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Oh Dear God, Am I an ADULT Now?

I recently turned 25 and, according to all the crap my friends of a similar age post on Facebook, there are two important things you are supposed to do around that time. The first is to freak out and the second is to write lists about turning 25 and all the things you should have done by now, or should start doing or should definitely stop doing and then post the lists on the internet so 24-year-olds who haven’t reached their insightful list-making phase yet can share them on social media and say “OMG so true…” Not wanting to feel left out, I made a list of my own.  I’ve noticed that when you get to be my age certain things start to change and you begin to have these bizarre and terrifying moments when you start acting all adulty. You know it’s right but it feels so wrong. So here is a list of recent moments that made me think “Oh God! I’m an adult.”

1. When I meet new people we often ask each other what we do for a living. Like our jobs. Not our major or our weird hobbies. We all have jobs now. Real jobs.

2. I make a really big deal about going to bed on time.

3. My mom bought me an electric hand mixer for my birthday because I had mentioned that I needed one. When I thanked her for it over the phone she said that she felt bad since it was such an unexciting and practical gift. I explained that this did not count as practical since I would only use it to make utterly frivolous food like cake and not the nutritious dinners I usually cook.

4.  One of the top things on the list of “stuff I would get if I got a bunch of extra money” is a better vacuum cleaner.

5. I watch Jeopardy on a fairly regular basis.

6. I didn’t even have to Google how to spell Jeopardy.

7. While visiting my parents I realized that my loft bed, though cool, is really uncomfortable and makes my back hurt. I’d rather have a real bed now.

8. Certain kinds of candy taste too sweet to me now.

9. I drink almost exclusively water unless I’m giving myself a little treat in which case I drink herbal tea.

10. Sometimes I see people in TV commercials who I feel like are probably celebrities to the kids these days but I have no idea who they are.

11. I had to Google what the hell “fleek” was.

12. I made a spreadsheet to keep track of all my monthly expenses.

13. I hang out socially with people over the age of 30.

14. My LITTLE brother turns 21 this May.

15. I own more than one blazer.

16. I wear heels more often than sneakers now.

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When to Unfriend

Sometimes I’m on Facebook and I realize that I should probably whittle down my friends list a bit. I mean how many of these people do I actually communicate with on anything like a regular basis? How many of them are actually even friends? I don’t “friend” anyone who I don’t know in real life but do I really need to keep track of that dude I met for like 5 minutes this one time in college and we’ve literally never spoken since? I don’t know that guy. And I’m pretty sure that guy doesn’t have any clue who I am.

I feel like the cut-off should be this: If I saw this person in real life, would I go talk to him/her or would I hide and avoid eye contact because I’m pretty sure they’ve forgotten I exist and we haven’t talked in years. If it’s the second thing I feel like they should probably get the axe.

But then I get the weirdest feeling…. If I delete these people, I’m really deleting them. Chances are that unfriending them means I’ll never see these people again, they would be 100% out of my life. I could even forget them completely if, as in most of these cases, I didn’t know them that well in the first place. In my mind they will have completely ceased to exist. I’LL HAVE REMOVED AN ENTIRE PERSON FROM MY BRAIN! What if I’m wrong? I can’t handle that kind of power!  What if we were always meant to be friends but now I messed everything up? What if they find out that I deleted them and feel sad? What if I feel sad but I can’t even remember why? What if they get a really adorable cat and I never get to see pictures of it? THERE ARE JUST SO MANY WAYS THIS CAN GO WRONG!

So in the end I almost always decide to keep them around and just wait until a day comes when I feel like playing God.

These Boots are Made for Whining

My Inner Monologue

I should probably buy a pair of boots. It’s gonna be fall soon so they’re starting to pop up in stores.  And I’ve been waiting  forever to get a particular kind.

You really shouldn’t be spending money.

But I saw some that were on sale!

A) You still can’t really afford them and B) They were probably on sale because they’re cheap crap that’s gonna fall apart real fast and then what?

But I’d have boots now… This is future me’s problem.

This is a bad plan. No. Future me needs to pay her loans.

But they’re cute! And… I’d wear them to work so they’re pretty much an investment.

You just got a pair of boots to wear to work, you don’t need another.

But those boots are grayish. I don’t have a pair of short dark brown boots. My wardrobe needs this.

You have two pairs of short dark brown boots.

True…technically… But one of them is too casual to wear to work and the other is fuzzy and warm on the inside and is only for winter.

