I feel bad for these guys’ kids.
One time, I was carrying a little overnight bag of mine that I’d accidentally left unzipped. My toothbrush holder, which looks like this, fell out and landed in front of my mom. “Ohhhh, I know what that is…” she said. I was very confused until it dawned on me that my mom thought my toothbrush holder was a dildo. I don’t profess to be a connoisseur of dildos, but c’mon, really? Toothbrush holders are being mistaken for masturbation tools?
I wrote this, most likely on some kind of sugar high the day before it was due, for part of a writing “packet” I had to turn in as my final when I took a creative writing class. It’s loaded with marching band references most people won’t understand, and if some people with marching band experience read this, they might not find it terribly accurate.
The bus pulled into the Canon ISD Stadium at 8:00 am for the Canon Marching Band Festival, but Mr. Avery wasn’t letting us get off yet. Most kids were asleep. Megan and Adair were sitting behind Chase and me. They were both listening to Megan’s pink iPod and they kept kicking the back of our seat to the beat. I knew they were listening to “Party in the USA” because I could hear it. I wished they would quit it; my back was staring to hurt.
“Miley Cyrus sucks,” I said.
“Yeah,” agreed Chase, “but she’s kinda hot.”
I frowned. To me, Miley Cyrus looked like she was ten. “Gross.”
“Charlie, did you just say Miley Cyrus was gross?” Megan gasped, poked her little black-haired head up over our seat and yanked the headphones out of her ears.
“What about Miley?” Adair shouted over the music only she could hear.
“Miley Cyrus is a famous singer and actress. She even has her own clothing line. I’m pretty sure that makes her cooler than you two losers.” Megan stuck out her tongue at us through her purplish lips.
“Not for long!” Chase got excited. “Not when our band gets discovered!”
It wasn’t much of a band. It was Chase, our Mexican pal, Ricky Martinez (Ricky Martin when we felt like being mean), and some guy named Jed he met at the bowling alley who was like thirty years old. One day Chase told me I was the manager and since then I’d been going to his house every Sunday night for band practice. So during every practice, I ate my weight in Cheetos while sitting on Chase’s couch and watching the band, or “Attack of the Weasels,” play Guitar Hero, the real instruments lying in the background untouched. I’d stopped going recently, though, because Jed was starting to creep me out. I thought he’d been going to Chase’s house to hit on his mom, but it was starting to seem like he was more interested in Chase.
Remember when Mom used to do stuff for you when you were a little kid? Then she taught you how to do it yourself and everything went downhill.
Meals—now you have to cook for yourself, and it sucks. It can be fun, but everything burns and explodes and soon you’re homeless because you tried to make chicken parmesan and everything went wrong.
Bills—not paying bills is awesome, but then your power gets cut off and you find yourself squatting in an abandoned Circuit City fighting with some random hobo over a half-eaten tuna sandwich.
Work—from 9 to 5, your day is grueling and your boss is a douche. Expense reports? Fax machines? Coffee pots? Sexual harassment? No thanks. You remember the days when your parents worked and you didn’t have to. So you skip a day, then another day, then another, and soon you have no paycheck to support your apartment and you’re back to your next WWE showdown with the hobo next door, er, next cardboard box.
Clipping Toenails—and on that note, hygiene period. Now I know that most of us, if not all, were taught to clean ourselves at some point in our lives, whether that be showering or licking ourselves like a cat. But as you get older and you have to do all this other cleaning-type stuff—laundry, vacuuming, washing dishes—who has time to do menial self-cleaning-type stuff like clip their toenails? Yesterday, I looked down at my bare feet and saw Freddy Kruger’s hands. One might say, why not clip your toenails while doing something else, like when you’re watching TV? To them, I say, “Pfft!”. If your eyes are on your feet, then you can’t see the TV screen, and if you can’t see the TV screen, how will you know what happens with Serena and Dan in this week’s episode of Gossip Girl?! Then, suddenly, you’re homeless again.
Basically, getting older means getting homeless.
You know how naggy moms tell you to be home by midnight, because nothing good happens after 12:00 a.m.? Well, I disagree with that entirely.
Plenty of great things happen after 12. Sex, drugs, alcohol, late-night burritos and burgers– All these things are very healthy. What you really need to watch out for is what goes on past 7 a.m. No good happens between the hours of 7:00 a.m. to 12:00 p.m. Here’s why: