A Day in the Life of a Goth Kid

I look at my closet. It's nothing but black. Black shirts, black pants, black shoes. Maybe a splash of color here and there, but not today. It's not that I don't have anything to wear, it's just the black pants and the black shirt I have out don't match. "How ridiculous!" you might think, but it's true. My black clothes don't match. After repeated washings they don't look like the new black clothes I own, they've become a washed out gray that is supposed to resemble black. It bothers me. I pick two pieces that are the same shade of gray and wear them. At least these blacks match. It may be time to invest into the detergent for black clothes.

Public outings and me don't get along. I put a lot of time into this hair of mine. It's freshly dyed (I'll deal with the ring of black dye in the tub later), teased, and slightly resembles Edward Scissorhands. But now I can't get into the car without it being squished. Perhaps it's time to tone it down and not tease my hair to the point where it resembles a shrub. I haven't had a haircut in a while. Oh well, I'm just going to go to the bookstore. Before I get to that point though, I realize I'm wearing my platform boots. No! I can't drive in these! I'll get them caught between the pedals, and that wouldn't be a pretty scene. I convince my other half to drive me to the bookstore. I go to get out of the car, minding the hair, and end up stuck to one of the many levers under the seat. One of the bondage straps is mangled underneath the seat. After moments of tugging, pulling, and finally having my other half untwist me I am free. Everyday it's a struggle to go anywhere.

We make it to the bookstore. We go through the same scene of my pants being stuck to the car seat. Except this time there are people around to stare as I unwind the strap from the grip of the car. Minding the hair, I step out. The first thing I do is stumble while wearing my Herman Munster boots. Oh great. I don't care if people are staring at me for other reasons, but that is the worst. There's nothing more embarrassing that being clad in all black and laying face first on the black top. Luckily I caught myself on the car, but not without a twisted ankle. I should probably invest in boots without a five inch platform. My life might be easier. I probably won't suffer through old age with sore ankles.

The trip to the bookstore starts off with a salesperson suggesting I read Twilight. I read it. I don't like it. Why does everyone assume I like Twilight? That same question goes for the Satanic Bible, Anne Rice, Stephen King, and lots of other "scary" things. I'm at the bookstore for the coffee and the opportunity to browse a large music section. That's all. I swear. Please don't ask me if I know it's not Halloween yet.

Of course, the music I'm looking for can't be found in ANY music section. No Frontline Assembly. No Front 242. Just a lot of copies of the Twilight Soundtrack. I swear, its haunting me. I turn to see a child staring at me. I smile, but the mother comes by and scoops him up. As she scurries off towards the children's books, I wonder what I did. I look at myself. My only crime was getting up in the morning and getting dressed. At least someone was nice enough to tell me I look a lot like "that chick from 'The Craft'". Very nice fellow.

Home is normal. I don't go to the basement to worship Satan. I don't own a lot of cats. I don't burn that much incense. I cook a little, and it's not something I went out to kill myself. Then I clean. First downstairs. Normal. Then the upstairs. Normal. I do laundry (shoot! I forgot the detergent for black clothes). I scrub at the black hair dye ring in the tub for an hour before I give up. At least it's faded. Then it's television time with the other half. We like "Family Guy" and whatever else Adult Swim has to offer. I drift off, thinking about the day I had. It's very typical. All those problems are typical, and they're not really problems at all. If they were, I wouldn't get up the very next day and do it all again.