Dear Theoretical Kid,
Today I watched the Super Bowl by myself. It was just as depressing as it sounds. I came to the conclusion that most people don’t watch sports simply for the sake of watching sports. They must do it as some sort of social bonding activity thing. Not that the game wasn’t fascinating, but that I realized that it’s kind of lonely to cheer for a team when there’s no one there to cheer with you. It’s kind of like going to see a movie at the theatre by yourself (something I have done many times). As exciting as the movie may be, you get the feeling that there’s something wrong with you for doing something alone that is usually considered a group activity.
Or maybe that’s just me.
In any case, the result of what shall henceforth be known as (in my mind) the 2015 Super Bowl Fiasco is that it will never happen this way again. I will never watch a game by myself again (except as research). I will plan and connive and invite until my fingers bleed from the effort. Dramatic I know, but it’s important to me that I’m not the lonely kid on the block. I’ve been the solitary sort since I was a kid and I’m sick of it. And that is why, when you come along, your mom will be known as the woman who throws the most kick-ass Super Bowl party EVER. No joke. Reasons: A) I want a posse of kick-ass friends to chill with B) no way are you going to grow up being embarrassed by how lame I am. This self-improvement kick is for you, little Theoretical.
P.S. I resolve to move to an awesome place (haven’t decided where) before the next Super Bowl and find all of those kick-ass friends I talked about. There are enough theoretical people here as it is.
Found image through whatisneuroplasty.com (I have no idea if this is the original source).
Dear Theoretical Future Kid,
You’ll be pleased to hear right off the bat that your future mom (in theory) is a total nutcase. Exhibit A: last night I burst into tears for no reason at all while I was sitting on my bed. The result was that I instantly wondered if I might be a little bit crazy and that caused me to cry a little bit more. And then I realized that I’m just hormonal because I’m going to start my period any day now and that I’m just the poster child for PMS. (This is something that I already knew, but somehow I’m surprised by the fact once a month).
You know that show How I Met Your Mother and how it’s about this dude telling a story to his kids about his past? (I know you know what I’m talking about because I’ve already decided that we’re totally going to have all night binge marathons when you get to be, say, ten or so). Well this blog thing is more like me telling the future you (at this point you’re just a theory, sorry) all about what an idiot I am. Because, well, I grew up thinking that my parents were perfect and that kind of really messed me up (talk about an inferiority complex). So, to avoid that mistake, I plan to give you a blow-by-blow of what your (theoretical) mom was like in her twenties. A basket-case, apparently.
Right now I’m a twenty-three year-old with a couple worthless years of community college education under her belt. I work at a grocery store. I’m officially the dumbest person I know. Most moms wait until their kid is in high school to start pestering them about college and the importance of getting an education. You’re either really fortunate or incredibly unlucky because you don’t even exist yet and I’m already obsessed with the thought that you get a first-rate education. So, in order not to be a hypocrite, my first order of business will be to get the hell out of the little town that I live in and go back to college. I’ll get a real degree. I’ll hang the damn thing on the wall. And you’re going to grow up using printed out pictures of graduate degrees as scrap paper to color on.
P.S. I swear not to be a helicopter mom, I just don’t want you to have the same Early-Twenties-Idiot experience that I have. Trust me, it doesn’t do anything for the self-esteem to have people coming through the check out line ask you what college you’re going to and not being able to answer them without cringing at your own foolishness.