How many boots could you actually possibly need?

One, two…three… wait do rain boots count? They serve a totally different purpose but I clearly need them.

I can’t even deal with you right now.

It’s not like you have a choice on that…

I think the solution is clearly that we just need to get the boots.

No. Don’t you realize how horribly guilty you’ll feel afterwards knowing that you spent money you shouldn’t have?

Or will I just feel happy because my boots are super adorable.

You tried them on yesterday and they didn’t even feel that good.

But they didn’t feel bad either. They fit well. Throw a little Doctor Scholls in there and it’ll be super comfy.

You realize that would make it cost even more money.

Technically yes but….

But what? You don’t even have anything.

Shhhhhh, I’m thinking. They’ed look really great at the Renaissance Faire.

You’re not even going to the Renaissance Faire because you can’t afford that either.

STOP KILLING ALL MY DREAMS!

Will you just leave it? You can’t have the boots.

But I want them.

Sucks doesn’t it?

Balls.

Peanut Butter Problems

Something terrible has happened. Something really, really terrible. I’m not sure if I’ll ever recover. Ok, so maybe I’m being slightly dramatic. But only slightly. If you really want to know what happened we’re going to have to go back to the beginning.

It started months ago when I was at the grocery store. I browsed the shelves carefully picking out the sundries on my list which, this trip, included peanut butter.  I plopped a jar in my basket and carried on with my shopping. It was only after I got home that I discovered that something had gone terribly, horribly wrong. As I reached to put the jar of peanuty-goodness on my shelf I noticed something amiss with the label. Upon closer inspection my darkest fears were realized. The peanut butter was CRUNCHY. Now I’ll admit that every so often when the planets are properly aligned I can enjoy a little bit of crunchy peanut butter but at no point have I ever had the desire to consume an entire jar of the stuff. In general I don’t like thingys in my orange juice, I don’t like walnuts in my brownies and I do not like crunchy in my peanut butter.

“How could this have happened?” I wondered to myself. I never make mistakes like this. I’m a really careful food shopper, when I was a teenager I would be sent to chaperone my older step-brother on food shopping trips because everyone knew I DON’T MAKE THESE KINDS OF MISTAKES.* I suppose even the best must make mistakes sometimes and now I had to pay for mine. I’m on a budget these days and even if I wasn’t I really hate wastefulness. I knew that if I went out and bought new creamy peanut butter that no one would eat the crunchy and it would sit there being wasted and junking up my shelves. Probably forever.  And so, surrendering to my circumstances, I made a vow; I would finish that damn peanut butter.

Days became weeks, weeks became months, fall became winter and finally spring. I ate the peanut butter but I ate it slowly. But finally, with summer on the way and the threat of unsatisfactory picnic sandwiches looming, I did it. I finished the jar. With a smile on my face I a scraped the last usable bits from the edges.  It was over. I was free. I was wrong.

Photo 6

Happy Corinne. Mission accomplished.

A few days later I found myself once again in the grocery store. After filling my basket with supplies for dinner I made my way to the peanut butter isle and grabbed a jar. I hesitated for just a moment before placing it in my basket. Something didn’t feel quite right. Slowly I turned the jar around and low and behold it was once again crunchy. How could this be? I could have sworn I was looking at the word “creamy” when I picked it up. Cautiously I placed it back on the shelf and picked up a jar with a different color label that definitely said “creamy” on it. Sure I had dodged a bullet I headed to the register confident that things were looking up.

I noticed it while I was putting the groceries away. While the jar I had brought home did say “creamy” it was not regular peanut butter, it was coconut & peanut spread. I was worried, I’ve never really been a fan of coconut. I can tolerate or even enjoy it sometimes but those are usually few and far between. Maybe I’d like it. Maybe I wouldn’t even taste the coconut.  There was only one way to find out.

So the next day, needing to grab a quick bite before catching a train, I quickly whipped up a peanut butter (well, technically peanut coconut & spread) and jelly sandwich. I took a bite. At first it was Ok. And then it wasn’t. A very strong coconut flavor filled my mouth. Way too strong. It tasted awful. There was no way I could finish this sandwich let alone an entire jar. I had Luke try it and he didn’t like it either. I was devastated.

Yucky.

Yucky.

