that blog post was my way of demonstrating to myself that yes, although wholly traumatic and on par with being Boss #1's tampon five days a month, every month, I can look back on the experience, laugh and know that I'm a better person because of it. CUE HUG! (I swear it was a platonic hug, mom.) (Slash, I don't know. She might have grabbed my ass, who can remember?) (But it was a platonic ass-grabbing.) (DAMNIT! TODAY IS YOUR DAY! I'm sorry. I'll stop with my faux-lesbianism.) (I heart dudes. DIRTY STYLE.) (http://www.nfra.net/default.htm)

We then spent the night drinking wine and reminiscing about wacky high school times and when a party at a certain young man's house was brought up, I suddenly stopped laughing, got quiet and slumped down in my chair. Everyone else went on about what a crazy party he threw and how the cops came and everyone ran and groins were electrocuted trying to climb over the electric fence encircling his house and LOLZ! OH, HIGH SCHOOL! But, eeeeeeeeesh...didn't he die a few years ago?

I couldn't keep it in any longer.

"Um, remember my blog post about middle school?" I asked.


"Well...there was a story I was going to write about because it exemplifies the god-awfulness that was my middle school experience better than any other story I could ever tell, but I didn't think it was appropriate because it involved said party host. And, you know, he tragically died and whatnot."

They pressed me to hear it, so I got out the reserve bottle of Embarrassing Middle School story that I'd been saving—a vintage '96—uncorked it, poured them each a tall glass and by god, they savored it until the very last drop.

"You have to tell that story," they told me.

"I can't tell that story! It makes the kid look like an asshole! And he died!" Jill then made the completely valid point that even assholes die and Ruby suggested I pop in the fail-safe "SCH—" prefix before his name and just go with it. Which sounds like a pretty air-tight plan to me, frankly. So, without further ado, I give you the all-around tragic story of Meg McBlogger and Schmonny Schmuntes. RIP.

Picture it: The year was 1996. The setting? Mrs. Batista's second period 6th grade social studies class at Farhqueer Middle School. It was a breezy and warm May morning and Little Meglet sat at her desk in her powder blue Airwalk sneakers, aqua-marine board shorts and neon yellow Joe Boxer baby tee with nary a training bra to her name (despite the ample need for one), all lost in a thought, as Little Meglets often are. (And if I were a betting woman, I'd bet dollars to donuts that thought pertained to American Girl Dolls and if 11-years-old is too old to brush their hair on a nightly basis—answer: yes—but I'm not and that's not the point. So, let's move on. And in the first-person.)

Mrs. Batista's 6th grade social studies class was made up of about four tables, accommodating approximately six students each, lined up in rows around the class. As fate would have it, Schmonny Schmuntes sat across from me at my table.

One day I was zoning out, half listening to Mrs. Batista and half thinking, "if I had a horse, what would I name him?" or some equally homely, when Schmonny Schmuntes tapped me on the arm and said, "Hey."

"Yeah?" I asked.

"Do you spit or do you swallow?" Hand to god, that's what he asked me.

And I'm going to remind you again that it was 1996. I was 11-years-old. I had no fucking clue what the internet was, nevertheless what it meant to spit or swallow. I just knew that it was probably not Kosher and defiantly going to make me look like a jackass in the end.

"Uhhhh...what?" I asked.

"I said, do you spit or do you swallow?"


"HEY! I asked you a question. So you better answer me. Do you spit or do you swallow?"

My eyes darted from him to the clock and seeing that I was struggling, Schmeather Schnaughton aka Schmessica Schmith's best friend and partner in (white trash) (what—who said that?!) crime, of all people, came to my defense and said, "You're disgusting, Schmonny! Leave her alone, she obviously doesn't know what you're talking about!"

Now, that was a good out. That was an out I could have been proud of. An out to tell my grandkids about. I should have taken it. Schmeather Schnaughton was pretty much the most popular girl in our grade and if she told Schmonny to back off, he had to back off. But, desperately wanting to seem like I knew what they were talking about, I jumped in and said, "No, no. I mean, I know what you're talking about, I just don't want to answer you."

