Adult On-Set Adulthood
What does it mean to be an adult? As my previous blog indicated, I recently turned 28. Chronologically (not to sound like Scott Boras), that makes me an adult. However, until recently I have not been feeling like one. I still do a lot of childish things including play nerf games, play video games, watch animated movies and masturbate with a finger in my ass to intense sexual fantasies about my mother.
However, with Christmas having and come and gone, I think I've discovered a sure-fire definition of adulthood, and that is when you start to look forward to giving gifts more than you do receiving them. I can remember as a young boy opening gifts on Christmas morning with such great excitement, enthusiasm and anticipation that I could barely contain myself. Now, when my parents hand me a brightly wrapped gift, I am sadly filled with a forboding sense of dread. The exception being when my parents ask me for ideas and I give them a specific suggestion as to what I would like for Christmas - say for example a blue North Face sweater. In these instances I am not filled with dread but rather fear, because I know that what waits for me inside the box on my lap could be almost anything, but the one thing it is most definitely not is that blue North Face sweater. It is something else, but that something will be close enough that I'll know they tried and am thus prevented from being angry. Instead I'm forced to look at whatever lays in wait under the ribbon and paper and somehow pretend that the blue sweatshirt with Oliver North's face on it is exactly what I wanted and couldn't live without. I'm sure this seems like an exagerration, but my mom's obsessive need to give people lots of gifts combined with not knowing exactly what to get has recently resulted in some puzzling gifts such as dog poop bags (for both me and the wife), soccer toy for ages 3+ (again, I'm 28), 2 boxes of socks (this year alone) and of course miniature bathroom products (tiny shampoo, tiny shaving cream, etc.)
This year at Christmas the thing I was most looking forward to was giving my 3 year old nephew some old He-Man figures (yes, somehow the shirtless, furry-speedo clad superhero seems to be making a comeback with the young boys of non-homophobic parents. If you used to play with He-Man when you were a boy, as almost any man my age did, then I strongly suggest finding an episode of the old cartoon and watching it again. Afterwards, you can sit back as I did and wonder just what the fuck it was about that show that you enjoyed so much. Every fucking episode is the same thing. Skeletor attacks the Kingdom of Eternia in some way, and Prince Adam - sytlishly clad in purple tights, long sleeved white spandex shirt and pink vest - runs off afraid, then magically turns into He-Man, who basically looks the same, but sports an impressively more homo-erotic outfit consisting of the aforementioned fur speedo and knee high boots. All of Skeletors best laid plans can always be undone by one punch from the mighty He-Man - a punch that can topple buildings, but of course never actually kills anybody). Anyhow, upon giving said He-Man figures to my nephew, he loudly states that he has several of them already. All told, he already had 5 of the 11 figures I got him, despite assurances from his mother - my sister - that he had none. This of course, rather metaphorically, removed all of the wind from perverbial sail. Only moments later, my older brother rode in on his white horse, and presented my same nephew with a slew of new Power Ranger action figures (all heterosexual in nature) which were met with screams of delight and literal jumps of joy. Sadly, those same jumps mostly landed on my nephew's new He-Man figures.
I truly enjoy shopping for gifts for my wife to return. As I like to say to people who ask me, every year I give her store credit. I just wrap it up and make her go get it. We're rarely able to surprise each other - positively that is. Any year I wanted I could wrap up a Coral Snake and surprise the fucking hell out of her, but that really wouldn't count. Last year, despite spending several hundred dollars on her Christmas gifts, my wife's favorite was a $5 book made up entirely of photos of sleeping puppies. This year, my wife was actually able to surprise me with a day trip of white water rafting, the biggest surprise of which is that she's willing to go with me. Now I'm sure, a week before the trip, she'll backout faster than my "good friend" Steve three hours before a holiday party, but for now, I'm looking forward to her screams of terror on the rapids. I'd like to think that if everybody in the world got to hear terror screams from the person they love, the world would be a much better place.
The point of all this is that Christmas has changed, or to put it better Christmas has changed for me. I'm now more interested in giving gifts than I am in receiving them. I'm no longer the little kid waking up early and rushing to see what's under the tree. You couldn't get me up early if Christina Aguilera was under the tree (this is possibly an over-exagerration. I'd probably get up early and leave an awful mess for the rest of my family to find). So as I sat there on Christmas early afternoon I started to realize that I'm an adult now.
