For those of you who care, I feel being an adult sucks.
I wanted to be older when I was a kid, mainly because I had 3 older sisters and they made bras, periods, boys, jobs, and life look cool…until I learned how I had been totally bamboozled by this false belief, or shall I say, bamboobied?
There are so many things about being an adult that blows, that I cannot fathom why kids race to grow up in the first place. What’s so sexy about mortgages, marriages, facial lines, pooping problems, labor pains, student loans, and landscape work?
Nothing. Nothing at all.
I think I was naive to think how awesome it would be to join the rest of my friends who weren’t late bloomers like myself, into this world of adulthood, homes, marriage, and 401K’s.
I thought I would make more money. I thought marriage would be easier. I thought that a cook, cleaning lady, and cabana boy with great abs and a great tush came equipped with every house. Sadly, I discovered that to be false. I want to smack the person who told me that.
My sister also told me when I was 13 that the stork delivers babies. Much to my chagrin after 24 hours of labor and a c-section, I learned that bitch was way wrong.
Love you sis. 🙂
It’s not that I thought I could be wearing my doc maartens and hot pink hair forever while I blasted James Brown or punk music from my car, but I guess I did. I guess I figured I would find the adult version of pink hair, whatever that is, and get some joy from it all.
You know, houses also seemed so sweet until you factor in that NJ has extremely high taxes…and the houses aren’t cheap either. I never thought about that. I just figured the cabana boy would have at least three other jobs to contribute some money to my fund, so we could pay the bills. Turns out all the cabana boy wants is another cabana boy.
Good for him.
I know that my whining is neither refreshing or sexy, but I don’t give a crap. I want my money back.
I used to worry about what show I wanted to see and with who, and what I would wear. I used to have time to consider things like, ‘What would happen if Morrissey had been a little more hetero? What would we all think if Robert Smith never wore makeup? Who killed Professor Plum in the green room? Which was a better cartoon, Strawberry Shortcake, or the Smurfs?
Or think about the big intellectual questions raised at college? Does anyone understand Judith Butler or Foucault really? Did you truly finish War and Peace? What fancy word can I use in my seminar classes to make the kids think I’m smart and special? Which fancy kid in my seminar do I totally effin’ hate?
Now I get to think about big problems, real problems.
How do we move out of this house? What school district should I move into? When will I see the GI doctor? How will I get the house clean with a toddler in tow? Why do certain family member exist to make everyone else’s life hell? Why is my poop that color?
Give me a one-way ticket to boredomville please.
There’s nothing more boring than being an adult, besides being a nun or priest. No sex for a lifetime sounds like a hell not worth enduring…and sounds too close to being like marriage. I mean, after awhile when you’ve been with someone 20 years, how do you keep that stuff interesting without ordering in a prostitute, chimp, or boy toy?
I’m joking about the chimp.
I just wish someone had notified me as I was sucking on my pixie stick straws in my Pink Floyd t-shirt, with my black nailpolish and blood red lipstick, how life was going to basically suck as an adult, and that I should have all my fun now before adulthood sucks the marrow from my bones.
I guess I can always look forward to the joyful days of seniority in which I will earn early bird specials, and someone to change my diaper.
Just watch out for me on the road…I am definitely going to be the worst elderly driver alive.