Trying to be a grown up at 30

Sometimes I find myself looking for an adult in the room and then remember… that is me. I am the adult. Today was no exception. The events of the day unfolded just like any other. Sort of like a shopping bag from the dollar store that contains some candles and canned goods that surely will rip on the way to the car.

As many of you may know, I am a foster mother to some very amazing dogs. I work with a local dog rescue that is owned by my childhood friend’s mother. With that, it means I have a lot of dogs. Some days I sit back and laugh at those little turds running around my house ripping shit up. Other days, like today, I woke up to some sort of vile doggy tummy bug. This meant explosive diarrhea. But, that was not even the most excitement I saw today.

After my lengthy carpet cleaning journey, I decided to sit down and rest my old lady feet and browse human children that need homes on the interwebs. This lasted several hours. I found so many lovely children that I could picture swinging on the swings in my imaginary backyard and having the childhood they deserve. Then, after I went down many rabbit holes researching what steps need to be taken to bring one of these guys home, it dawned on me. I am a halfass adult. One of these little kids would take one look at me and eat me alive. I would definitely need to limit my searches to a good, solid 5 year old so they cannot fully understand that I am no more responsible than they are. I suddenly remembered that children have homework. I am not smarter than a 5th grader,  my friend. And, what will I feed my new 5 year old child??? I eat adult food like my Southbeach frozen meals that I wasted my money on in my quest to be a better,  more health conscious adult. Does this mean I will need to buy Kraft mac and cheese or chicken nuggets? The problem with this is that my oven broken last year and my genius fix it idea was to use a toaster oven instead. It is called adulting people, look it up. I am a problem solver.

So, after my hopes and dreams of becoming the coolest foster mom to a human child were smashed by my lack of oven and long division skills, I resorted back to reality. At this point, I was starving. Who needs to eat that pricey Southbeach diet food when you can order some good old fashioned Postmates??!! So, after about an hour of perusing the app, I decided on what I always ordered and then cursed them for their high service fees and my lack of self control. But, it is Friday night and I deserve a little fun in my life. This is where things start to go downhill quickly. I am sure that I am not the only one that does this but, as soon as I press that button to place the order, I obsessively watch the app to see where my food is at. So, James, my delivery fella picked up the food and I see his movement on the little map and I get so excited. It shows him on his scooter just putting around town as I anxiously await my Pho. I have a disgusting ritual of eating my takeout food in my bed as I lovingly watch Dateline and push my Bulldog out of my face. So, I got all of my necessary equipment ready. This included napkins, a fork (because we all know those plastic forks are not going to cut it when trying to eat Pho), and a towel because I am a disgusting savage when I eat and I need extra protection. At this point, I get the text saying James the delivery guy is really close. So, I anxiously peak out my blinds like a fucking creep to see when he is outside on his scooter. I see no fucking scooter. Where is James? Well, he is in his Mazda and Postmates pulled one over on me. There is no fucking scooter??? I was so excited to see him on his Vespa with his dreads blowing in the wind. Just scooting to my house going 12 miles an hour. Shame on them for making me feel like a fool for being so excited. It was like hearing Santa Claus is not real. And more importantly, shame on me for thinking he was on an actual scooter. It is the companies logo. Another example of how much of an adult I am not.

So, I grab my food and slip James a nice crisp $10 like I am from Good Fellas. I skip into the house like a schoolgirl and get ready to have the best meal of my life. So, I pour my soup into my giant glass mixing bowl. I had to make sure that all the soup would fit nicely. I mix in all the veggies. Grab my cola. Throw a towel over me while I rest my glass mixing bowl on my gut and eat my soup. Not 10 seconds after my first bite does the glass bowl shatter, sending molten hot Pho all over my body and bed. Lets just say that the towel I had grabbed was not enough protection from the damage that was done. To some peoples surprise, I have a bed protector. The kind that parents put on a toddlers bed when trying to potty train them. Sadly, it never fully protects in situations involving a gallon of Pho spilling on the bed. Immediately after the glass bowl exploded, I thought to myself… This thing is Pyrex. I remember using Pyrex in science class, heating up random liquids to make nothing special. Now, how in the fuck did this thing explode? I am suing Pyrex for the damages. I want my $10 back for soup lost and a broken heart.

As I sit back and unwind, I reflect on my day. Where did I go wrong? How did so many mistakes happen? I am 33 and have lived as an “adult” since I was 18. I have student loans and car loans and I have signed lease agreements. I am a strong, independent woman. But, I have to remember at the end of the day… Thirty is the new 20.

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