the poem’s all about keeping my pants on. :) and i was moving away, so this get together was also kindo of a going away party.
Humor/Satire / It's not just National Public Radio Anymore
So, what’s in a name? I guess that all depends. Baby books abound with endless histories as to the meaning of this name or that name or a variation thereof. However, there are no books as to where nicknames come from. But there are almost, well I’d pretty much say always, stories behind them- be it short and sweet, long and arduous, or just plain hilarious. So, here goes the history behind my nickname, because it won’t be found in a book, at least not yet.
So, here goes. NPR. That is my nickname. My first name is Ruth—so that should be easy enough to figure out—it’s the rest that needs the explaining. I’ve had few nicknames over the years. There is only so much that can be done with Ruth—ruff ruff in grammar school, ruthless in high school. But none of them ever really stuck. This one has stuck because I will never be able to live it down.
Let me preface this explanation with a few minor, well major details, facts, whatever you’d like to call them. At the time I received my nickname it had been about 5 months since my husband had packed up the kids and headed to Little Rock after 12 years of marriage, 3 children, complete fidelity—on my part. We weren’t that young. I was 21 he was 22 (when we got married) but it did happen too fast. I will apologize ahead of time—I get off on tangents. I will quickly try to bring this back around. Anyway, hum drum marriage. I worked at least 50 hours a week, had kids (seemed like I had 4—one being my husband), school, PTA, doctor’s visits, school functions etc. A lot to do, especially when you feel you are doing it alone and your “partner” is sitting right there next to you wondering why you’re so irritated. Ok, so the end came. He packed up. He left, and I went crazy.
I decided to live a wild and reckless lifestyle for awhile. Why not? I deserved it, I was tired and damn it I wanted to have fun. And boy did I. This is where the whole point of this story comes in. Thank you to those of you who have bared with me this far. As far as the rest of you go. It’ll get put in a place where you can appreciate it too.
Finally, I had been having a reckless amount of fun for a few months. A lot of alcohol and a lot of boys. I’m a little older and a little wiser. I decided to change things up a bit. If you’re a good looking man I’ll sleep with you and then I won’t call or talk to you again. Was working well for me—for awhile. Then I realized that that wasn’t what I really wanted and I decided to calm down. Well, then of course there’s a birthday party—a kegger. I’m considered a VIP I get a free cup. I don’t know how many times it was filled but I don’t think I could count that high anyway—obscene amounts of alcohol.
Started talking to a guy out by the bonfire. Must have been at least 6 hours. Lot’s of flirting, but it was all talk, no action. This was just fine with me because I was trying to be good. I’m really good at not being good. 4 a.m. rolls around and I’m thinking I should be heading home.Gotta work the next day, need to get a little sleep. Head to the car and low and behold who should be there but the guy I’d been flirting with all night. “Hey, can I sit in your car with you for awhile? You shouldn’t be driving quite yet anyway.” Alright, I’m not an idiot. I know what this means. I still said “Yeah, sure ok. I should sit for awhile and smoke a cigarette anyway.” The cigarette lasted for about 5 minutes and the talking lasted for about 2 seconds. Then the kissing, and then the fondling, and then the disrobing, and then the sex. Sex in the front seat of a Celica is not an easy feat, but apparently in can and does happen. This goes on for quite awhile—45 minutes or so. Everyone knows my car, and it was so fortunately (please note the sarcasm) parked under a street light. Lot’s of moving and shaking. “If the car’s a rocking don’t come knocking.”
But of course there comes the knocking on the window. Holy shit! All I’m wearing are my socks and my shirt. The person knocking on the window gets to see the wonderfulness of my ass pressed against it. My bare ass. The person knocking informs the guy in the car that it’s time to go. And the person informing the guy that it is time to go happens to be his girlfriend. WTF?!? Girlfriend? Where did she come from and when did he acquire her? I’d been talking to him all night—at least 6 hours. There was no girlfriend. I freaked out—rightfully so, and told him to get the hell out of my car NOW! I have a rule. I do not want anyone else’s man, and I do not ever want to be responsible for making someone feel the way that feels. I’m pissed, but I am mostly mortified with embarrassment. I can’t find my pants. I can’t find my shoes—fuck it; I’m getting the hell out of here as quickly as possible. I throw the car in reverse and I drive home with only my socks and shirt on. Thank goodness I didn’t get pulled over on the way home—that would’ve been an explanation.
Once I get home I find my pants and shoes. Put them on, before I get out of the car and shamefully walk into my house. Not 5 minutes later, my phone is blowing up. “What the hell happened? What did you do? Why did you leave like that? Was that your bare ass in your car window?” Yes, yes, and yes. “Well, I promise I won’t say anything, but tell me what happened.” “I couldn’t find my clothes quickly enough, so I drove home without them on.” “Ok, well, I’ll keep a lid on this, don’t worry.” “Thanks.”
That’s the story. No mention of it from anyone. No more discussion. Cool—I can keep this under wraps—no one needs to know anyway.
Two days later I head over to a friend’s for our weekly Sunday potlucks. I’m the last one to arrive—work and all. About 15 people are there—as per usual. I walk into the front door and everyone is right there waiting for me. I’m curious. They all have HUGE grins on their faces. What’s up? They spread out to reveal a large banner type picture of a bare ass in a car window with words saying No Pant Ruth. At first I didn’t know what to think, and then I laughed so hard I cried and my gut hurt and my cheeks hurt. I decided to completely own it. So I am now No Pants Ruth or NPR. There’s even a little poem:
You’re gone to Little Rock
And now I’m sad
I’ll miss the good times
That we had
I’ll come to see you
In my pick up truck
Till then keep your spirits high
And your britches up.
This is why I have the quote “Sometimes it makes a better story than a secret.”
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DCAllen reviewed Version 4 -
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joancrown reviewed Version 4 -
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saveusjeebus reviewed Version 4 -
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Razzer123 reviewed Version 4 -
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I don’t really know what to say about this. It’s quite well written and the subject matter might be described as riveting. But is it funny? I found it all rather sad to be honest. Now I’m no prude – in fact I was as promiscuous as I could get when younger – I once accepted ten quid to screw a barmaid in front of all her friends. But, looking back, I can’t say that anything I got up to was funny. Great fun, yes, but not funny. Still I enjoyed hearing your story.
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tstone reviewed Version 4 -
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funny story. there are some grammar prob’s, but that doesn’t seem to be a big concern here. i have to admit that i don’t quite get the poem, though. maybe that’s another story altogether ;)
AndrewStuartBrown reviewed Version 4 -
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Rupert reviewed Version 4 -
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This is a fun piece to read. I’m only 26, but the brief glimpse back in time made me miss my own escapades into lewdness in my ‘rock star’ years. I like the last part about the weekly potluck and what your friends made for you. This piece has actually prompted me to write a piece about my nickname, the only one that has withstood the test of time. Very well done, so well in fact that you sparked the interest of another writer to research the origins of his nickname. The poem at the end put a nice little bow on the piece.
Vespaio reviewed Version 4 -
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“Thank you to those of you who have bared with me this far,” is, in my opinion, unnecessary. You don’t need to thank the reader for reading your work. If he hasn’t reached that line, he never will, and if he has but doesn’t like what you’ve written, he’ll never get past it.
Interesting story, well written with a few minor grammatical/spelling typos.
MoulinCool reviewed Version 4 -
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Lol! That is quite a story. I wonder, is it true? You write like it is. Any how, I didn’t find any grammatical errors to fix. I absolutely love how you added “Wtf??” in here. It makes the story all the more enjoyable. Good luck and take care and thanks for posting! =]
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