Life Wasted: A Retrospective
In two days, I'll turn 28 years old. I still consider myself very young and since I'm not a figure skater, gymnast or Malaysian seamstress I feel like my life is still ahead of me. However, sometimes it's good to be a little retrospective and look back on all that I've accomplished in the my first 28 years of life.
What this blog will not be able to reflect is the 20 minutes of crying and suicide contemplation that took place as soon as I completed my "list" of accomplishments. Sure it could have been longer if I'd been willing to lower the bar a bit to include some of the following:
As you can see, I clearly have a lot more to work on and get done.
It's always interesting and incredibly depressing to look back on what I was like as a young boy and to remember the dreams and goals that I once had. My current goals of increasing my bench press weight and conning my wife into sex are, admittedly, something of a drop off. When I was 12, I made a list of things I thought I'd be able to do by the time I was 30. Let's take a look and see how close I've come, shall we? (that's not really a question, it's mandatory)
1. Play professional baseball - one serious back injury and a lifelong battle with pussytus (puss-eye-tus), which leaves me generally useless and borderline catatonic in high stress (non-nerf) athletic situations, have left this goal, sadly, unattainable. And it hurts.
2. Win a World Series - no need to hammer this one home.
3. Earn a million dollars - no doubt this feat was tied to the first. Sadly, it seems every bit as likely.
4. Get a dog - DING! DING! DING! Now if I can just keep her alive for 2 more years...
5. Have sex - troubling that the dog came before this on my list of things I thought I could do. Obviously, at the age of 12, puberty had taken a rather ghastly toll on my once adorable visage. Recovery would not be swift, and sadly, I was fully aware of this at 12. Thankfully, we live in a world where even the ugliest guy in the room can get laid, as long as he's willing to pay for it and won't get rough (or somehow convinces Christina Aguilera to marry him).
6. Write a screenplay - This, too I have completed. Though only recently, as I don't count my early teen work "King Cock takes on Mount Vaginias," (classic though it may be). However, I don't get full credit because I'm pretty sure that when I was 12 I was referring to a screenplay that actually makes it to the big screen.
7. Get Married - another success. Statistically. Though the laundry list of things I've done today that have annoyed my wife (woke up late, watched TV too loud, typed on the keyboard too loud, left a fork in the sink, chewed with my mouth open, didn't spray air freshener after using the bathroom, threw my dirty clothes on the floor, drank milk in a "disgusting" way, didn't want to eat dinner where she wanted to eat dinner, drugged and anally raped her, and forgot to put detergent in the dishwasher) might indicate that by 30, this accomplishment will be history.
8. Go into Space - Not sure how realistic this a goal this was. I was struggling with electricity in science class and had a small fear of heights. The fear of heights I've overcome, but electricity (like plumbing) still befuddles me. I mean seriously, where does the power and water come from?
9. Own a dozen turtles - My early lack of specificity almost gets me off the hook on this one. Though I'm sure I meant all at once and in a pond, I've owned roughly 10 different turtles in my sad little lifetime (and yes, reptile ownership is probably both a cause and a symptom of my glaring unpopularity with girls growing up).
10. Be Happy - While some would look summarily at my wasted existence to this point, and wonder how I could possibly be anything less than miserable, I do indeed consider myself a generally content person. I know it flies in the face of what is more or less 28 years of doubt, fear and failure but it's true. Do I have some regrets? Of course, we all do. But if I can successfully slip a roofie into my wife's regular 1:30am cup of hot cocoa tomorrow night, I'd say that my 29th year will be getting off to a pretty darn good start.
It looks like I'm hitting a solid .400 (with partial credit on two others). With a possibility of .700 out there (I don't think I need to remind you which 3 are least likely, but if Lance Bass can't get into space, how the hell will I? I can't sing and I'm a terrible dancer. Oh wait...) I have a lot of work to do in the next 2 years. A lot of hard work and turtle buying, and of course turtle hiding, because coming home with a dozen turtles might hurt my average as much as help it (i.e. the continuation of numbers 5 and 7).
