The Early Bird and Why Toys Dont Play in the Attic

I find myself inavertadely eating less and less. I cant place why. A psychologist under the behavioral viewpoint would say its due to myself being currently emotionally satisfied, and I no longer need to compensate with lot's of tasty taco bell. That may be true. But I'd like the reason to be more or less something like

'your finally starting to care!'

I've come a long way from the kid who used to eat two sandwiches at lunchtime, every day from 6th-11nth grade. I've even come a long way from the kid who liked to get stoned and eat not only his house, but any snackfood in a 50 mile radius. I've changed from the nineteen year old who once ordered two triples with cheese, a large fry, a frosty and some nuggets, ate them all and was still hungry.

now?

breakfast - omelette
lunch -soup/salad/tuna
dinner -chicken of some sort/rice

thats it. now if only I'd get the excersize part down again, I'd be golden. I no longer have the urge to eat past dinner, and I usually fulfill any hunger moment with a large bottle of water. I no longer have to try to reach this point anymore. At first, it was a struggle of the roman kind. Maybe my veins secretly were built with lead, and now a thousand years later the 'lets eat a ton' genes have been given dimmentia. im not sure. but I can now moderate like a mothatrucker.

My mother, on the other hand, has become myself at eighteen. she eats and eats and eats, and chocks it all up to hormones and swears like the virgin mary that I dont understand because I'm a man. You know what, your right ma. I never had any emotional stress in my life, none. And now she has a sidekick. the twenty two year old version of herself. Together they hit the 'lifetime' demographic like nobodies buisness. Macaroni and cheese at ten. doughnuts after dinner. they have no shame. the actual atttiude is and I quote "well I cant lose weight, so I might as well get fatter and fatter". I cant. if I hit that roadblock when im thirty five I urge any of you to shoot me down.

Onto a funny story

My house was pink. I used to swear it was salmon, but it was pink. Imagine my dismay moving into a house like this at sixth grade. I always wondered what would motivate someone to paint a house to sponser barbie. Surely no man would consent to such a blasphemous color. At this point though I was just about bitter at the world for having been moved ten miles from my original home, in another town, where all my friends and I lost touch. It was the age when car travel was a once a week gift and area codes were a thing of legend.

There came a time shortly afterwards, when I had nothing to do with my day's. Schoolwork? pshaw. never. So I went exploring. And the first undiscovered country of the republic of barbie was my attic. My parents were never home until six, so I had plenty of time when I got home from school to plot my journey. I lowered the stairwell, and eagerly climbed the five or so steps that led to this abyss of wonder.

It was dusty. Plenty dusty. I searched through the rubble of this fallen nation with disappointment. How was this supposed to amuse me? I cant play with dust. Boxes strewn about proved to contain nothing but old magazines.

There was something dully pink in the corner. At first it was merely an abstract in the corner of my eye, but as time went on I couldnt help but focus my image on this. What in the world could still have color in this 1940's world? I walked towards the object, half expecting it to start beating or scream 'next time simon, next time!' and jump out the window. instead, it just layed still. I finally got within reaching distance, and picked it up.

I could give you the rundown of what I originally thought the item was. but instead I'll add in my twenty one year old wisdom and tell you:

It was a giant pink dildo with a switch.

thats right. I suppose the mechanicalized versions are called vibrator's. whatever. I flicked the switch. It started moving, quite rapidly I might add. I immediately turned it back off. I threw it in the corner. Stared at it a little longer. it began to resemble something ive seen before. maybe in a monster's manual, or an old folk story. Then it hit me.

It looked like my penis. But a lot larger and pink. Even more questions popped into my head. Is this what penis's are supposed to look like? Is mine going to be that size one day? God I hoped it didnt turn pink. Health class seemed to have withheld all of the details. At least the worthwhile ones. Vas Deferenes be damned , I needed to know about these mattell brand penis's! This almost beat the time when I asked my health teacher "how would a guy know if he's going to have to pull out". Yeah no, I wasnt the smartest apple back in the day.

I shut the attic door and went downstairs. I figured there would come a later date when I'd return to the source and analyze this further. I probably would have showed it to my friends, but at the time I had no friends. And there was another problem. When I eventually did return, it was gone. .. It had disappeared. Maybe there was a recall, or the owner slipped into our attic in the middle of the night and reclaimed her lost ark of the covenant. I didnt dare mention this to my parents. What would they think? Our boy is now making up fake phallic symbols. To the stable with him!

I've later deduced it was a product of my parents. It had to be. The only other explanation is they found it as well and immediately threw it away. Thats the more pleasant reasoning.

Later in life, about senior year of high school, I was rummaging through my parents items looking for something, I dont remember. I think it was any loose change I could find. Instead, I found the pink panther's sidekick, dolomite. A giant black mechanicized di..vibrater. Instead, this time, I did find it hilarious, and I happened to share the story with a good majority of my friends. Theres only one catch. My mom knew I found it. I dont know how, maybe she secretly had the dust measured to each side of it, and when it was moved even a fraction an alarm went off. I still stick behind that theory. Anyway, I was called home, and explained in a very feverish way, that I shouldnt invade someones privacy like that and I owed her an apology. I could tell she was deftly embaressed. This woman worked at an elementary school. She was used to helping mentally challenged kids, not being challenged by a mental kid. I got the "sometimes moms and dads need to have their personal privacy" speech. at eighteen. I smirked. obviously smirked. Told her she can do whatever she wants with Dolomite, and I wont be looking for loose change in her space anymore, and went upstairs.

Moral of the story. Women? If you have children, Hide your vibrater's. and if you dont? carry on.