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?

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How to Not Hate Everything

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Sorry for this whimsical tumblr-eque picture. I promise I won’t start streaking my hair with pastel chalk and transcribing scenes from The Virgin Suicides for my zine. This little kit-cat just illustrates my constant inner monologue so effectively.

You see, today, I decided to wear my Zooey Deschanel-y dress and a little extra make-up than usual in an experiment to test the theory that if I look cheerful and put together on the outside, then I will feel less like a potential arsonist on the inside, thus setting myself up for a wonderful day as a working woman. Instead, I got lost on my way to a job I’ve been driving to for the last two weeks. All I know is that I was giggling along to my favorite podcast Throwing Shade until suddenly I looked around and realized I didn’t recognize my surroundings anymore. I should have been 15 minutes early, and instead walked in exactly on time at 8:30. Despite the stressful commute, the day is turning out to be fine (yes, I’m still at work, but don’t worry, I’m writing this while I make like Ross Gellar-I am on a break. [did that work? No? What about if I said, “that sweater is a little Jason Biggs on you?” I guess that’s not so much a joke as it is just bastardizing the name of an American treasure…Sorry, it is unfair to be testing out material on you, readers. Moving on]).

Okay, back to work.

Stay in school, kids because you won’t know how to collate and staple performance inspection forms effectively without a $100,000 private university education.

Sent from my iPhone

5 Things You’re Too Old for Now

I’m nearly 24 years old now, and though that apparently makes me an adult in the eyes of everyone but the rental car industry, I sometimes forget that I’m not a teenager anymore. It happens every so often, like when my ID gets the once over at the liquor store, and I have to remind myself that it was legally issued to me by the government, not for $60 by a BU sophomore THAT NEVER EVEN WORKED FOR ME ONCE!

Drinking openly at brunch is certainly a perk of adulthood, but there are a few things I took for granted when I was a kid that now I’m just too old for, like:

  1. I’ll never be a child prodigy. If someone discovered me to be outrageously talented at something Oprah wouldn’t even care; as an adult you’re just supposed to be talented by now. No one is making collectible dolls out of Susan Boyle, meanwhile little Jackie Evancho Barbies sit lonely on Toys ‘R Us shelves at Christmas. Maybe Ellen Degeneres will care if I’m a 24 year old speed rapper, but it’s not the same.

    This looks like a fun romp. Hey, Godfrey!

  2. Being unemployed is no longer acceptable. Suddenly everyone is an amateur sleuth asking a million questions about what you do for work. It’s a bad economy- just leave it alone, okay! I miss the days when I could pass off huge gaps in my resume as a time when “school was my full time job.” I did eat tapas on dollar nights at Masa like it was my job, but I don’t think I ever spent 40 hours a week on homework. Those were romantic times.

    This could have been me!!!

  3. The ship has sailed for me and Teen Mom. Not that I wanted to be on Teen Mom, but I like keeping my options open. Now I have to wait another 15 years until I’m age appropriate enough to pursue my “Wife” fallback career, be it House, Army, or Mob. Not a girl, not yet a woman. 
  4. I’ll never be shipped off to my distant aunt’s house to tame my wild ways only to unexpectedly have the best summer of my life when the dreamy 17 year old orphaned ranch hand and an unruly horse named Thunder teach me how to love again after tearing down the walls I built up during my secret struggle with illiteracy (BIG BREATH). Turns out, I didn’t mean to wander on to the old, neighborhood curmudgeon’s private property, I just couldn’t read the “no trespassing sign.” Ahhh, what could have been.
  5. Getting up early on Saturday’s to watch TV is now out of the question. There are times when I think that if the fire alarm went off in my house, I’d need a second to decide if it was really worth getting out of bed. The idea of something like Saved By the Bell having the power to get me up before 8am on a Saturday is so bizarre that I can’t believe at one time in my life I was that excited about anything, let alone Mario Lopez.

I hope this was uplifting.