Live, laugh, love ... and buy a new

Every time I head back home to what has inevitably become "my parents' house," I have to face the nightmare of my past: my old bedroom.\nI flash back to middle school, where my thoughts on interior decorating were as follows: \nHow many plastic glow-in-the-dark stars does it take to make a whole galaxy? How many more pictures of Leonardo DiCaprio can I fit into my hot guy collage? Isn't it such a good idea to put my Magna Doodle in my window, so I can send messages to the outside world? \nFast-forward to me looking around my room after graduating high school: What the hell is wrong with me? \nI decided at that moment that I would make an effort to decorate once I got to college. (I also decided to nickname myself "Philly" and tell all my new friends as a means of reinventing myself ... which was just silly, like cartoons and Republicans.) Of course, when I decided to decorate, I was also envisioning my dorm room as the one the gang slept in on "Saved by the Bell: The College Years." You remember it -- two bedrooms attached to an oversized lounge attached to a Roman bathhouse attached to an indoor racquetball court attached to a Buddhist prayer room. Once I got to school and saw the prison that is Teter-Wissler, I thought to myself: What would Christina Aguilera do? Teter can't hold me down.\nSo I decorated. Now, two years later, out of the dorms and in my fabulous apartment, I am still decorating. Me, my gay roommate and about four other people on this campus.\nMaybe I should clarify what decorating is ... not.\nBad posters do not give you interior design cred. This includes any poster that has the phrase "laugh, love, live" on it, anything by Anne Geddes or puppy dog-themed artwork. Is that what you want to see when you stumble home drunk with an unattractive stranger who might or might not be a sex opposite to what you think he or she is? A fat, Caucasian baby dressed up as a sunflower and a dog with sad eyes? I have to mention "The Kiss" poster. Yeah, guys, I know lesbians wearing full-sized white panties are orgasmic, but they're probably just on their period. It's a lesbian poster, so where are the Birkenstocks and oversized clothes? They're not real lesbians. You will never have a three-way with these ladies. Lower your standards and just start dating chicks with braces already.\nDo you know what else doesn't count as decor? Anything that once contained alcohol. (Showing off your drinking skills at IU is like a porn star wearing an 'I'm a Porn Star' T-shirt at a porn star convention.) That's right, I don't want to see your empty Pabst Blue Ribbon bottles lining the kitchen counters like a sacrifice to the white-trash beer gods. All those empty handles of Kamchatka? Impressive. Guys who can't afford Absolut really get me off. But why limit it to liquor bottles? What about nonalcoholic beverages, like empty milk gallons or old Kroger-brand orange juice cartons? They'd look so hot next to your George Foreman grill. Or, better yet, why not move on to food? You ate a granola bar as a late-night snack? Tack that wrapper on the wall, and show the world your accomplishments. Chicken bones, egg shells, peach pits ... the possibilities are endless here, really.\nWhere is the love, folks? Hasn't anyone heard of IKEA? It's a Swedish orgasm masquerading itself as a furniture store. You should try it. You can decorate your entire apartment for about $15, and then go eat meatballs in the cafeteria.\nWhat about legitimate art? You know, by artists? I bet Andy Warhol got laid way more than Captain Morgan. And I hear Jose Cuervo can't get it up. Jackson Pollock never had that problem. Shall I continue?\nThat being said, buy a rug. Or some curtains. Or a three-foot water bong (and invite me over). We're finally out of our parents' houses, and your new apartment doesn't have Freddie Prinze Jr. stickers stuck to your door frame, so let's embrace that. Give it the love it deserves. So either start decorating or start licking the walls and touching them inappropriately because it's time to get busy.