"See!" Schmonny told Schmeather, "She knows what I'm talking about! So let her answer! Do you spit or do you swallow?"

I looked at Heather for help and she kind of looked back at me like, "Alright hot-tits; enlighten us." I had to make a choice. Did I spit or did I swallow? And this was a difficult choice, mind you, as I obviously had no earthly idea what the fuck we were talking about. I thought back to a few girls in my neighborhood and how they sometimes spat on the sidewalk after smoking cigarettes and looked really badass doing it, so I haphazardly made my choice.

"I, uh...I spit," I said with a wince.

"OHHHHH, HAHAHAHAH! SHE SPITS! WHAT A SLUT! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHA SHE SPITS!" Schmonny said as he literally extended a chubby little finger and pointed and laughed at me. I turned lobster-red and wanted to crawl out of my skin and die. Schmeather yelled at him for being gross again and he eventually stopped, but the damage had been done. Meg McBlogger spits.

But it gets worse...

That night at dinner when my parents asked me and Becca how our days at school were, still not knowing the fuck anyone was talking about, I said, "Ugh, this kid Schmonny Schmuntes would not leave me alone today in social studies! He kept asking me if I spit or swallow!"

A 16-year-old Becca dropped her fork and shook her head slowly in mortification (not so much for what happened that day at school, but mostly I think for having just said "spit or swallow" in front of my parents in reference to my 11-year-old self) and my mom shrieked, "OH MY GOD! THAT'S DISGUSTING! He can't ask you that! That's foul! Do you even know what that means?!"

"Yeah...I mean, no, yeah, he can't ask me that, I mean it was totally gross, like who asks that, you know?!" I stammered, still not know what in the sick fuck I was supposed to be spitting or swallowing.

But it gets even worse...

A few days later, I was sitting in social studies across from Schmonny, painfully moderating the swallowing of my saliva just to be safe when Mr. Lawson, our school's resident crack-smoking, odd-as-fuck guidance counselor sauntered in and told Mrs. Batista—in front of the entire class, mind you—that he needed to see Meghan McBlogger and Schmonny Schmuntes in his office right now. Yes, that's right: my mom called and told the god damn guidance counselor what happened.

So all three of us—me, Mr. Lawson and Schmonny Schmuntes—proceeded to sit down and spend the next half an hour discussing all of the grossly in-depth reasons why it was so inappropriate was for Schmonny to ask me if I spit or swallow. And that was an eye-opener, to say the least. Then Mr. Lawson asked Schmonny Schmuntes how he'd like it if someone asked his sister if she spits or swallows and no, he wouldn't like that at all. So with that, he was forced to turn to me, look me in the eyes and say, "Meghan McBlogger, I am very sorry that I repeatedly asked you if you spit or swallow. It was inappropriate and I will never do it again." And then we were forced to shake hands. We were forced to shake fucking hands.

But it still gets worse...

Schmonny Schmuntes' punishment wasn't just to picture his sister choking on a hot load of cum, apologize and shake my hand. No, Mr. Lawson went on to inform Schmonny that because of his behavior, he wasn't allowed to go on the big end-of-the-year 6th grade class field trip to the water park; he'd have to stay in the library and study. And let me tell you something: that trip was a big fucking deal. And the fact that a popular kid like Schmonny couldn't go? That was an even bigger fucking deal. And the fact that he couldn't go because he got in trouble for repeatedly asking me if I spit or swallowed? Biggest fucking deal. And a deal that didn't really help me be "cool" or win any "friends" either.

And then he died in a car accident in 2003.

And while the entire community mourned because it was obviously a tragedy, .0000002% of me couldn't help but feel slightly vindicated that the person who caused me so much anxiety over my cum handling technique at the tender age of 5-seconds-old, had died. And for the babillionth time, yes, I am aware that I'm a horrible person.

And now you know.



Anonymous said...

The cause of your negative feelings is the fact that you're thinking about an incident that is over.
We are in charge of the way we feel.

-Southeast Asian Island Girl

Rayanne Graff said...

"Schmonny Schmuntes' punishment wasn't just to picture his sister choking on a hot load of cum, apologize and shake my hand."

