I May Be Mortal, But I'm Still Awesome.
My friend recently reminded me that Halloween is about a month away. He then asked me what I was going to be dressing up as this year. When I laughed in his face and told him that I'm an adult and that I don't dress up for Halloween any more, he got really offended and told me that he still dresses up for Halloween, inevitably and excitedly, year after year. Um, the guy is 29 years old. I think he's crazy. What do you think, Narcissist? How old is too old to be dressing up for Halloween?
— Unmasked in Uptown
I know what you mean. It's absolutely juvenile to dress up for Halloween. I mean, dressing up as a character for one night? Amateur hour.
I prefer to dress up as characters sporadically, like on my mom's birthday or for my Social Psychology final exam. I dressed up as Dolly Parton for my Social Psych exam, but eventually I got kicked out for singing softly to the girl sitting next to me, who happened to be named “Jolene.” She was all like, “Shut up! I need to take this test!” I think I eventually convinced her not to take my man, though.
Maybe you would feel better about your friend dressing up for Halloween if you did, too? Try dressing up as his mom. He'll love it! And then you can just call him “son” or “champ” all night, while chastising his eating habits and asking when he's going to give you grandkids.
Last Halloween, I dressed up as a stop sign. It was such a great idea, because if you walk past someone and they don't stop, you can be all like “Hey pal, don't you know you can get ticketed for that?” It's great if you get multiple people to stop, too. They get confused about who has the right of way.
At a recent checkup, my doctor said she was worried about my eating habits. Sure, I eat out a lot and probably partake eat too much fast food, but I'm not even 30 yet! I think she's just jealous because she's old. Is there such a thing as someone dying from eating too much processed food at 25? C'mon.
— Salty in South Dallas
She's definitely jealous because she's old.
Old people are jealous of me all the time.
I can tell, because they're always like, “Hey! Stop huffing paint! That will kill you!” and “If you shake that bottle of Coke before you open it, it will spill everywhere!”
Little do they know, I like spilling coke everywhere, because life is fleeting.
You probably are dying from eating processed food, though. I watched this documentary Food Inc., which had a lot of information about the food industry, but, unfortunately, I can't remember what happened in it because, three minutes in, I took a break to get a few boxes of Hot Pockets and then I spent the rest of the night throwing up. Or, as I like to call it, “Toilet Inspecting.”
But, like I said, life is fleeting.
Who cares if you're dying? I've recently come to terms with my own mortality. I spent the first 18 years of my life searching for the Fountain of Youth, but all I found were Fountains of Wayne, and they wouldn't shut the hell up about Stacy's mom.
Who would want to spend an eternity listening to that?
My roommate and I found a dead roach in our apartment the other day and now she keeps making me open kitchen cabinets for her. She thinks she'll open the door and a Roach Rambo will jump out and attack her. I keep telling her that we don't have a problem and that it's been taken care of, but I can't convince her. Any advice on how to ease her fears? Also, how can I do so in a way that I don't get blamed if a Roach Rambo does jump out at her?
— Bugged in Bedford
I had that exact same problem when I first moved in to my apartment.
I was always worried that roaches would fly out of my cupboards, like a flying squirrel or a hang-gliding yuppie. I would stare intensely at the cupboards, then open them slowly and prepare myself to jump back a few feet if one of those gross menaces were to show their faces.
What you have to do, I've learned, is pull out all the stops to make sure that you feel comfortable in your own kitchen. I recently bought a hockey mask and a big carton of roach spray, and then kicked open all the cupboards and doors in my apartment while screaming “Playtime is over, but spraytime has just begun!“
If you feel uncomfortable committing roach genocide, do you think maybe you can teach your roommate to love roaches?
Maybe introduce them over dinner and have your roommate ask the roach what it's like to transmit diseases. Play games like “Pin the shoe on the roach” and “Roach Jeopardy,” where all the answers end up being “What is smashing roaches?”
She will love them in no time!
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