When I Grow Up
Earlier today, I put a status update on Facebook that said something along the lines of, “Someday, I will learn to be organized so I don’t panic through the three days before vacation.” That’s because I currently am panicking through the three days before my vacation, lamenting all of the things I have to do such as clean, laundry, pack, get cat food, clean rotten cats litterbox, vacuum around it after changing litter because they don’t like clean litter and would prefer to poop on the floor, freak out about making our connecting flight, charge the camera battery, find the camera, charge the iPod, FIND the iPod, buy vitamin C cause I’m getting a cold, figure out exactly how to print my tickets …
Anyway, since then, I haven’t been able to get the Pussycat Dolls “When I Grow Up” out of my head. “When I grow up I wanna see the world, drive nice cars, I wanna have boobies.” Hmm. Well, see the world I’m not ruling out completely, but seeing as I’m having panic attacks about two short flights to Phoenix, imagining the plethora of disasters sure to befall us, I’m going to go ahead and say this is unlikely. I don’t do well in contained spaces for long amounts of time, so unless I somehow find someone who has a private jet and who is willing to subject themselves to me in a confined space for many hours, I’m probably not heading over the ocean anytime soon. (This, of course, being my only obstacle, having unlimited finances and all. Oh, wait …)
Drive nice cars Yeah, no. Being as we recently fixed our Saturn’s starting problem with scissors and duct tape (and no, I am absolutely not kidding, yes, it worked and I saved us $300 and much irritation. Thank you, YouTube, for showing me how to “cut the white wire.”) I think the last time I drove a nice car was the October 31st, 2000, when I drove my Pontiac off the lot. If I ever come into a lot of money, I’m not spending it on nice cars just to watch the antennas fall off, rocks embed in the windshield, headlights explode, and door handles to fall off. Nope, I’m buying me a big ass Dodge Ram truck with mirrors HIGH, HIGH above the average person’s vehicle so as to lessen the likelihood that they get destroyed the first time I park it.
Wanna have boobies Well, I’ve pretty much got those, and all they’ve really gotten me is a bigger ass, some back pain, the inability to wear button up shirts, possibly a few second glances if I’m wearing the right shirt, and a lifetime of utilitarian, quality coverage bras. I’ll take a smaller ass and cuter clothes for $1,000, Alex.
So I’m going to make a more useful list ~ things that work in the real world. Personality traits and abilities that will transfer to a well adjusted, normal adult life. Now, some of you may argue that at 31, I am grown up. To you I say please read the rest of this, and then readjust your opinion.
When I grow up, I will not have to call my mom to ask if I can leave a plug in air freshener on all the time. I also won’t accidentally refer to it as a “plug in candle,” scaring the bejesus out of her.
When I grow up, I will carefully label all of my leftovers and toss them accordingly. I also will not, under any circumstances, leave a certain Gladware container holding unknown elements hidden in the back of the fridge, hoping Tony will find it when it’s his turn to clean it out.
On the same vein, when I grow up I will not completely forget about a bag of potatoes I bought a considerable while back in a bowl at the top of my shelves, and thus will not almost pass out and die from the smell of rotten potatoes in two months when I need that bowl.
When I grow up, I will deal with inappropriate behavior on the part of my neighbors in a rational, calm manner, such as knocking on their door and asking them to please stop having loud arguments in the hallway or inviting a discussion about the untenable parking situation. I will no longer passive aggressively park too close to them and throw shoes at the front door when they’re being loud.
Wait. When I grow up, I better not fucking live here.
When I grow up, I will have control of my cats. No longer will I clean and scrub litter boxes, only to be looked at while they hang their little butts right outside of it and poop on my floor. I will never again utter the words, “It smells like pee. Find it.” While I am making dinner, I will put them in another room instead of allowing myself to get bitten about the ankles while I’m chopping onions, and thus will avoid any future sliced fingers and Achilles’ tendons at the same time. They will lounge about on the floors instead of on the countertops, in the sink, or on the kitchen table.
When I grow up, I will finally accept that it is okay that I don’t like gum, and will learn to calmly say no when it is offered like a normal person instead of either launching into an uncomfortable diatribe of why I don’t really like gum or taking it and being pissed at myself for ruining the taste of my diet Coke.
When I grow up, I will get a fresh, new calendar at the beginning of every year and use it; I will not wait until March to realize I’ve been looking at the same picture since November just because my mother in law didn’t get us one for Christmas. Maybe then I won’t miss my best friend’s baby’s christening and my brother in law’s birthday in the same weekend because I booked a trip out of state.
When I grow up, I will know what is a country and what is a continent and what is a city when the Olympics come around. No longer will I be mocked at my lack of knowledge and laughed at when I said I once majored in history.
When I grow up, I will fill up my car with gas every week. When it gets close to empty, I will fill it up again. I will not put in just enough gas to get where I am going. I will not put myself in a position where I have to talk to the car, praying it will make it to a gas station.
When I grow up, I will always have at least twenty dollars in assorted bills on me. I will always be able to buy a pop or chips, or pay for my Girl Scout cookies instead of hiding when the person I bought them from comes into the building. I will also then never have to have the conversation, “What do you mean, you don’t have any cash on you???” with my dad. Or at least I’ll learn to lie and SAY I have twenty dollars on me.
When I grow up, I’ll measure my windows before going to get new blinds all willy nilly and buying the wrong size, leaving them sitting in the hallway for a month. I will also own a drill and not have to put up said blinds with a screwdriver on a swivel chair, creating free entertainment for the hoodlums in the park behind my apartment.
When I grow up, I’ll keep a list on the fridge of “Things We Need.” I will not run out of toilet paper and have to search for a box of kleenex, I will never have to use dish soap as shampoo (although that’s good for your hair, occasionally, fyi. That’s my excuse,) I will not dilute my hand soap with water for a week. In fact, I’ll get one of those handy little automatic soap dispensers that my sister has.
When I grow up, I’ll have a dishwasher. And this will nicely eliminate needing to remember that if you’re soaking the pan the spaghetti cooked in, you should make sure it’s free of spaghetti before upending it into the sink with no garbage disposal. Trust me.
When I grow up, I will make appropriate doctor’s appointments instead of wearing my last pair of contacts for two months and then making the incredibly painful mistake of soaking them in Visine for Contacts instead of solution and almost burning my retinas out. I may go to the dentist.
When I grow up, I will be able to pack for a four day vacation at our friends’ place without having to call my mom 15 times. I will also not say, “Yeah, duh, I know, of course I did,” while she tells me what to do while internally screaming “Shit, shit, shit,” and frantically looking for a pen and paper because of course, I did not.
When I grow up, I will not spend two hours on the computer when I’m supposed to be packing, cleaning, and sleeping.
So, when you grow up ~ what are you gonna do?? And will someone please come help me pack?
Posted on 03/03/2010, in family and friends, general stupidity. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.
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