- graduated college
- got married
- have a dog
What this blog will not be able to reflect is the 20 minutes of crying and suicide contemplation that took place as soon as I completed my "list" of accomplishments. Sure it could have been longer if I'd been willing to lower the bar a bit to include some of the following:
- made friends
- earned some money
- able to order food at a restaurant (I know it doesn't seem like a big deal, but anyone who has witnessed my wife's stuttering, gesticulating madness while trying to order a soda would swear that she has some kind of palsy - and yes, this gives me some kind of strange confidence because I can say "medium rare"without crinkling up my face, cocking my head, raising my voice 3 octaves and wildly gesturing with both of my hands)
- haven't died
- keep clean(ish)
- masturbated thousands (upon thousands) of times
- mastered breathing, food chewing, shoe tying, accurately urinating, Smirnoff Ice drinking, friend mocking, wife slapping, porn downloading, gift wrapping, eyebrow cocking, strange white hair out of my stomach growing and nail clipping (after some early issues, as discussed in a previous blog)
- still working on tie tying, shit taking, beer drinking, friend keeping, wife loving, porn hiding, gift buying, eyebrow plucking and of course career finding.
As you can see, I clearly have a lot more to work on and get done.
It's always interesting and incredibly depressing to look back on what I was like as a young boy and to remember the dreams and goals that I once had. My current goals of increasing my bench press weight and conning my wife into sex are, admittedly, something of a drop off. When I was 12, I made a list of things I thought I'd be able to do by the time I was 30. Let's take a look and see how close I've come, shall we? (that's not really a question, it's mandatory)
1. Play professional baseball - one serious back injury and a lifelong battle with pussytus (puss-eye-tus), which leaves me generally useless and borderline catatonic in high stress (non-nerf) athletic situations, have left this goal, sadly, unattainable. And it hurts.
2. Win a World Series - no need to hammer this one home.
3. Earn a million dollars - no doubt this feat was tied to the first. Sadly, it seems every bit as likely.
4. Get a dog - DING! DING! DING! Now if I can just keep her alive for 2 more years...
5. Have sex - troubling that the dog came before this on my list of things I thought I could do. Obviously, at the age of 12, puberty had taken a rather ghastly toll on my once adorable visage. Recovery would not be swift, and sadly, I was fully aware of this at 12. Thankfully, we live in a world where even the ugliest guy in the room can get laid, as long as he's willing to pay for it and won't get rough (or somehow convinces Christina Aguilera to marry him).
6. Write a screenplay - This, too I have completed. Though only recently, as I don't count my early teen work "King Cock takes on Mount Vaginias," (classic though it may be). However, I don't get full credit because I'm pretty sure that when I was 12 I was referring to a screenplay that actually makes it to the big screen.
7. Get Married - another success. Statistically. Though the laundry list of things I've done today that have annoyed my wife (woke up late, watched TV too loud, typed on the keyboard too loud, left a fork in the sink, chewed with my mouth open, didn't spray air freshener after using the bathroom, threw my dirty clothes on the floor, drank milk in a "disgusting" way, didn't want to eat dinner where she wanted to eat dinner, drugged and anally raped her, and forgot to put detergent in the dishwasher) might indicate that by 30, this accomplishment will be history.
8. Go into Space - Not sure how realistic this a goal this was. I was struggling with electricity in science class and had a small fear of heights. The fear of heights I've overcome, but electricity (like plumbing) still befuddles me. I mean seriously, where does the power and water come from?
9. Own a dozen turtles - My early lack of specificity almost gets me off the hook on this one. Though I'm sure I meant all at once and in a pond, I've owned roughly 10 different turtles in my sad little lifetime (and yes, reptile ownership is probably both a cause and a symptom of my glaring unpopularity with girls growing up).
10. Be Happy - While some would look summarily at my wasted existence to this point, and wonder how I could possibly be anything less than miserable, I do indeed consider myself a generally content person. I know it flies in the face of what is more or less 28 years of doubt, fear and failure but it's true. Do I have some regrets? Of course, we all do. But if I can successfully slip a roofie into my wife's regular 1:30am cup of hot cocoa tomorrow night, I'd say that my 29th year will be getting off to a pretty darn good start.
It looks like I'm hitting a solid .400 (with partial credit on two others). With a possibility of .700 out there (I don't think I need to remind you which 3 are least likely, but if Lance Bass can't get into space, how the hell will I? I can't sing and I'm a terrible dancer. Oh wait...) I have a lot of work to do in the next 2 years. A lot of hard work and turtle buying, and of course turtle hiding, because coming home with a dozen turtles might hurt my average as much as help it (i.e. the continuation of numbers 5 and 7).
posted by Tent Time at 9:31 PM
1 Comments:
speaking of showering---this is the same guy that in college, would play floor hockey 2 nights a week, put on the same pair of warmup track pants before and after and then not shower for the next 3 days, keeping those same warmup pants on the entire time...
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