… you never forget where you came from. Like for instance, I just came home from work again. And I will never forget that. I’ll never forget that I spend a third of my life begging for scraps to feed my family who has to fight with the other two thirds of my life (work and sleep) to keep from getting their third reduced to a fourth or an eighth, or a sixteenth, or another even bigger (or smaller?) number. I don’t know those bigger numbers real good because the school I went to only taught us as much numbers as our parents put on the combined income spot on their taxes.
Author Archives: earlytoriseblog
… you develop weird crushes on unorthodox beauties. And here’s why:
The only access you have to pretty girls is via the torn and tattered porn you found in the woods when you were 8 or anything on TBS. Cable is where the babes are at. And cable is not something that you’ll ever have. But back in the day TBS was an all access channel. And back in the day they played lots of movies with Suzanne Somers in them.
And Suzanne Somers is a mystical siren. That can do things to you with a look that you won’t experience again until you meet and actual real living breathing human girl.
You know who else TBS had? Gillian Anderson. The Scully to my Moulder.
“Hey there Scully, I think I saw an alien under my bed. No wait, in my bed. Can you come check for me?”
You know who else TBS had? Mary Anne. So lonely on that island with Gilligan and the others.
“Excuse me, Mary Anne? If I can get you off that island could I show you my bedroom? I’ll give you a tour. A three hour tour.”
You know who else TBS had? The red haired girl from Buffy the Vampire Slayer.
You know who else TBS had? The blonde mom-like sidekick of Xena Warrior Princess.
One day you’ll see Xena’s sidekick signing autographs at a Comicon in Salt Lake and it’ll feel like you ran into a brick wall. Oh the feelings! The memories! The nights of passion and the days of longing!
Then, just as fast as it hit you, its gone. And you’ll go get a less than average churro from the concession stand.
… the only holidays you recognize are the ones that get you a day off work. If it’s not a day off then by definition it is absolutely not a holiday. Valentine’s day? What is that? What are you talking about when you use those words? St. Patrick’s day is a non paid holiday where you get drunk and pinch people? Sounds like a regular Tuesday. Holidays are also not for “doing things” or for “being together”. They are for watching whatever movie marathon is on TBS without speaking and hopefully without moving except for to pee or get more animal crackers and cereal and not talking to anyone unless it’s to offer them animal crackers or cereal or powdered milk. Here is a glossary of holiday terms for the poor:
- Thanksgiving – The Wizard of Oz marathon. Pie from the store. More food than usual. All the canned green beans you could need
- Christmas – A Christmas Story marathon in the morning, Die Hard marathon at night. Pie from the store. Funeral potatoes. Candy and chocolate. Sleep in all the wrapping paper on the floor
- New Year’s – that old guy’s gonna be on TV tonight for the apple drop in New York. It goes til midnight. Yes you can stay up and watch it. But you have to go to work in the morning still. Okay goodnight
- Valentine’s Day – a day of the week. I tell you I love you everyday why should today be different? Yes we can get the clearance candy tomorrow
- St. Patrick’s Day – Your aunt’s throwing a rager on Saturday.
- Easter – Christ died for your sins no you cannot have a chocolate bunny! The Greatest Story Ever Told is on TBS. Happy Easter
- Memorial Day – We don’t have to go in to work today. No, I don’t know why. There is a Clint Eastwood marathon on TBS though
- Independence Day – turn the g**d**mn TV off its the Fourth of July! We’re going to a parade and then walking around a festival and then having a picnic at the park and then taking a historical tour of the city then watching Saving Private Ryan because you’re spoiled and don’t know what it means to be a real patriot, speaking of which after Saving Private Ryan we’re watching The Patriot because Mel Gibson is an American and then we’re going to the pool and watching fireworks because brave men died for you to have a day off of work and you better never forget it
- Labor Day – we don’t have to work today. I don’t know why. I don’t know why it’s called Labor Day if we don’t have to work. Stop asking questions, Rush Hour II is on
… you get detention but you can’t go to detention because you have to go to work. Your teacher tells you that your boss will understand and to call in. You tell your teacher that she obviously doesn’t know your boss. Bill is a total basket case. If I called in he would find me. And hurt me. I’ve seen him smash plates over kids head’s for showing up late.
So you don’t show up for detention. The next day your teacher says you have Saturday school. Nope. Sorry teach, can’t do it. I got work. On Saturday? she asks. Yeah, unlike teaching Monday through Friday I have a real job. Washing dishes at the pizza place. That doesn’t go over well.
You go home and tell your parents you have Saturday school. Your dad says you can’t because you have work. He asks what you got it for. You say because you didn’t go to detention because you had work. Good man, he says. Why did you get detention he asks. I left school early last week to cover a shift for Orlando so he could go to his daughter’s soccer game. Good man, says dad.
If I don’t go to Saturday school I’ll be expelled for a week, I explain.
Good man, dad says. You could pick up some day shifts at the pizza place and pay for your own damn soccer cleats for a change.
I love you dad. A whole bunch.
… your friend Ryan gets you an alien figurine from the movie Alien for Valentines Day in 3rd grade. This is obviously infuriating to you for a handful of the following reasons:
- What the hell bro! You got me something for Valentines Day?! I didn’t even know what that was when I walked into class this morning. Then our teacher tells us that its for girl and boys to write cute notes to each other and to give chalk candy hearts back and forth. So when everyone notices that you got me an alien figurine they put two and two together – I’m a boy. You’re a boy. Neither of us are girls. You got me an alien figurine – and they begin to immediately make fun of us. This will go on for weeks. “Hows your doll dude? You and Ryan cuddle it at night together … or something?” Ugh. Third grade and I’m already at the bottom of the high school totem pole. I’ll never recover.