But, then my parents handed me a check and I was an excited little kid again.
However, with Christmas having and come and gone, I think I've discovered a sure-fire definition of adulthood, and that is when you start to look forward to giving gifts more than you do receiving them. I can remember as a young boy opening gifts on Christmas morning with such great excitement, enthusiasm and anticipation that I could barely contain myself. Now, when my parents hand me a brightly wrapped gift, I am sadly filled with a forboding sense of dread. The exception being when my parents ask me for ideas and I give them a specific suggestion as to what I would like for Christmas - say for example a blue North Face sweater. In these instances I am not filled with dread but rather fear, because I know that what waits for me inside the box on my lap could be almost anything, but the one thing it is most definitely not is that blue North Face sweater. It is something else, but that something will be close enough that I'll know they tried and am thus prevented from being angry. Instead I'm forced to look at whatever lays in wait under the ribbon and paper and somehow pretend that the blue sweatshirt with Oliver North's face on it is exactly what I wanted and couldn't live without. I'm sure this seems like an exagerration, but my mom's obsessive need to give people lots of gifts combined with not knowing exactly what to get has recently resulted in some puzzling gifts such as dog poop bags (for both me and the wife), soccer toy for ages 3+ (again, I'm 28), 2 boxes of socks (this year alone) and of course miniature bathroom products (tiny shampoo, tiny shaving cream, etc.)
This year at Christmas the thing I was most looking forward to was giving my 3 year old nephew some old He-Man figures (yes, somehow the shirtless, furry-speedo clad superhero seems to be making a comeback with the young boys of non-homophobic parents. If you used to play with He-Man when you were a boy, as almost any man my age did, then I strongly suggest finding an episode of the old cartoon and watching it again. Afterwards, you can sit back as I did and wonder just what the fuck it was about that show that you enjoyed so much. Every fucking episode is the same thing. Skeletor attacks the Kingdom of Eternia in some way, and Prince Adam - sytlishly clad in purple tights, long sleeved white spandex shirt and pink vest - runs off afraid, then magically turns into He-Man, who basically looks the same, but sports an impressively more homo-erotic outfit consisting of the aforementioned fur speedo and knee high boots. All of Skeletors best laid plans can always be undone by one punch from the mighty He-Man - a punch that can topple buildings, but of course never actually kills anybody). Anyhow, upon giving said He-Man figures to my nephew, he loudly states that he has several of them already. All told, he already had 5 of the 11 figures I got him, despite assurances from his mother - my sister - that he had none. This of course, rather metaphorically, removed all of the wind from perverbial sail. Only moments later, my older brother rode in on his white horse, and presented my same nephew with a slew of new Power Ranger action figures (all heterosexual in nature) which were met with screams of delight and literal jumps of joy. Sadly, those same jumps mostly landed on my nephew's new He-Man figures.
I truly enjoy shopping for gifts for my wife to return. As I like to say to people who ask me, every year I give her store credit. I just wrap it up and make her go get it. We're rarely able to surprise each other - positively that is. Any year I wanted I could wrap up a Coral Snake and surprise the fucking hell out of her, but that really wouldn't count. Last year, despite spending several hundred dollars on her Christmas gifts, my wife's favorite was a $5 book made up entirely of photos of sleeping puppies. This year, my wife was actually able to surprise me with a day trip of white water rafting, the biggest surprise of which is that she's willing to go with me. Now I'm sure, a week before the trip, she'll backout faster than my "good friend" Steve three hours before a holiday party, but for now, I'm looking forward to her screams of terror on the rapids. I'd like to think that if everybody in the world got to hear terror screams from the person they love, the world would be a much better place.
The point of all this is that Christmas has changed, or to put it better Christmas has changed for me. I'm now more interested in giving gifts than I am in receiving them. I'm no longer the little kid waking up early and rushing to see what's under the tree. You couldn't get me up early if Christina Aguilera was under the tree (this is possibly an over-exagerration. I'd probably get up early and leave an awful mess for the rest of my family to find). So as I sat there on Christmas early afternoon I started to realize that I'm an adult now.
But, then my parents handed me a check and I was an excited little kid again.
posted by Tent Time at 11:22 PM
1 Comments:
I think this might be a sign, not so much of adulthood, but that its time to produce a mini-Megan or mini-Chris.
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