Adulthood: What is it good for?

I know that I haven’t written in a while, so I’d like to take a minute to explain (see also: rant) why I went MIA.

Let’s take a stroll back to October 1st of this year, my 22nd birthday. Oh, what a day it was.

I woke up at around 9 a.m., bright eyed and bushy tailed, because my boyfriend and I were finally moving in to our new apartment. What better birthday present, right? Well, we locked up the keys to the old apartment, drove across town with a futon mattress illegally blocking half the windows, got to the front door of our new apartment and excitedly… greeted the current tenant. Who had not moved a single thing out of the apartment. The gentleman stared at us and, after a solid minute of awkward silence, said, “Uh. Are you moving in here?”

We stared back. Uh. No shit, Sherlock.


After a few minutes of attempted conversation – he was not the sharpest knife in the drawer, I can tell you that much – we walked away feeling dejected and, honestly, furious. We called the rental company – which we had been doing for days – and finally got in touch with someone. She proceeded to tell me that my leasing agent had been arrested earlier that week for trying to rob a pharmacy and that she herself had been fired.

And you just, what, decided that there was no reason for anyone to call me about such a development?


She then recited a long, bitter sob story.


Okay, that’s not true. I’m sorry that I thought that. It sucks that you got fired. BUT STILL.

After a long, exhausting day (of homelessness), we eventually found a friend’s place to sleep at for the time being, as the company had no idea when the current tenant was actually going to move out (despite the fact that his lease ended and ours started on October 1st).

In the end, I spent ninety percent of my 22nd birthday in tears. And I didn’t get any presents. Or cake. Why would you ever sing a song about feeling 22? This shit sucks.

Fast forward to this week.

We got an apartment! Woohoo! (A different apartment under a different company, mind you.) On Thursday, we had an appointment for 5:30pm to check in. My boyfriend picked me up from work (because we only had one functional car) and we took the interstate exit, all like, “OMG WE GET OUR NEW APARTMENT TONIGHT NO MORE BEING HOMELESS YAYAHDSF-WAIT… Wait, what was that?”

“That” was my car – our ONE FUNCTIONAL CAR – dying. In the middle of the interstate. Ten minutes before we’re supposed to be at our check-in appointment. Turns out, my car can go 65 to 0 in, like, five seconds. Do you think I had to pay extra for that feature?


As we sat on the side of the interstate, with cars whizzing past us and the minutes clicking by, all I could think was: IS THIS WHAT ADULTHOOD IS?! Because I totally did not sign up for this.

grew up


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