...that are not so awesome as adults:

Happy Meal Toys

Remember how exciting this used to be? You beg and plead your mother and fathers to take you for greasy, sugary, fatty, delicious fast food so you can be rewarded with the coolest little plastic trinket this side of type two diabetes.  Stuck in between limply fried potatoes and battered chicken briquettes were individually wrapped emblems of hope and childhood, hermetically sealed promises of hours of play and happiness. While recently cleaning out my basement, however, I stumbled upon one of these lost relics of youth. It looked like this.

Wait a minute … what? Is that? … Is that a fork? A trident? Satan’s chosen weapon/accessory? Nope. It’s a gardening tool.  A miniature, flimsily constructed trowel and pitchfork that would be helpful only if you had the hands of a remarkably dexterous two-year old and had planted a garden made of yogurt. And the damn little toy was broken. Still in the bag, and broken, one of the tines having snapped off during all those years of incredibly strenuous storage. Way to ruin my dreams, Hamburglar, and be a cheap-ass to boot.

Sugar Cereals

Disclaimer 1: I am coo-coo for Cocoa Puffs and always will be. Chocolate milk and jet-puffed balls of cookie-like substance breakfast is pretty much my dream of dreams (a.k.a. liquid Oreos. Make it happen, Nabisco). Amazing.

Disclaimer dos: I was not allowed very many cereals as a child, so my lonely walk of longing down Aisle 7 was punctuated with a lot of angst and drooling. What cereals were allowed in my house? Cheerios, Shredded Wheat and Cracklin’ Oat Bran. I was a very regular child.

Now, most of the time I would flock to the standards: Lucky Charms, Fruit Loops and anything cookie related: Crisp, Crunch, Bites, Bombs, Nuggets, whatever. However, occasionally there were cereals that really stood out in the crowd, demanding my appreciation and salivation.

They were too many to count, but my top three, in no particular order, were: E.T. Cereal, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Cereal and, I kid you not, Urkel-O’s. Obviously I was influenced by movies and television a little too much, which might help to explain my totally useless and expensive bachelor’s degree in film.

As it turns out, E.T. Cereal is a poor-man’s rice crispies. Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Cereal was Chex meets Lucky Charms, which is not all bad, but I was hoping for some actual turtle flavor. And Urkel-O’s?

They speak for themselves.

Pogs

It’s a milk cap, kids. I don’t care how cool or valuable we thought they were at the time. I now see that my time spent coveting and accumulating these little “toys” in my cubby was not just spent in vain, but a life choice. Since Pogs are actually garbage, i.e. discarded milk parts, it also means I twiddled away many, many hours collecting trash instead of participating in other mildly pressing things, like learning. My grade school superlative pegged me as Most Likely to Star on the Season Finale of Hoarders.

Pictured: My fourth grade classroom

Touch It. Touch My Sweat.

Hypercolor Clothing

Do you all remember this ingenious invention? Let’s take a lot of hormonal kids and put them in clothing that makes their sweaty bits turn colors? Cause I do, and so does my lack of antiperspirant at a young age. Try wearing one of these in gym class. It is, essentially, covering yourself in a giant full-body mood ring the code of which is: pink means Socially Acceptable, red means Slightly Awkward, and purple means Good Luck Getting a Date to the Junior Prom, Barnyard.

The Golden Child

I loved this movie. I really did. What is not to love? Good vs. evil, small magical humans, martial arts, a nice PG sex scene, intrigue and bloody oatmeal? All winners. Eddie Murphy was one of my many age-inappropriate childhood crushes, and seeing the front of the VHS cover with him in his leather hat and matching leather sports coat with the white sweatshirt popping out? To me it meant: "Hey! I’m street savvy! I solve crimes and help kids! But I am also accessible to a small town New Hampshire girl due to my love of braying, winks and eyebrow arches." I loved that movie. I wore out the tape.

I recently watched it as an adult-ish person, and how shall I say this so as not to offend: it’s fucking awful. The effects? Awful. The comedy? Really awful. Sardo Numpsa? Even more really awful. And my dear, sweet Eddie Murphy? You were the most really fucking awful of it all. It made me w-w-w-want the kn-kn-ife so I could stab myself with the Ajanti dagger and slip into eternal rest, avoiding any further Asian stereotypes or poorly executed roundhouse kicks.

This was the beginning of your slump, Eddie, the first of the worst. I can’t wait for Nutty Professor VIII to come out so you can finally redeem yourself.

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Eryn Ashley has two first names. She likes to tell people what to do. However, if she wants your opinion, she will beat it out of you.

Contact her at neuroticmonkey.com