That day I left to catch my train unsure of what I was going to do. After months of sticking to my guns and forcing my way through the crunchy, I was back to where I started. Only worse. I knew I couldn’t go on like this. A few days later I broke down and bought a new jar of regular creamy peanut butter. It’s delicious. I suppose things are better now, my sandwiches sure are, but that dammed jar of coconut and peanut spread still sits in my cupboard as a reminder of my failure. I’m pretty sure it’s mocking me.

Photo 14

#firstworldproblems

 

 

*In all fairness to my brother I should also mention that this was not the only reason I went with him. It was also to translate my mom’s grocery lists since I’m probably the only one who really knows how to read them.  For example, she might write “paper towels” but that means a specific brand of paper towels and GOD FORBID you come home with the ones with stuff printed on them.

Quotes From My Notebooks

When I was in college I was a very good student and consequently took a LOT of notes. I also had extra space in the notebooks after I graduated so I continued to use them for other things. Of course, being me, they have there own special style. I started looking back on some of them recently and found it amusing so I decided to share. The following are actual quotes from my notebooks.

 

“Is it a symbol setting fire to the curtains?”

 

“Nunneries

  • Get rid of your daughter so you don’t have to pay dowry”

 

“3:34pm Well that didn’t go far. Risky too risky. I have things to do. It is bitter cold outside. Thank goodness for my moose hat.”

 

“Syphilis Shows Up

  • got it from the new world
  • steam baths of mercury, that’s good” 

 

“Today show stripy shirt lady hello at beginning X” 

 

“Shit continues to go downhill for Rome”

 

“4:34pm Production class. Going over menus. Brain melting.”

 

“2. Geryon monster of fraud –> cool sounding big flying monster, interesting imagery.”

 

 

The Grandma Express

In my family information travels fast. I mean really fast. FTL fast. People say that in modern times Facebook has accelerated the speed at which we get information about our friends and loved ones but Facebook has NOTHING on my Grandma.  I’ve tried to explain this to people who are not related to me and most of the time they don’t understand. So instead of explaining I’ll just give an example.  

My birthday was last Wednesday. I got a call that afternoon from my Grandma Bev who, as is her tradition, sang me “Happy Birthday” over the phone.  I chatted with her and my Grandpa for a few minutes and then went on about my day. (And by that I mean I went back to sitting on the couch reading while wearing my best pair of yoga pants because it was my birthday and sometimes a girl’s gotta party.) Not five minutes after I had hung up the phone it rang again. This time it was my mom. Now it’s important to note that at this point that my mom had already called me to say happy birthday earlier in the day. I answered the phone and she told me that she had just gotten off the phone with my Grandma who had called her to tell her that she had just called me. Now my mom was calling me to tell me that my Grandma had called her to tell her that she had just called me. 

This is just a small example and since it was only my birthday only three people were involved in the phone cycle but if something BIG happens it gets much larger.  If there’s news, good or bad, you can always count on my family to make sure everyone knows in under an hour. So If you’re a friend of mine and I’ve ever told you to keep something on the down low for a few days because I wasn’t ready for EVERYONE to know yet, now you get why.

That Time I Totally Didn’t Get Axe-Murdered

Towards the end of the summer, I spent a long weekend house/dog/cat sitting for my parents in New Jersey. It was a pretty sweet gig because they have a pool, a hot tub, HBO and seven very snuggly animal friends.  Also they give me money.

Luke came down for the first two days, but as I drove him to the train station on Sunday night I realized that this would be the first time I had spent the night in this house entirely alone.  I’ve housesat there before but usually my younger brother was home.  Now, I should mention that I’m not typically scared of being home by myself, I do it in my apartment all the time.  But my parents’ house is in the woods.  It’s not super isolated but it does get very dark and just a wee bit creepy at night.

A few hours later I let the dogs out for the last time for the night before heading upstairs with the animals to get ready for bed. I turned on the shower and as I was waiting for the water to warm up I realized I couldn’t remember if I had locked the back door after I let the dogs in. I scampered downstairs to check.  When I got there I discovered that not only had I neglected to lock the back door, but also the garage door and the front door. I quickly remedied this and hurried back upstairs before I wasted too much shower water.

As I got stepped into the shower I had another thought, “The killer was already inside the house… This is how I die!”

Fortunately, I didn’t get murdered but it was probably among the top 10 fastest showers of my lifetime.  Really I was never in any danger though, not with these brave champions guarding the bedroom.

IMG_0523

Actually, they were asleep the whole time. If there had been an actual intruder one would have hid and the other would have probably requested snuggles instead of barking to warn me.


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