I'm one of those people that thinks you can 'buy' yourself into a talent, a hobby, or sport. That if I purchase something, that makes up for things like actual interest in said hobby or any real skill.
When I was 18, I decided I was going to become a rock climber. So I went to some lame-ass sporting goods store where the men inside it all reek of BO and the women don't wear makeup- I guess because they're 'outdoorsy'. (Um, it's called concealer, honey- and you need it.)
"Can I help you?" The sales lady, in some horrid wind pants that made her look like the Goodyear Blimp, approached me.
"I need rock climbing gear. Because...I'm going to be a rock climber."
$350 bucks later I was walking out of the store with shoes tiny enough for an infant, a harness, and rope. I was ready to rock climb or participate in some serious S&M.
The shoes I ended up losing, the rope I used to tie down boxes on the top of my car when I moved, and the harness I ended up giving to a girlfriend who had a hyperactive four year old boy. She'd put the kid in the harness, attach a long rope to the end of it, and watch him chase leaves in the backyard for hours like a dog.
"He's SO much easier to deal with now," she told me, as we stood at the window inside her house and watched her son gnaw on a piece of wood in the backyard.
"Is that a water bowl out there?" I asked.
Once I had a dream that I was Darius Rucker, the lead singer of Hootie and the Blowfish. The next day I told my dad that I thought this was a sign that I should play the guitar.
"That's pretty weird, sweetie," my dad said.
"That I dreamed I was a black man?"
"No..." Dad paused. "That you would want a guitar," he answered. "I wasn't aware that you had any musical interest whatsoever."
I knew he was referring to the year in 5th grade when I talked my parents into buying me a saxophone, played it for 30 seconds, and then ended up getting my forearm stuck inside the bell of the horn.
"Dad- I MUST have a guitar," I pleaded. "Please?"
A month later, after my dad purchased it, I ended up trading the guitar for a bag of weed and a pair of sheepskin seat covers. Naturally, my dad was right.
I was going to be a 'fashion designer' at one point and purchased a sewing machine. I made my sister a dress that looked like I had sewn together two twin sheets and then cut a hole in the top- which I did.
"Oh, wow, this is..." My sister stood in the middle of the living room, her twin sheet dress belted at the waist, confused as all hell. "This is interesting...."
"Isn't it great?!" I asked, lying. In reality she looked like a patient in a mental institution. "You should wear it out tonight!"
My basement is littered with all my fake interests- a punching bag when I was going to be a kick-boxer, skies from when I was a skier, and tons of painting supplies when I decided I was going to paint. I think the only time I used them is when a couple of my friends got drunk at my house, passed out, and I ended up painting pictures of dicks on their faces. Picasso I'm not.
If I truly want to be honest with myself- I really don't have any talent or interest in anything. The only thing I truly know how to do, and do well- is be funny.
And, luckily for me, funny is free.
Quarter Life Whatever
3 years ago