Wednesday, January 12, 2011

How I Know I'm Becoming an A-dult

This week I realized I’m an adult. That’s pronounced with the emphasis on the first syllable, in order to make it sound even more mature. Although I was told by approximately 3 relatives at my bro’s wedding this weekend that I look like a 12-year-old, I am suddenly being treated as a full-grown a-dult. Don’t believe me? Read on.

Someone asked me how my day was today and I literally said, “ugh, the traffic was terrible.” Now that I don’t have important things to worry about like what to wear to the dance and how I’m going to sleep my way to an A in Bio, I find myself complaining about the menial drudgery of the bourgeoisie, which is to say, traffic. Also gas prices and the increase in income tax (seriously what’s up with that?)


This is child's play compared to my commute.

A friend told me she’d gone to bed at 9:00 a few nights ago and I was insanely jealous. Like, jealous enough to stay up all night thinking about how lucky she was. I tried to get to bed earlier the next night, but I somehow got distracted doing such responsible chores as flossing my teef, making my lunch for the next day, and organizing my cozy sock collection.



Here's a little cozy sock pr0n for your private enjoyment.

I’m going on a business trip in a few weeks, which includes a company dinner, expense reports, business cards, and “networking.” I was told to dress appropriately and wear comfortable shoes, and when mentally packing my suitcase, I realized that everything I own is both appropriate and, yes, even comfortable now.

After I get home from work every night, all I want to do is kick the cat, light up my pipe, and tell my wife to call me daddy. Unfortunately, I have neither a cat nor a pipe nor a wife, and dinner just doesn’t make itself. I rinse my dishes before they go into the dishwasher and I like it. I’ve even accepted the fact that nothing thrills me or satisfies me more than watching food remnants get washed from a plate.


Here's some more domestic pr0n for you. You're welcome.

I’ve taken up scrapbooking and sewing. I have yet to make a tea cozy or use the phrase “it’s your day” in a scrapbook layout, but I have stooped low enough to call it a “layout,” and I have contemplated making a tea cozy. The only thing that’s stopping me is the fact that I don’t drink tea (yet). Perhaps I should start since I’m an a-dult now.


Don't you wish I'd made a birthday card for you? It is your day, after all.

I’m watching the news right now. Tom Skilling is babbling about cold fronts and wind chills, and all I can think about is how it’ll affect my commute (see bullet 1).


Speaking of things that a-dults ingest, who would have thought I’d drink coffee and wine, and eat sushi and even, dare I admit it, feta cheese? I actually care about trans fats and hypertension and juice from a bottle instead of a box. I’ve yet to try wine from a box, but I fear my venture into adulthood will prohibit this. I really missed the Franzia boat, unfortunately.


Not pictured: adults

There was an after party after my bro’s wedding this weekend, and I had to be figuratively dragged there. The call of my warm, cozy bed was so tempting. I managed to spend a sober hour at the after party, grimacing superiorly at all of the drunkies, before succumbing to the sweet slumber of middle age back at the hotel. Speaking of sweet slumber, my cozy sock collection is calling out to me.