That is just beautiful. Well done.

Grant said...

Thanks for making me squirm in my chair at 7:50 in the morning. Real eye-opener. Yeesh.

Talia said...

wow i think that story got even better than 2nd time, I didn't even think that was possible.. hope you get up at the god awful hour of 9, when ive been up since 6! bhahaha love you, let's do last night again!!

Unknown said...

1) THRILLED that I was mentioned by name in that story

2) my childhood room has also been raped by pastels and IKEA furniture.

3) you are amazing and I agree with Talia that its even better to hear that story the 2nd time around


Anonymous said...

WELL, Meg, let me tell you- there was this kid I went to school with who would torment my sister to the extreme of actually telling her she should go kill herself because no one liked her, and when he died, I thought, "Welp, one less ass hole in the world."

Of course, his death involved a cliff, some acid and a loosely rooted tree.

Funny how things work out.

Katie said...

I'm about 3 years older than you, but I feel even older now, because I'm having a "those kids today" moment, but not quite. No one I knew was even remotely aware of spitting/swallowing when I was 11. That year someone told me that when people have sex the penis goes INSIDE the vagina and I called her a dirty liar. So yeah. I guess I was sheltered.

Anonymous said...

So much awesome, so much ewww.

And by the by, with my partner swallowing would amount to suicide - the load from that lad is, well, unnatural.

So spit it is.

britty said...

Looks like Shmonny Schmuntes had a habit of doing fun things like that. There was an incident in 5th grade where he asked me something repeatedly (something along the lines of "do you give IT"?) and I got fed up and said "Fuck You!" for the first time in my little 10 year old life. Then he threatened to tell the teacher what I said so I ran to the bathroom crying. Once in the bathroom I ran into Schtephanie Schpewitt who said "don't worry, "fuck" only means SEX." WHAT? That was too much for me to handle. I cried for the rest of the day and needless to say, I'm not sure if I'm over it.

I've gotta say, was thrilled to turn him down when he asked me out in eighth grade.

Susan said...

i can relate so well. i remember being grilled on my knowledge of G-strings in the sixth grade.

also fourth-grade amber (whose last name i can't remember; i would so call that bitch out right here, right now if i could) who threatened to break my arm who i commented about last week? my mom totally called the school about her to, which in retrospect thank god because the teacher intervened at the last minute... this is an entirely different story.

but the worst part is i DISTINCTLY remember complaining about amber to my middle school teacher aunt at a later date, and how scared i was of her, and my AUNT TOOK AMBER'S SIDE. despite not knowing or ever having met this girl, she said something about how she probably had to go home to a neglectful household and raise her parents' probable litter of white trash children, and how we should all feel sorry for her.


i can't believe how clearly i remember this; my hypothalamus is having a fucking heyday over here. also, my cousin reads this blog and she's going to recognize this as me. SO NOW IT'S OUT THERE.

i feel better.

elisa said...

1) Hilarious fucking story
2) I have felt that same 0.00000002% vindication. You aren't a bad person. Just because someone died tragically doesn't mean they weren't a shitty person when they were alive.
3) I'm glad that someone else's middle school experience was slightly more horrendous than mine. Or, more realistically, I've just blocked most of mine out.

Ali said...

Is it bad that I nodded in agreement when I read the title of post

When I was 8, I was asked by an immature boy in my class if I played with myself. Because I thought he meant playing alone, like with my dolls or a video game when my friends weren't around, I stupidly said yes. Then he laughed at me and told a bunch of kids I went to school with. I didn't understand why I had been made fun of for that until a few years later, but let me tell you: I made sure I always played with my friends for the remainder of elementary school, because it apparently wasn't cool to play by yourself.

Ali said...

^ ?* (That was going to bother me...)

Sarah said...

I think that was the best middle school story I ever heard. If anyone ever asks my something stupid like, "What's so bad about middle school?" I will refer them to this blog post.

SP said...

"... even assholes die" - I didn't know the blog was going to get so existential this morning...

Unknown said...

And knowing is half the battle.

