Teen Frog

A couple nights ago the Mrs HTF was out on one of her female-only adventures.  After I put the little people to bed I found myself doing what I usually do when I’m alone – just kinda walking around the house, slowly, and sitting down in random places thinking of what I should do with the alone/free time.  Then I go sit in another place and do the same bit of thinking.  Well, that night I turned on the TV and, for reasons I describe later, watched the entirety of the “Teen Choice Awards.” 

I thought it would be a less-serious, more appropriate version of the adult award shows.  But the opening song was Katy Perry singing something about “Let’s go all the way tonight…”  So right off I was hit with the fact that “teen shows” meant something a little different than I thought.  Still, with the help of the fast-forward button on the DVR, I endured the rest of the show, including way more of Taylor Lautner’s chest than in all the Vampire movies combined.  Now I should tell you why I turned it on in the first place… (actually, I shouldn’t tell you, but I’m going to anyway)

Recently Traci made an observation that at first I scoffed at, but then realized was awfully correct.  (most of my observations get scoffed at and then scoffed at again . . . and again – appropriately)  She said:

“You’re a closet teenager.”

This is factually correct, and pretty embarrassing.  Without knowing it I try really hard to like the same music teenagers do (loudly), to like the same TV shows, to stay up late without fearing consequences the next day, dancing badly, stuff like that.  Only I get to do it without the zits or the fear of my Biology mid-term.  I guess I channel the inner-teen because, well, those years pretty much rocked (and I had hair then).  It’s also a self-played-mind-game that I do to avoid the really apparent fact that I’m getting ancient.  I know that “happy teenage years” is a phrase some of you think makes as much sense as “common-sense-government.”  And I’m sorry about that.  But for me that was a good time.

So if I call you randomly at 2 AM asking if you wanna come over for Pizza and a Fletch Marathon – just roll your eyes and remind me that I have a budget meeting at 8 AM and that I haven’t had hair since Bill Clinton won an election.