Day #2 of being stuck on my couch and I’ve obviously accomplished a great deal. A great deal being an hour long phone call with my grandma explaining why it’s not okay to take off her clothes in the middle of nursing home Bingo followed by 6 episodes of Arrested Development.
Of course this has given me a lot of time to be reflective. Watching Michael Bluth try to teach his son a lesson by hiring stripper policemen to perform a fake drug bust reminded me in no way of my own childhood and that makes me sad all day.
Growing up, my mom was pretty strict. No tolerance for cursing (she still yells at me when I do), messiness, or bad behavior. My IM history was checked, I wasn’t allowed to watch the Friends series finale when I was 15 because it was “inappropriate”, and boys were completely off-limits. But instead of teaching me valuable life lessons through in-depth conversations or at least a skit, she used to lock me in a room and make me watch Dr. Phil episodes she had taped.
Just a note, my mom is awesome. I was a terror in my pre-teen/early teenage years, so it’s probably a good thing she kept me on that child leash since otherwise havoc and/or a natural disaster would have occurred. I mean, I still got away with a lot of stuff, but to this day I’m scared she’ll find out about it.
One time, my best friend’s family and my family were down in LBI at her grandparent’s shore house for Memorial Day Weekend. I think we were about 13/14 years old. Now, Jen and I wanted to be able to walk around the island on our own. We felt like we were missing out on the crazy nightlife the beach had to offer. I mean, the mini golf place was open til 10pm on WEEKNIGHTS! Plus we wanted to scam on all the hotties.
We weren’t asking much: minigolf, the ice cream shop, and all the little tourist-y shops were within a 5 block radius from the beachfront house.
Our moms decided that before we were allowed out on our own, we had to watch 4 hours of Dr. Phil episodes. My mom had the VHS tapes all ready. They locked us in the master bedroom and subjected us to horrifying stories of pregnant 12 year olds with thongs that said “Daddy’s Girl” hanging out of their jeans. This was definitely not a Mary-Kate and Ashley straight-to-video kind of deal.
After hearing about child abductions and the dangers of navel piercings, we were given the go-ahead.
It was about 7pm when we left the house and it was starting to get dark. We made it to the corner store to get some chocolate whipped cream (our favorite snack, we used to eat it right out of the can) and decided to go for a walk on the beach.
Now, after having our minds tortured with images of creepy men, we started to get a little freaked out. There were a few lone people on the beach and of course we were convinced every single one was a serial killer who would impregnate us and steal our Beanie Babies.
We had walked farther than intended and started to panic. The beach was dark, we were going to die, and Dr. Phil was right about it all!
We decided to get off the beach and walk down the main street where there was more light. We were only about 10 blocks from the house, but we had ended up near some of the bars. So now there really were drunk leering men, and we, being classy, smart young women, decided to deal with this problem by running down street in flip flops screaming at the top of our lungs.
When we finally got to our street and realized no one was following us, we burst into tears and swore we would NEVER go out by ourselves again.