Love in the Dumps said...

Did it taste like chocolate chip cookie dough?

Mia R said...

I went a super Christian middle school. The joke amongst the popular boys was to ask the fat unpopular girls (me) if we were "virgins." Of course when they said VIRGIN it sounded like "SUPERSLUT!" even though I'd heard all about how Mary was a virgin. No matter how you answered, they'd crack up and be like OMG YOU ARE A VIRGIN?!? or vice versa.

I actually asked my best friend's mom, a PASTOR's wife, what a virgin was.

Thanks Christian school for teaching me all about the Bible. Sigh.

MsK said...

I used to be a middle school teacher and let me tell you the things kids say to each other is appalling!! My students even asked me once if I was a virgin (could you even IMAGINE asking you teacher that when you were 13?) and on more than one occasion would discuss their sexual lives in DETAIL before class/in the halls. It is simply amazing the shit that goes on in a middle school, its a wonder any of us made it out alive.

Andi said...

Did he die choking on said hot load of cum? Because that would be some irony. And your friends are right. Even assholes die. And that doesn't make them any less of an asshole.

Mrs. P said...

I proudly played with my American Girl Doll (Samantha) until I was 13 and a freshman in High School. Those things are expensive! I got my (parent's) money's worth.

Anonymous said...

Oh, middle school. I could completely relate to your post -- right down to the Airwalks.

But my most mortifying middle school moment? Definitely when a group of my friends were sitting around looking at a book -- I'm not going to lie, I think it was The Exorcist -- and one of my little acquaintances (she was a little bitchy, so not sure I'd call her a "friend") got to a part where, evidently, someone was masturbating with a cross. Or some such.

Being, oh, 11 years old, I had no clue what "masturbating" meant. Normally in those days, I would have just played along -- like you, as illustrated in your story -- but for some reason, feeling brave (or stupid), I asked what it means to "masturbate."

And then six girls turned to stare at me. Then laugh. Then glance awkwardly at one another. Then laugh some more, like I was the biggest freaking idiot in the world.

My face was probably ten shades of red, but I'd already humiliated myself, so... I wanted an answer, dammit!

That would be around the time a boy from a nearby table, evidently hearing this whole exchange, leaned over and said, "Maybe you should ask your mom."


I may have looked it up in the dictionary when I got home and probably thought, "What? You can do that?"

And then my innocence was gone forever. Awesome.

Brittan said...

hahahahahahahaaaaaaa... i am dying.

also when i was in 6th grade these 8th grade boys on the bus told me i had "white stuff" on my mouth and laughed hysterically. i had no idea what they were referring to but from there on out constantly checked my face in the mirror or covered it with my hand in paranoia. i finally had a moment around 21 when i remembered that incident and realized what they were talking about, and my head just about exploded. if i remembered their names i would hunt them down and make them pay my therapy bills.

Erin said...

I remember being in 4th grade and the teacher had to excuse herself to go to the restroom while we were taking a test. And then people started whispering that it was becuase of her period. I had no clue what was going on and how sentence punctuation had anything to do with Ms. Black. My eyes were then opened in the 5th grade when we had THE talk at school where they separate the boys and the girls.

Anonymous said...

ahaha, oh dear lord, poor little meglet!
i am FAR from judging you for that .000002 bit of vindictiveness, maybe this post will be "healing"? anyway, i feel like i had many such embarrassing encounters in middle school/junior high with asshole douche-to-be boys who thought they were the shit, but none were amplified to the point of your debacle.

Anonymous said...

Oh Meglet, what a fantastic story!! Thank you for telling it! In the same interest of self-preservation, 6th grade me would have probably done the same thing you did.

And I proudly played with TWO American Girls dolls and collected nearly 100 Beanie Babies through 8th grade...needless to say, I was the coolest.

Meghan said...

Oh, middle school. Its obvious how much you suck by how many people can relate.
In the 4th grade two girls came up to me and asked, "are you a virgin?" And I'm pretty sure I just went, "What's that?" And they refused to tell me, they made me choose yes or no. Luckily I said yes b/c I thought of the virgin mary and figured it must be good. That shut them up pretty quick...I shudder to think how scarred I would have been if I had said no!

