Am I an Adult?

Like I said in yesterday’s post, I turned 25 this month, and it’s strange because I still feel like I’m in high school. It’s not like I’m clinging to youth or anything, in fact, I’m excited to turn 30 in the near future. I’ve found that every six months or so I become a little less of an asshole, so I’m hoping by 30 I’ll be a real hip woman in charge of her own destiny, getting her clothes tailored, not eating as much processed foods, the whole thing.

young-adult-poster

But for now, I can’t tell- am I an adult? Let’s look at the evidence:

ADULT: I have aged out of eligibility to be on The Real World because apparently 25 is too old to catch syphilis in a hot tub while you experiment with your sexuality. What if I’m a late bloomer, huh, MTV?

NON-ADULT: Still too young to be a Real Housewife. Not a girl, not yet a woman.

ADULT: I pay rent with my own money for a townhouse with a garbage disposal, yes, garbage disposal. 

NON-ADULT: I recently cashed in an animal crackers jug full of change at a Coin Star so I would have drinking money.

ADULT: I told a co-worker how old I turned on my birthday and he said, “25! You can get married now!” Isn’t that wild? I mean, at this point, if I had a kid in a high school bathroom stall no one would give me a reality show. They might call DCF because what am I doing having a baby in a high school bathroom stall? but 25 is a completely appropriate age to get married and have a child. In the Mid-West.

NON-ADULT: No matter how old I am when I have kids, always exclaiming “this is children raising children!” is a very charming thing I plan to do.

ADULT: Another thing about kids- I’m at least mature enough to know at what time a toddler should be in bed and not at the West Hollywood Halloween Carnival among half a million people. That would be all of the times. When I went this year it was after 11pm and I was very surprised at the toddler to screaming drunk people ratio.

NON-ADULT: At 8pm on a Sunday I locked my keys in my car and waited until 1am to ask AAA to get them because I was late for karaoke. Somebody, quick! Give me a baby to raise! I might accidentally lock them in the back seat, but I promise I’ll fish them out after last call!

ADULT: I got my oil changed all by myself this week!

NON-ADULT: I didn’t get my oil changed all by myself until I was 25 year old.

Welp, I am no closer to an answer, but at least I have enough self awareness to limit the amount of times I say the phrase “quarter-life crisis.” That counts for something, right?

Why My Mom Shouldn’t Miss Me

So, I thought my mom was missing me when I saw this on her Facebook: Screen shot 2013-07-09 at 9.42.08 PM

{Her computer at work}

But it would appear that circumstances have not improved, as this is what her Facebook profile looks like now:

Screen shot 2013-07-09 at 9.40.35 PM

{Maybe blurring out her name was unnecessary… but, whatever, just don’t stalk my mom, okay?}

The profile picture is me at The Bluebird Cafe in Nashville, taken on our road trip to LA, and her cover photo is of us on St. Patrick’s Day 48 hours before we left for said road trip (I’d like to add that my hair is a particularly fuh-resh shade of brilliant, copper red right there. I always get the roots touched up before St. Patty’s because that is the one day of year when I. AM. QUEEN. Suddenly evvvverybody loves a red head on Irish Day. Where were you people the other 364? Spare me your Jessica Rabbit childhood anecdotes. It is too little too late, friend).

Now, Mom, I know it must be hard for your oldest child to move across the country, but I feel like I have to remind you that I wasn’t that great to live with, anyway. Sure, I’m fun to go to the mall with and I know how you like your white wine spritzers (half Sprite, half Ginger Ale with a floater of Pinot Greeg that after your first sip will be watered down with more Sprite and Ginger Ale, and garnished with a jar of maraschino cherries), but there are plenty of reasons why your life must be easier now that I’m out of the house, like:

  • I never move the coffee table back when I’m done my exercise videos. It’s kinda heavy and my Jillian Michael’s videos make my arms feelz like Jell-oz!
  • Related: I make you do exercise DVD’s while I drink a glass of wine and yell that you’re doing it wrong.
  • From the Desk of Lynne Sussman: photo-1-8
  • I don’t put the cap back on the toothpaste even when the cap is attached to the toothpaste.
  • The cereal bags always end up ripping straight down the middle when I try to open them.
  • You get mad at me for drinking from all the communal beverages in the fridge (I still don’t see the big deal).
  • You must be saving a fortune from all the 2 Buck Chuck and Greek yogurt you don’t have to buy.
  • No one’s trying to make you eat quinoa anymore.
  • “It’s your tone” -Lynne Sussman

and finally/apparently….

  • I “don’t know how [I] sound sometimes.”

See? I’m pretty much the worst.

Although, who will drive hours with you just to go on binge eating field trips?

IMG_0501We are literally the only people I know who will drive an hour to the beach just to eat and go back home! Oh, Mumsie, I miss you (though I don’t miss you coming into my room screaming at 6am because you can’t find the comb).

Happy Mother’s Day!!!

Now that my mom and I live in different time zones, I constantly have to worry about her spoiling my favorite shows.

These are some texts from last night. I think she’s beginning to understand the sentiment #SorryImNotSorry…. she’s so hip.

photo 1 photo 2

Happy Mother’s Day, Mama!