- What the hell bro! You didn’t say we were doing a gift exchange! Now I have to get you something and my parents both just got 2nd jobs so we could get another hundred AOL minutes on CD-ROM in the mail! What am I supposed to get you!? And how do I give it to you without anyone knowing. I feel like this stupid alien figurine when you push the button on its back and the little alien weenie comes out of the alien mouth. I want to throw up alien weenies.
- Dude. What the hell bro! I’ve never even seen Alien! I’m Mormon. I’m not allowed to watch Southpark. I can’t watch Toy Story because Sid is a bad example. I can’t leave the house on Sundays! How the hell am I going to bring home an Alien doll? Thanks for getting me grounded. Some friend.
So here’s what I have to do. You’ve forced my hand. I have to make fun of you to your face in front of everyone at recess. Its just the rules. Then I have to go home and hide the doll until Saturday, when I know that I’m having a bomb ass liquidation sale (thats what I call Lemonade Stands) in the morning. I’m gonna hock some wares next to my lemonade -my sisters homemade bracelets, apples with faces carved in them, and Alien action figures- and hopefully I can sell the damn thing, turn a profit and use it to buy a different toy from Jeff McDonald down the street (known for his collection of the finest action figures out there).
I work the system and get a sweet deck of Reboot cards. I hand them off to Ryan on the down low in between the buses after school one day as I look over my shoulder to make sure nobody sees. Then I apologize under my breath for making fun of him. He says its cool. It’s cool. Reboot rules.
Happy Valentines Day Ryan.
… it takes you a long time to get into the habit of washing your hands. A long time. Like… 30 years long. There’s just no point really. You’re always dirty. Having clean hands is abnormal. If you eat dinner with clean hands you actually are more at risk of getting sick because your body is used to your food being accompanied by an ever so slight dusting of dirt and grime. Lets elaborate. Here are the rules:
- If you go to the bathroom to pee, don’t wash your hands. The logic here is why should I wash my hands for touching my own peeper. It’s my peeper. Your peeper is the dirty one.
- If you go to the bathroom to poopie you have some options. If you successfully can pull off a ghost poop ( a poop in which you wipe afterwards and there is nothing on the toilet paper) you are in the clear. If you can’t see it, it doesn’t exist. You are not obligated to wash. If you have anything from a regular Jamie Lee Curtis style poopie to a full on juicy poop, you should at least run your wiping hand under some water. The messy factor directly correlates to the amount of hand washing.
- If you use the bathroom after your sister in any way or in any capacity, you have to take a shower.
- Don’t wash your hands before eating. Its dangerous to your health. Don’t wash your hands after eating because now its too late.
- If you’re hand is dirty and bleeding don’t wash your hands. This is a perfect opportunity to introduce new foreign material to your body to make your body stronger. Mana from poor people heaven. You’ll get strong and never have to go to the doctor again. Last time you went to the doctor your dad had to get another job.
- If you’re about to touch a newborn baby you wash your damn hands.
It wont be until you turn 30 that you realize that these rules are not universal and you made most of them up while dealing with poopies that were not ghosts.
…food is fuel. Thats it. You grow up eating such a small variety of foods that your pallet adapts and becomes what you call a “trailer pallet”. This means that things don’t taste exquisite, or delectable, or earthy, or splendid, or umami. What the hell does that even mean? Food taste good or it tastes not good. So for a while you’ll have a skewed view of what great food tastes like. In your mind the three best restaurants in the country are Chili’s, Boston Market, and the creme de la creme….Red Lobster (Curiously enough, when you’re poor, Applebee’s still sucks).
You’ll sit around a table at a Texas Roadhouse at your friend’s birthday party in high school wishing more than anything that you had a Nokia cell phone to call your parents and ask them to bring you the five dollars in your piggy bank you’ve been saving so that you can afford the New York strip meal like everyone else. Instead you have to buy the !@$%ing Cobb salad. You keep asking the waiter to refill the free rolls basket. He does. But there are 10 people at this table. You hesitate but then give him and ask him if he can bring more than one basket. He does. Its not enough. You tug on his shirt sleeve and beckon him to lean down so you can whisper to him. “Hey man, could you bring like one basket just for me? Is that okay? Please? Please?” He looks at you funny but brings one out anyway. You get your damn Cobb salad and the girl across from you asks you how you like it. Your mouth is full and you put your finger up and start trying to push whats in your mouth down your throat because the girl is pretty. While you struggle she says “my steak is medium but I ordered medium rare. It a bit overdone but the horseradish gives it a tangy kick thats just irresistible.” You swallow. You blink. She is now not pretty anymore. “So how’s the salad?” You pause. “Its good”. She asks you what kind of dressing you got – house, raspberry balsamic, or cilantro ranch? “I don’t know” you reply. Thats the end of that conversation.
When you grow up you still can’t stand people talking about their food while they eat it. Just eat your damn food! It there! Right in front of you! Why are you talking about it. Just eat it. And when someone asks you how your food is your blood boils a little every time as you smile and say “Good.”
Its quantity over quality. Every time. Thats why Golden Corral exists. Thats why chocolate drizzled cotton candy exists. The chocolate gives the fluffy airiness of the cotton candy an irresistible, but subtle kick.