Sarah said...

Please tell me you read meangirlgarage and all the stuff she posts about what her fifth grade students say to each other.

I have to admit, occasionally, I am impressed with their comebacks.

Unknown said...

oh CREEZUS was last night amazing for so so so many reasons, this story including. but most importantly meg, DO YOU REMEMBA YA'R BAT MITZVAHHH?!

jen said...

did you guys talk about me at all? and wish that i was there?!? cause i wish i was there damnit!!

Mrs. P said...

In the 7th grade I was invited to a sleepover birthday party with all the cool girls. I was pumped and decided to pack my fanciest, Joe Boxer plaid pajamas. But alas, they were in a pile of laundry on the floor. No big thang, I decided. A quick tumble through the dryer and they're ready to go! Fast forward to nighttime at the party. Everyone changes and models their sleep attire. Time goes by and all the girls start to say "oh my gah, WHAT IS THAT SMELL?" It goes on.."Ugh, it's just awful! Sick!" I sniff myself to be sure it's not ...holy shit, it's me!! My cat had pissed all over my boxer shorts. I wait a minute, quietly retire to the bathroom. I put my jeans and t-shirt back on. I make up some bullshit reason why I have to sleep in my clothes. Something about needing to keep my (unnecessary) bra on. Clearly, everyone knew what was up. I was teased at school on Monday and lost all hopes and dreams of becoming one of the cool girls.

Anonymous said...

The Oxford English Dictionary definition of middle school in the USA = this post.

Heather Chastain said...

I swear I've never been so happy :) I'm sorry, I know it's at your expense ... but after watching Cougar Town tonight, my husband informed me that I too can be a chore sometimes, dashing my spirit as a wife ... I needed to know someone else's life sucks more than mine HAHAHHAHAHA ~kisses~

2b1b: The sardonic voice of 20-somethings everywhere, Monday through Friday. said...

did you guys talk about me at all? and wish that i was there?!? cause i wish i was there damnit!!

We did! We miss you! :(

ashzilla said...

First and foremost, I am SO glad someone knows its Fibromyalgia Awareness Day!!! What a wonderful daughter to pay attention to all of that and even promote awareness. You rock Meg!

Secondly, HILARIOUS entry!

Anonymous said...

100% agreed with the post title.

And because the thin veil of anonymity is covering me, I just have to ask as I have wondered this my whole life: Where is it that spitters spit? Walking around with a mouthful of cum looking for an appropriate recepticle seems on par with swallowing if grossness is your determining factor.

And yeah...

Ali said...

In reply to Anonymous above me:

I have heard that many spitters keep tissues nearby to spit into immediately after a guy ejaculates into their mouth. That seems like a waste of a box of tissues to me.


Anonymous said...

Oh, this brings me back. Specifically to when Schmaroline Schmeltzer came up to me in 8th grade art class and asked if my pussy was furry or shaved. My response? "I don't have a cat, my mom's allergic."

I'm probably the only kid in the history of the world to beg their parents to send them to Catholic school. When you're being asked about your pubic grooming habits, somehow nuns and ugly uniforms aren't that big of a deal.

Unknown said...

Lucky you, Meglet- as it is "playing catch-up on 2birds1blog" day at work (read: I have JACK SHIT NOTHING to do today so reading almost 2 months worth of blog entries sounds like a FABULOUS time waster)!!

God WHY do middle school children feel the need to embarrass the shit out of eachother?? My version of your story is in 3rd grade, when I was new to public school (from private) and I was trying to make friends with the "cool girls"....we were at recess and always played soccer on the soccer fields. Sure enough, my innocent little self yells, "Let's go get some more balls!!" and the other girls start giggling. I said, "what??" they said, "Do you know what BALLS also means??"

My answer....."uhhh, boobs??" At the tender age of 9 I had no idea what testicles WERE let alone what they looked like and were called. Faaaaaaaaantastic. Did I mention I'm now 26 years old and remember this a clear as fucking crystal?

Your story is still worse- obvi. And I am sorry.

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