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7 Reasons Why I’m Ill Equipped to Have a Baby

I’m at an age where many of my friends, acquaintances, and people I don’t really know (but I feel like I know because I spend so much tracking their baby bump progress on Facebook) are settling down. It always starts with your high school friends and acquaintances. You can tell which girls will get married or pregnant first based on how over plucked their eyebrows are. Don’t ask me why it’s true, but “if their brow bones aren’t hairy, they’re the first ones to marry” is a great rule of thumb.

Next comes your college friends. At around 25, the wedding invitations start trickling in. Then from their it’s just the slow death march of all your friends moving back to the suburbs to start mommy blogs while you’re in the middle of the city screaming “but I’m an independent woman!!!” to no one.

But that’s the way it must be for some of us. I’m just mature enough to know that I’m way too immature to be in charge of another human for a very long time. I could be trusted to watch a child. I’m a great baby sitter. I do this thing when I tuck the kids in: “snug as a bug in a rug.” They die over it. But when you’re baby sitting, you’re with these kids, what? 5, 6 hours? The likelihood of you accidentally killing them in that amount of time is low. If I’m entrusted with a baby 24 hours a day 7 days a week…. let’s just say I can’t believe more people don’t forget that they left their kid sleeping in a hot car.

And THAT, my friends is only one reason why giving me a baby a mistake, but there are many more, like:

  1. Everyone would get tired of my 24 year old self whining, “this is kids raising kids!”

    I like to think that the red head I’m most like is Lucille Ball, but I know it’s really Garfield.

  2. I am lazy. Last night I slept in my bra because it would have been too much to wrestle that thing out of my sweatshirt. 
  3. My desired sleep schedule is closest to a baby bear suffering from mono in winter. If I don’t get my 12 hours a night, I am just incorrigible.

    Garbage Pail Kids Movie

  4. I don’t like anything gross, and babies are just a sticky ball of uncontrollable bodily functions. Up until very recently, if my dogs pooped in the house, I would just pretend not to see it until someone else in my house did. And that only stopped because my dogs stopped pooping in the house.

    Case in point.

  5. 9 months of no drinking is not an option yet. If you are not ready to give up pumpkin beer for a whole season, I think that’s the clearest indicator that you are not ready for children. 
  6. At this point, if I had a child and gave up on my career for them, they would have no chance of being allowed to pursue any other interest besides drug addled child star with a fame-obsessed mom-ager with hair extensions way too long for her age.

    Queen.

  7. I don’t like having to smell things as a detection method. Like when someone sticks something in your face and says “hey, smell this, does this smell weird?” Parents always seem to be smelling things to figure out if it’s something that came out of a baby, and I’m not up for that kind of case work. This is not Law and Order: SV-P.U.

*Dun-Dun*

(Nailed it).

That’s my time! Thanks, you guys! Don’t forget to tip your waitress!

Happy 26th Anniversary, Mom and Dad!

Mom and Dad on their honeymoon in Bermuda. Dad giving us some white shorts, 80’s realness.

This past Friday was my parents’ 26th wedding, and I had the pleasure of spending it with them, driving them around, like I do for Valentine’s Day (though this occasion was decidedly less depressing than going out with my parents for the holiday because the waitress didn’t ask if “a forth will be joining us”).

My parents’ meet-cute and subsequent courting period was straight out of a Meg Ryan/Tom Hanks movie, or at least as far as I can tell from the bullet points edition I heard:

  • They went to high school in Massachusetts together, but never met.
  • After living all over the country, 10 years later they ended up in NH both working at the same company. My mother was an editor and my dad was a…. computer…. a computer something, he did stuff with computers.
  • Their first meeting was at an all-lady lingerie party that my dad and his friend crashed (low stakes naughtiness)!
  • They started emailing back and forth for a month or so before they went on a date, and my mother still has the emails.
  • After they started dating, my father stopped by my mom’s cubicle and saw that she had the SAME BLACK AND WHITE “3 STOOGES” PICTURE THAT HE HAD IN HIS OFFICE.

It was love, my friends.

Mom giving us some big hat, 80’s realness. Look at that waist!

Though this is just an excuse to display my baking prowess, I made a S’more cake for my parents (with these recipes here and here, if you care).

So, here’s to the next 26 years, parentals. Thank you for heeding the warning that if either of you cheat, the offending party will not be invited to my future wedding. And to stay together for the kids even if the kids are 35. I know you’d be together anyway, but the threat still stands.

Happy Father’s Day/Birthday, Dad!

Happy Birthday and Late Father’s Day to my dad, Rick.

Thanks to him, I doubt I will ever be a stripper, and if I was it would at least be for some  kind of respectable reason– like to get myself through law school or something.

My dad also contributed to my borderline delusional sense of self esteem, which is probably directly related to the song he made up for me, wherein the first verse begs the question “who’s the prettiest girl in the world?” Well, it’s “Dara. Dara Laine Sussman.” The second verse gets into some heavier themes like, “who has the prettiest big, blue eyes?” This is the song’s opinion, not mine, but apparently it is also “Dara. Dara Laine Sussman.” I’ve heard this song regularly since infancy, if that answers any questions about my personality.

My dad can’t get all the credit for that… I got this Facebook message from my mom recently:

My dad should teach a masterclass in how to raise daughters because he’s the best. He’s been killing the game since 1988, and makes Carl Winslow look like the inspiration for the song ‘Cats in the Cradle.’

He’s a chill dude, a great drinking buddy, and I’m so appreciative of all my orthodontic work he paid for.