It's time to come clean.

St. Augustine wrote his "Confessions" in 398 AD. A few years later, so did Usher. Today I'm joining the club. Yup, it's about to get real up in here.

1.) What I say: I try to eat healthy foods and exercise regularly.

Confession:
I only buy rice cakes so I can cover them in Nutella. I started jogging because I like buying colorful shorts in Target. And I can eat more Reese's peanut butter cups in one sitting than anybody I know. Try me.

2.) What I say: I have a funky, varied taste in music - all different eras, languages, styles. I enjoy the fact that a lot of bands on my iPod aren't very well known and that most have not graced the cover of Tiger Beat.

Confession:
I cannot get enough of Sean Kingston. And while we're on the topic, I have Frankie J's entire debut album in Spanish, a dance mix of a Justin Bieber song and a track by Jazzy Jeff. Basically, my greatest fear is that I will misplace my iPod and someone will actually return it, and I will have to face them. I'm also beginning to understand the need for the Witness Protection program.

3.) What I say: I am a mature, professional young woman.

Confession:
My finest professional skills include:
- Breaking it down and rocking out to Phil Collins while I'm on hold
- Accurately tossing peppermint patties over the cubicle wall at Maria
- Bending the dress code to include my chucks

4.) What I say: I'm a sociable gal who loves the spontaneity of a random encounter with all sorts of acquaintances from my past.

Confession:
I avoid running into people because most of the time when I do, they fall in to one of these categories:
(a) Someone from high school that doesn't remember my name. Alternatively, they may recall that I am "one of the twins."
(b) My ex-boyfriend's parents. Score.
(c) Someone I actually do want to speak to. In these cases, I am usually coming from the gym and covered in sweat. Or I'm running out to grab a loaf of bread and wearing my glasses and a t-shirt from 1991 with a Troll on it.

5.) What I say: I am a really responsible car owner. I own lots of Armor All products and vacuum the carpets during my lunch break. And I always schedule regular maintenance when needed.

Confession:
I am a horribly negligent mother to Frank the Ford Focus. Poor Frank has not been vacuumed more than two times in two years. His cup holders contain a horrifying array of Dunkin' straw wrappers, loose change, bobby pins, and even a can of aerosol hairspray. (What? I'm from Cranston.) I have more pairs of shoes in the back seat than I do in my closet. And I have situation-specific amnesia when it comes to oil changes. Despite the fact that I spend 2+ hours every day staring right at the little sticker that indicates the mileage for my next oil change, I routinely forget to bring it to the mechanic until it's 200* miles over the mark.

*200 miles is a total lie. If I put the real mileage in here, I would lose friends.

Confessions concluded for tonight. Damn, I feel better.