self preservation and other things i’m not good at, like feeding myself

You know when your parents told you infuriating things when you were a kid and therefore subject to their tyrannical rule?

Thing like, “You have to finish your dinner to get dessert,” and “ No you can’t stay up past 11 o’clock on a school night,” or “I swear to god if you break one more glass we’re putting you up for adoption,” and you just wanted to be like “Bitch, please, I’ll eat oreos and gummy bears for dinner if I want to,” and “You can’t make me go to bed, I’m totally staying up and staring at the ceiling just to spite you,” and, well, in the case of the last one (was that just me? really!?!?), “aljduenfuiskktksje (translation: FML).”

But you COULDN’T say those things because 1.) You’d be bitch slapped (this was the 80’s, parents still spanked rather than discussed the psychological angst that inspired your verbal vitriol) b.) You’d be an 8-year-old asshole who is now STARING AT THE CEILING rather than entering an LSD dreamland. YOU FUCKING MORON and f.) Your parents are right; they really should put you up for adoption as you’ve broken every.glass.ever.made. (including their fancy wedding ones with engraved swirlys- TWICE).

Well, apparently I took it on myself to explore the veracity of these oppressive parenting practices by being an 8-year-old dream machine for the bulk of this week. Yes, I had to do all those adult things, like well, work (to buy shoes. and candy. and feed my unicorn.), but the rest of my time was spent well, not sleeping, not eating real food, and attempting to not break things.

AND YOU KNOW WHAT??

Parents, they know things.

Because sweet lord, there’s a reason you’re not supposed to eat ice cream for dinner// get 3 hours of sleep// brake all the glass within shrieking distance because your stomach really will make you want to die// your brain really will stop functioning// and well, glass is stabby and OUCH.

SO FINE, YOU WIN PARENTS WHO APPRENTLY KNOW EVERYTHING. I’LL EAT MY BROCOLLI (lie. but possibly potatoes), AND GET MY 8 HOURS (lie. but possibly 6), AND I’LL NEVER EVER BREAK ANYTHING EVER AGAIN (truth! But only because I’m only allowed to use plastic)…

See, who says I don’t learn my lesson?

(lie. don’t learn my lesson. don’t ever. ever. learn my lesson.) (So YES, this blog WAS just a futile attempt to pretend I’m a grown up while really just telling you that I routinely eat ice cream for dinner.)

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~ by rubylocks on June 17, 2010.

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