Act your age, not your shoe size.

I am 26 years old.  This means that, legally speaking, I've been an adult for the past 8 years.  Occasionally, I'll be driving to work munching on my Cocoa Puffs from a ziploc bag (what?) and this fact dawns on me, out of the blue.  See, sometimes it's a little weird to think that I'm rapidly flying through adulthood while in many ways I feel like a 9 year old who happens to spend a lot of time in a cubicle, with limited recess breaks. 

As I sat at my desk today, chomping on some Bubble Tape and enjoying an introspective/slacker moment, I realized that there are many facets of my life that are decidedly un-adult-like.  I thought I'd see how many of you blog readers sometimes feel like you act your shoe size instead of your age.  So, grab yourself a Fruit Roll-Up and get commenting. 

1.) Domestic adventures:

(Attention: Martha Stewart, Mom and/or you sassy British ladies from "Clean House": Several topics on this list may be too much for you to handle.  Please just skip ahead to the section on Greek yogurt). 

(a) Vacuuming:
Sometimes I don't feel like dragging the vacuum up the stairs. By this, I mean that I NEVER feel like doing that. Most times, I reason that you can't really see the particles on my floor because I have dark carpet in my room. Or, I just take my glasses off and everything looks pretty fantastic. If we're really being honest, I will admit that (in one rare case) I did spruce up a small patch of carpet with a lint roller. I shouldn't have been proud of this.  But I was.

(b) Dishes:
You may think it's really badass to pretend you're Wolverine while you're pulling clean plates out of the dishwasher, placing them between your fingers and busting out a few ninja moves in your kitchen. This is a bad idea; I really can't stress that enough.

(c) Laundry:
Much to my mother's horror, I do not separate my laundry with regard to color, temperature, or fabric type. I have a sophisticated system termed the "sniff test" which allows me to discriminate between dirty and clean laundry, then proceed to wash those articles that do not pass said sniff test.  Plus, I've seen enough "Friends" reruns to know that you can't mix a red shirt with all your white underwear and wash in hot water (unless you want all of your whites to look like they were dipped in Pepto Bismol, and/or you want Ross Gellar to kiss you in a laundromat). Other than the sniff test and the Rachel Green rule, there's really not much more to doing laundry.  Don't let those fools at Tide tell you any differently. 

2.) Personal finances

(Suze Orman, avert thine eyes, girlfriend). 

Most (fine, all) of financial jargon goes completely over my head.  I blame a lot of the confusion on the constant use of complicated acronyms.  ARM, FDIC, IRA, WTF.  And, because it's frustrating for me to feel constantly out of the loop, I just make up my own translations.  Why should APR stand for "Annual Percentage Rate" when "Awkward Portuguese Relatives" is so much funnier? 

3.) Greek yogurt

Every morning I start my day with a protein-packed Chobani sprinkled with organic wheat germ. No, I don't. But every couple of months, I find myself in the dairy section of Stop & Shop, having an intense inner conflict over which Limited Edition Edy's ice cream to buy (I mean, seriously - I don't want to have regrets in my life). And I think to myself, "Lauren - it's time to (wo)man up and get serious about your protein intake." I pick up a half dozen Chobani yogurts, and even let out an "Opa!" to celebrate my healthy choices. 

The next day, I'm at my desk at work and reality hits. This is not yogurt. It does not taste like yogurt. It tastes like your Aunt Doris' sour cream chip dip mixed with brownish strawberries. And let me tell you something else: it doesn't matter what you mix into this shit (Cinnamon Toast Crunch, sugar packets, Hershey's syrup). It won't taste like yogurt or any type of delicious breakfast treat. The remaining 5 cups of Greek dip will remain in your refrigerator for the next 12 to 14 weeks, until it expires or you find an alternative use for it (ie: facial moisturizer, denture adhesive, spackle). 

4.) Doing my taxes

Seriously, TurboTax - stop likening your software to a GPS unit. It's NOT that easy, because I've tried 5 times to do my taxes on my own and every time it goes something like this:

Step 1: In which state do you work?
Me: "Oh, awesome - this is easy! Massachusetts!"

Step 2: Great. In which state do you live?
Me: "Damn, I am a tax-filing goddess. Rhode Island!"

Step 3: Ok. If your state of employment and state of residence both have an odd number of letters, please refer to section US-01-86410 for information on how to obtain state and federal regulatory exemptions for each of your dependents, provided they live in your household a minimum of 10 months of the year. 

Me: "Do I count the space between Rhode and Island as a character?  Is my dog a dependant?  Can someone get me a bottle of tequila?" 

You see, dear readers and fellow children-at-heart, perhaps the best solution is to embrace our inner kiddo and accept the sobering fact that (at least some of us) will never fully "grow up".  We will never buy a $900 Dyson vacuum cleaner.  We will never know for sure that our taxes will not result in a soul-crushing audit by the IRS.  We will never start the day by casually munching our Greek yogurt, while reading the WSJ and trading tips about how to wash spaghetti sauce out of an off-white blouse.  Suddenly, we realize that maybe Woody Harrelson was right when he said "A grown up is just a child with layers on."