There are two types of high-school graduates: Type A) The high-school peaker. Type B) The high-school victim. These two groups share at least one major thing in common: They’re both crazy. Certifiable. Insane in the membrane and out. And there’s something else: In your own way, you’re destined to be an alma-mater member of each. Unless you read the rest of this post, then there might be hope. But no promises.
You have a perfect face. Can you believe it? There’s finally two of us! (Confession: I was relieved that you didn’t emerge resembling a wrinkly old Benjamin Button, but I would’ve put on my game face and said how cute you were, regardless.) Not that it’s about me or anything, but your birth a week ago was one of the most intense experiences of my life. And I’m just your weird uncle. I can’t imagine how much your parents must’ve been falling in love with you at first sight.
I recently bought a new home. Probably a bad decision. Now, instead of saying things like, “I really want a Golden Retriever puppy,” in front of people more responsible than me, I have to be all, “I should really put that brushed-nickel toilet paper roll on.” I mean, I never felt like doing anything around anyone else’s house, so why would I feel the sudden urge to have my own house to not do stuff in? I’ll never figure myself out, but before I file for Chapter 18 Bankruptcy (the fake one where the buyer is too lazy to mail their mortgage check), allow me to share with you a few tried-and-true tips for finding your very own money pit.
Beret-wearing bathroom-hogger guy. Bonjour, I enjoy making fun of your beret as much as the next patron, but it’s harder for me to really sink my teeth into my snap judgment when you’ve been in the bathroom for twenty minutes. What are you doing in there? And why are you making it impossible for me to feel comfortable going in afterward? You are a terrible, terrible person, I just know it.
For those of you who don’t stay up toward the ‘crack enough to see the Lumosity commercials with the dumb short-haired girl cheesing out that it’s “serious brain training” with an animated light bulb over her head, I hate you for getting more sleep than me. For the rest of you, you know you want to try that infomercially goodness, don’t you?