Guy Talk

Miss me? Here we go again. Everybody is back and in full swing.Beer and liquor sales tripled in Dallas over the weekend. I’mback, and I’m feeling kind of feisty. It felt great tofinally give my fingers a rest over the break. Wow. That soundedway better in my head than it reads on paper. But I’m readyto make like a turn signal and go write.

Anyway, it is going to be one heck of a semester. I’m donein May, so I’m not going to leave anything behind. If forsome reason I run out of things to say, my parents gave me enoughammo over the break to write a new weekly column called,”Guy’s stupid parents talk.”

Let me enlighten you.

Nothing like going home to a bunch of high school acquaintancesat the local bars. In case we didn’t have anything to talkabout in high school we really don’t have anything to talkabout now. So the standard line is, “How is school, done inMay, what’s your major?” Winter break quickly turnedinto “Winter I’m going to break your face if you ask meone more stupid question just for the sake of blowing smoke outyour ass.”

I was home no longer than 30 minutes before my mother acted likeI had never left. “Please clean your room G (she calls methat), the cleaning lady comes tomorrow.” First of all, howis it still my room? It was my room when the black light was abovethe door, the beer poster was on the wall and the inflatablelifeguard was carefully resting below my bed.

Now the black light has been replaced with a clock, the beerposter with a picture of a bear in the woods and the inflatablelifeguard with a box of my dad’s old sweaters. Hardly a fairtrade.

Second can someone explain to me the phenomenon of cleaning upfor the cleaning lady? Isn’t there a reason she is called thecleaning lady? She isn’t called thepick-up-whatever-you-missed lady. What is next? Don’t forgetto fix the leak, the plumber is coming? Go mow the lawn before theyard crew gets here?

Then there was Christmas. I remember when Christmas used to meansomething. My mother says we still have Santa to preserve theenjoyment for my little brother. He is 19. Gifts aren’t coolanymore. I remember getting He-Man, Nintendo and Hungry, HungryHippo all in the same year (last year was great). Now I get one biggift, in this case a foosball table. Good thinking mom. Let meremind you all that I fly home for break.

“Excuse me, Sir, you can’t take that as yourcarry-on luggage.”

“Why not? You said I could take one thing.”

“Yes sir, but I don’t believe that will fit in theoverhead space.”

“Why not?”

“It’s a friggin foosball table (in angry voice) nota suitcase.”

“Fine crabby pants.”

So now my parents have one of the best dust collecting foosballtables in the country.

To counter this stupidity, I decided to sleep.

A lot.

On January 3, I slept until 3 p.m., woke up and had a bowl ofCap’n Crunch, realized I had nothing to do and went back tobed. I then woke up at 7 p.m., met my buddies at Wendy’s, ateand came home to take a nap. I woke again at 11 p.m., met mybuddies at the bar, stayed until one, went home and went to bed fora third time. That was a great day.

It was at this moment I realized I wouldn’t make the wholebreak. I hadn’t even had to deal with the family dinner, therelatives and stories of my years as a child. Yet I had a strangeurge to slam my head continuously into the sliding door by the backyard.

But I did make it. Out in one piece and back in Big D. There isso much to talk about; I don’t even know where to start.

It seems like just four years ago it was 2000 and four yearsbefore that is was 1996 and four years, you get it. Crazy how thatworks. I remember the days of the Smurfs, Milli Vanilli and oldschool Nintendo.

Yet now here I am, a senior, done in May and that place theFrench call, “The Real World” awaits me. Perfect. Nowwhat?

I guess I should make a list of things to do this year.

Pass class, pass gas, pass on the grass … try and thinkof your own, it’s fun. Stay clean, no gutter mouth.

Come to think of it making a list is a lot of work. I thinkmaybe instead, I will just go to bed. Don’t worry, I will bearound. Welcome back.

Guy Bellaver is a humor columnist for The Daily Campus.He can be reached at [email protected].