Trapped in 1988...

It's a very rude awakening to realize that you have the attention span of a six-year-old. I've come to the conclusion that I need to be constantly entertained and/or amused. I wouldn't go as far as to say that I have attention defecit disorder. I don't need to be medicated. This is all really based on my actions and purchases within the last week or two. Somehow I manage to mingle the idea of responsibility with something completely absurd. Impulsive, even. I have a need for sensory overload, like browsing the internet with the television on, the radio blaring, and trying to have a sane conversation on the phone all at the same time.




I'm all about multi-tasking and the word 'simultaneously.' It always makes your tasks seem extraordinary, no matter how ridiculous they are.

He juggled three watermelons while simultaneously whistling the score to Bonanza.

Wow. Magnificent (I so seldom get to use that word).

And so I find myself with this constant need of a backup plan in case something goes awry, and I somehow begin to experience the burden of pure focus. On one thing. Honestly, I'm not sure I am even capable of such a feat.

Last week, for example.

I went to the drug store to buy tampons and walked out with three Pez dispensers.

I went to the office supply store to buy an organizer and ended up with two Hot Wheels cars.

I took a trip to the grocery store for milk and left with a pocket-sized laser pointer.

I went to fill up my tank at the gas station and strolled out wearing a ski hat. In Florida.

I seriously need an accountant and a personal shopper to keep me under control.

The other day I went back to the drug store and bought a jumbo bag of Pez refills.

Something tells me there is reason I don't want or need to have children. It would be like giving birth to a circle of friends. After a few years we'd be sitting around the sandbox with our cherry kool-aid talking about saturday morning cartoons and play-doh.

It's still a wonder adults put up with me. Maybe I do need to be medicated.

Headless Horseman finds Bodyless Horse..

Undoubtedly, the thing I enjoy most about children is that they are so easily amused. You give a kid a curly fry and he'll be entertained for hours. Or at least 15 minutes. Sometimes I wish it were still so simple to hold my interest, it would save me a lot of money, and probably a lot of brain cells. But that's an entirely different story. Yesterday, I was having an appropriately random conversation about childhood toys. I raved about my Bigbird Bigwheel, which was so perfectly 80s, back before toddlers were driving mini Hummers and off-road SUV's. It was basically a bright yellow chopper, and I was such the rebel on my tricked out tricycle.



After overcoming the sudden sadness that came from realizing I no longer own my B-Bird, and am no longer young enough to ride it without looking insane, I moved on to the Ponystick. Yes, the ponystick.

This toy is pretty much as simple as it gets. There are no mechanical parts, microchips, batteries, or any of those crazy technology whats-its that make everything fun. It seems perfectly innocent. Or at least it did. That is, until I tried to describe said toy to an outside party and could only come up with the following well-articulated description:

"You know...it's like a horse's head on a stick. You put it between your legs and ride it around. It's not a full horse, just the stuffed head. But it has reins and everything."



What is wrong with us? A kid wants to ride a pony so we decapitate it and put it's head on a stick. And these crazy kids ride around like it's all sunshine and rainbows. Your pony doesn't have any legs, kids!



I couldn't have put it better than my lovely Scottish concubine who said that the Ponystick seems less like an interactive toy and more like a death threat the mafia would send children in the mail.

And with this, I will NEVER mention ponies or sticks again.

Snickers vs. Teddy.

Teddy Ruxpin is described as an animatronic talking bear. Frankly, anything characterized by the word 'animatronic' frightens me. It makes me think of crazy robots, specifically that creepy band from Chuck E. Cheese that plays during 'Pizza Time,' and always made me lose my appetite and/or cry a little. The pizza at Chuck E. Cheese was awesome, at least when I was 8, so you can trust that these mechanical muppet spawn were enough to potentially scar me emotionally or send me into pre-adolescent cardiac arrest.

Collectively, they are called Munch's Make Believe Band, and the members are an oversized chicken, a purple monster, a hound dog and an Italian pizza chef. They have enormous eyes, move like Frankenstein on acid, and their mouths open and close at all the wrong times (like a badly dubbed Kung Fu movie). If the people over at Chuck's place aren't trying to give small children a lifetime of nightmares, I have to seriously question their entertainment choices. And when the song is over, the least they could do is drop a curtain or close a door; not just allow these unfortunate kids (mouths all full of pizza and fun) to watch the characters go still, silent, and then sit there on display in quasi-death as the lights dim. Oh, the horror! The absolute horror!

But I digress.

As a kid of the fabulous 80's, of course I had a Teddy Ruxpin doll. For those that don't know, the original Teddy Ruxpin (who I will now refer to as T-Rux), was a stuffed bear with a cassette tape player built into his back, and he would read stories aloud. Being (...gulp...) animatronic, his eyes and mouth would also move as he told the story. This was all fine and dandy before I was introduced to Chuck E. Cheese, in fact, me and T-Rux had some great times together. We'd watch videos, eat pudding, take naps, and occasionally we'd just sit with a glass of kool-aid and chat about the good ol' days. Well, to make a long story short (although it really isn't a very long story at all), my friendship with T-Rux was dashed to pieces after I experienced the pure, unadulterated fear better known as Munch's Make-Believe Band. I hid him somewhere in the dark, endless abyss of the basement (without so much as a map or a compass), never to be seen or heard from again. Well, my mom found him eventually, but let's just say at that point the magic was gone.

And so I discovered early that 'animatronic' just wasn't the way to go. In desperate need for a new partner-in-crime, I called up my faithful friend-bear, Snickers. He was the first stuffed animal I'd owned (from my early infant days), and after betraying him for my short-lived, illicit affair with T-Rux, I decided I should probably stick to my roots. We talked things over, discussed my infidelity, and ultimately I blamed my actions on the naievity of youth and the ruthless distractions of consumer marketing. Snickers understood. He forgave me, we hugged it out, and we've been inseparable ever since. Snickers is my homeboy.

He's my wing-man.

My sexless, inanimate lover.

Snickers is my rock.

Hmm. I know that I initially had a reason for telling this sad and pitiful tale. A reason which would not have left me looking like a disturbed adult woman who still sleeps with her teddy bear. That reason was undoubtedly sensible and appropriate. But that reason has now escaped me, and I am disturbed, so go figure.

Don't take your kids to Chuck E. Cheese. But if you have to, eat your pizza outside.

And yes, I am still afraid of robots. Sorry Transformers, you guys can't all be trusted. Just look at the Decepticons.