adulthood

It’s 2014 and I’m Already a Day Behind

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But in my defense, everyone knows you’re not supposed to actually DO anything on New Year’s Day. You’re supposed to huddle on your couch in wide-eyed shock that yet another year has officially passed, and the horrifying realization that you rang it in by attempting to drink all the booze you could find.

So, basically what I’m saying is: I celebrated New Years in line with all those who came before me, carrying on traditions designed to destroy my liver.

He even has googley eyes.

This sums up both my expectations for the new year (More dinosaurs, shinier hats), and how amazing my Christmas was this year.
This was a present I received. It is a handcrafted dinosaur serving dish. Because my friends are AMAY-ZING.

And then I slept through a blogging day.*

*Yes, my mother IS proud of me. Why do you ask?

So I’m going to post twice today to make up for it. Tah-Dah. Post one.

We had the most amazing New Year's table. Don't even try to deny it.

We had the most amazing New Year’s table. Don’t even try to deny it.

Life Lesson: Trying to be Normal Makes Me Weirder

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Life Lesson 7,247:

Listening to Talk Radio while you’re in the shower does not convince anyone that you are a normal adult.

Most people probably don’t believe me, but I’ve spent a really absurd amount of my life thinking up ways to be a more “normal” adult.*

*Because that is definitely a sign of normalcy. As is, of course, this.

When I was a small child, I read very large books, convinced that adults would take me more seriously and I would be viewed as the most normal, well-adjusted child.

Seriously - Thanks!

Look. In my defense, I was like, 6 when I developed this theory. Also, my parents had me convinced it was cool to be smart. _Thanks_, parents.

This tactic did not work. As it turns out, reading very large, literary books when you are very small makes you a total weirdo. Both adults and other children will perceive you this way. Probably because you smell like a library and can define “supercilious.”

As an adult, I turned to Talk Radio (specifically NPR) to help me be perceived as both intelligent and normal. What could be better than having someone tell me all about current events and wars and new music and pop culture? I determined that listening to it in the shower every morning was even more brilliant, because by the time my work day started, I was completely** informed about the happenings of the world.

**20 minutes worth of informed.

It has taken be about 6 years of adulthood*** for me to realize this tactic also does not work. Instead of being viewed as charming, informed, and normal, people view me as knowing an abnormal amount about things like horrifying wars and interviews with obscure geniuses from foreign lands.

***Adulthood, of course, not starting until the point after college graduation where your liver has healed FROM college.

In other words, NPR is totally awesome, but it makes you weirder than you were before.

Also, they have Sandwich Mondays.

It's kind of amazing I'm not fired

As a reward for learning a life lesson, here is a Post-It Note Confession that I randomly left, unsigned, on a coworker’s desk. Because I’m _normal_.

Life Lesson: The Rule of Halloween

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Life Lesson 7,245:

If you’re a grown woman and your boss asks you what you’re going to dress up as for Halloween, do not say “a stegosaurus.” Just say “dinosaur.” Your specificity will undermine your professional adulthood.

I have a problem. It’s called “terminal honesty.” This is probably the result of being a chronic liar in the sixth grade.

Parents: “Daughter, did you do your homework?”

Me: “Yes, absolutely, loving parents. I have completely mastered long division”

Three Days Later, post parent-teacher conference

Parents: “Daughter, you have apparently not done homework for three months.”

Me: “…Oh. I thought you were talking about my homework four months ago. I did that homework. Were you talking about recent homework?”

The disappointment in my parents’ eyes eventually (it took awhile) guilt-ed the devious liar-ness out of me. And resulted in my horrendous honesty in the face of nearly everyone, including my overly normal employers.

Out at lunch yesterday, we were discussing my coworkers’ many children and Halloween. As the only employee in this group who hasn’t made any tiny people, I tried to avoid any awkward participation in this conversation. Until all eyes turned to me, anticipating my contribution of Halloween plans.

Devoid of children of my own to draw attention away from my inner child (who escapes often), I maintained my aura of expert cool by mentioning that I’m attending a party at a local art studio. (Sounds cool, right? Yeah, we’ll just skip over the fact that this is also the place where I go to watch movies like “Sharknado” and “Laser Blast.”)

“Oh?” said my boss. “What are you going to dress as? It must be a costume party.”

“Oh, I’m going as a stegosaurus. I made the costume this past weekend.” I replied.

And then, as the expressions of my boss and coworkers changed into frozen smiles, I realized something.

  1. It’s unacceptable to be a grown woman who dresses as a dinosaur for Halloween
  2. “Stegosaurus” is a really specific dinosaur for a grown woman to mention. This would only be eclipsed by something like “ankylosaurus,” but in your 20s, it is not socially normal for a non-archaeologist to differentiate dinosaurs.
  3. Adults do not make their own costumes. This implies too much dedication to dressing up.
  4. It’s always safer to say “a witch.”
One of the options that results from a Google Image Search for "Women's Stegosaurus Costume."

One of the options that results from a Google Image Search for “Women’s Stegosaurus Costume.”