I'm growing up and stuff...

  I have come to the stark realization lately that I am indeed getting older.  How can I tell? Well, let's look at the following clues and discuss... 1.) A couple of days ago I opened up a bag of dog food and nearly wet myself in excitement when I found a $2 off coupon for my next bag. 2.) I may have kinda sorta started crying at an episode of Price is Right the other morning.  In my defense, I am positive that lady really needed an old-timey jukebox. 3.) This year, for the first time ever, I filed my own taxes. I know, I know...how difficult is it to just plug some shit into Turbotax? Well, I will have you know that there was the matter of me living in two different states, as well as some very intense and skillful itemizing. So basically, I'm a hero. 4.) I have started purchasing actual furniture.  That is, furniture that requires no assembly, no directions, no nights of impaling myself with a Phillip's screwdriver, and no losing every single screw 13 times until I finally say "fuck it" and just superglue the piece of shit together. 5.) Finally, and most importantly, there is not a single package of Ramen in my kitchen.  Not one.  

I have been so comfortable the last few years wrapped up in the blanket of my twenties that I failed to realize that they are almost over.  In case you are curious as to what a "twenties blanket" looks like, I can tell you (I like to give visuals for my terrible metaphors).  It is super hip with patchwork, bold colors, and wide stitching.... One would probably see it carelessly thrown on the grass at Bonnaroo or some other sweet music festival with a bunch of bands I had to pretend to like in order to get boys to make out with me. (Sidenote: I can also tell I am getting older because no matter how hot I think you are, I flat out refuse to pretend I like Dave Matthews anymore. He is terrible and I hate him. End a song, asshole.) Perhaps when I turn thirty I don't even get a blanket, but a Snuggie, something like a blanket but more sensible.  

Don't mistake me, most of my friends that are in their thirties are far hipper now than I was at twenty-one.  But it's a different kind of hip.  It's a "Oh, I have a real job and enjoy fabulous happy-hour beverages while wearing clothes that aren't from Forever 21" kind of hip. Unfortunately, I'm stuck in this kind of adulthood purgatory.  Although I feel myself getting older, part of me continues to be enveloped by the life I had in my early twenties.  I am still in school and I work essentially the same type of job I had in high-school. To break it down, I have acquired a high school diploma, a bachelor's degree and am working towards a doctorate all whilst maintaining the exact same career level I had as a fifteen year-old. I don't want to devalue the importance of an education, but I probably wouldn't choose me as the go-to speaker for any highschool career-day functions. 

Oh, and reason number six I can tell I'm getting older...I've started calling my mom...regularly. And it's not the obligatory return to the " If you don't call me back by tonight, I'm going to phone the police up there and report you missing..." message.  I now call "just to talk." How's that for some scary grown-up shit?