I just did something that had the potential to be pretty stupid. For several weeks I've been texting my friends, saying, "I feel like doing X ("x" is a variable for the stupid thing I did. Not drugs. Not drugs.), do you think I should?" And 100% of the time, my friends would say, "You absolutely should not do X. You will regret it and you will feel sad. Also, you will develop herpes. Probably." And I never did.
But then, this afternoon, I said, "Hey, what the hell? I'ma do it." And I didn't ask anyone because I knew they would say the thing about it being stupid. So I began this task and right as I hit the proverbial "send" button, my soul crawled up from my toes (little known fact: that's where everyone keeps their soul) and screamed, "No!!! Abort! Abort! Abort!" Luckily the gods were smiling down and that stupid thing didn't go very far at all but I'm not doing that again.
How's that for a vague intro/segue? For putting up with it, and for loving me, I give you:
A List of Specific Things That Always Seem Like A Good Idea
Until You've Reached The Point of No Return
Painting: I painted all of the trim in my living and dining room. I also painted the fireplace. You expect it to be a relaxing, creative experience that will take, oh, maybe an afternoon and with a little attention to detail, you will feel good about yourself for weeks to come. It's always nice when you can stock pile self-esteem without having to resort to sexual favors.
But does it ever work that way? It does not. The following is a look into the mental progression of deciding to paint a room.
- Beige is so 2002.
- Paint the walls!
- So many colors to choose from. I'll go with Cordovan and then consider using that name for my first born. Cordovan will be such a sexy baby.
- "I'll take a gallon of interior semi-gloss in... Cordovan." Then you whip your hair around.
- Pouring paint into the tray is such a gorgeous activity.
- Loading the roller brush with paint is such a satisfying activity.
- Rolling the paint onto the wall is such a--crap. I'm going to have to do this on every wall. And not miss any spots.
- And I'm most definitely going to have to do two coats.
- Painting. Blows.
- I'm out of paint so I must be finished.
- I hate Cordovan.
Playing Truth or Dare. Playing Truth or Dare is like showing up to a job interview without pants. First of all, you don't play Truth or Dare unless you have a crush on someone at the party (so that's your interview). And it will always end badly. Always. It's a fact. You're hoping it'll turn into Spin The Bottle and you'll get hooked up with your soul mate. It won't. And we're 27 years old. I don't know how we even got invited to a party like this.
The first time that I played Truth or Dare, I was in the 6th grade and a group of us ditched out on Oktoberfest (which, in its prime, was a little like Mardi Gras for the youth of my very, very small town) and ran to a shed behind a friend's house where we said curse words and sat in fear of getting caught. Okay, that last part was probably just me. Someone suggested Truth or Dare and everyone was down. The problem is that 6th graders don't really have secrets and shockingly poor imaginations so all of the dares were "I dare you to kiss so-and-so." No one dared me to kiss the boy that I had a crush on. They only dared me to kiss Tevin. And I refused. In retrospect, that was probably not very good for him. That was, actually, quite rude. When you agree to play Truth or Dare, you agree to drop your standards at the door. It's the nature of the game. I left, disappointed because I didn't get to kiss that one boy.
In college, we drove out to the lake to play Truth or Dare. But we were in college and surprisingly lethargic. So, really, we just played Truth or Truth. I had a crush on a boy there, too, and I left disappointed because it was revealed that he had kissed someone else not that long ago. Truth or Dare: it's always, only about kissing. And you will throw up in the mud.
Wearing shoes without socks. It always seems like a good idea. All the cute girls can pull this off. Keds without socks. In shoes without socks, you're thin and light and airy and are probably wearing a sundress no matter what. Vampire Weekend plays everywhere you go. That is, for the first forty-five minutes and then when you're standing still, in line at Pottery Barn and notice that you're working on a blister the size of Delaware (you have such big feet) and you're no where near home. Once you nod in the blister's direction and acknowledge its existence, you will be, instantly, 40% crippled. Hobbling everywhere you go and yelling at your friends to wait up, you guys! They give you the finger and walk into American Apparel because they told you to wear socks. Now you hear Nickleback everywhere you go.
Watching Garden State: You're all saying, "Hey, I liked Garden State!" And of course you did. All of us of a certain age watched this film, birthed of Zach Braff's loins and handed to us still covered in the goop. And we loved it like it was our adopted, Asian brother. Never before had we been so understood. No one understands me! We sang. Our parents don't get us! Our old friends back home don't get us! Our psychiatrists are fucked up! Only Natalie Portman understands me! And then we set our MSN Messenger away message as "Off to explore the infinite abyss" and sat in the bathtub.
That was good. You sat in it. You stewed amongst your own obscurity and you went on with life and then you see Garden State on your bookshelf but anytime you pop it in the DVD player you think, "I never understood that Serpico joke." And you're irritated about what an effort it is for Zach Braff to see past his own nose but you know he'll never do it. I say watch it one more time, though--watch it with the commentary. Worth it.
Eating an Altoid: You think you need a mint. You buy a tin of Altoids because, they're curiously strong and your face is all up in everyone else's face all day and you'd like them to contemplate your curiously strong breath--in a good way. You want to leave a positive impact on the world. But there comes a point between popping it into your mouth and actually finishing it where you find that you're in a double dog dare with yourself. It hurts. Your nose is running. Forget it. It's made with mad amounts of sugar which is only going to give you worse breath than you had originally.Just spit it out. You win both ways.