When I was a baby, I used to take my feces out of my diaper and make paintings with it all over the walls in my room.
When I was in the fourth grade, I wrote a note to the girl of my dreams, asking, “Will you go out with me?” I threw the note in her direction, but it accidentally landed on this guy Ryan’s lap, who was appalled when he opened the note.
In middle school, I tried to give Girl of My Dreams #2 a kiss on the last day of school and she frantically ran away, flailing her arms in disgust. Around this time, this asshole Brian, who heard from his mom who heard from my mom, went around telling the whole school that I used to put my shit all over the walls and make art out of it.
I own the Carpenters’ The Singles 1969-1973. I still don’t have a driver’s liscence.
As much as I try to repress the memory, I still can’t get the vivid image out of my head of the time I went into the bathroom at my friend Sam’s house and saw his 85-year-old grandma taking a crap while naked on the toilet.
Last semester, my friend Dan was conversing with this really hot girl with an amazing chest. After she left, I went up to him and said, “I would have come over to talk to you earlier, but I didn’t want to ruin your momentum with that girl with the amazing chest.” He then informed me that the girl was his sister.
Earlier in this article, I see I spelled lisence wrong. Shit, there I go again.
But I reconcile all these things in my head by reminding myself that Einstein never got a liscence and Van Gogh used to make art of out of his excrement, too – developmental psychologists say it’s a sign of early creativity.
And of all the things in my life I am ashamed or embarrassed of, at least I’m not the one who created the song “The Laughing Gnome.” That was David Bowie, during his often-shameful pre-Ziggy Stardust days, when he was trying to get his failing career off the ground.
Please, listen to this song. Embrace the lyrics “Haven’t you got a gnome to go to? / (No, we’re gnomads).” You’ll definitely feel better about your own awkward life.
Archived article by Jared Wolfe
Sun Staff Writer