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2005-07-13
Siblings Lost On Television Hibernation Spree -- otherwise known as SLOTH syndrome I just ate a cookie. This is significant for two reasons only; one, I am supposed to be on a diet and two, it wasn't very good. Which means I just wasted however many calories are in a decent sized chocolate chip cookie that could have been used to make myself a more fortifying dinner. Like, one you don't mircowave. Speaking of microwavable food, our freezer is stuffed so full of it that I can't fit the box of frozen corndogs in there. I HATE it when my parent's leave for the weekend. Not because I pine for parental attention or am incapable of handling myself for two days (I'm 18 for cryin' out loud!) but because it means I get to play parent to my siblings. Who I swear are never this messy or needy when mom and dad are home. Between running errands, droping off my sister at a friends house in an area that can certainly NOT be called local, I arrived home an hour later to find my 16 (and capable) brother zonked out on the futon in our playroom -- surrounded by his electric guitar (not plugged in), an emply hot pocket box, several pot pocket wrappers and at least a dozen corndogs sticks. My brother has two legs, which work just fine and should be capable of carrying him and his mess of dirty dishes and recyclable items into the kitchen where it would not kill him to activate two of his healthy arms and pull open the dishwasher. Apparently, the lack of parental units means my usually responsible and active brother and equally operative sister would de-evolve into a specicies only a few proteins away from sloths. There is only so much TV a person can watch in a day, and when half of it is 'That's so Raven' (gag me please) you are practically inviting brain decomposition. If you are going to spend the day laying around -- which I am not completely opposed to, it happens -- by all means, consider picking up a book. According to some study somewhere, the brain of a coma patient charts more activity than a perfectly well person watching the boob tube. So this: a note to parents everywhere: When you go away for a relaxing weekend, be aware that your teenage children may not throw a party or get drunk and burn the house down. But they just might spend 46.7 of the 48 hours you are gone consuming greasy microwavable food and putting their brains in a state of hibernation no doubt brought on by too many consecutive hours of 'Cheers' reruns. I wonder how long it will take me to go crazy. My estimation is around 30 wrappers. I'm at 17.
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