So I’m having this quarter-life crisis where the finite aspect of living has kicked in and I realize that each year i’m just going to become a slightly more bitter, wrinkly, more senile version of my former self. Oh what’s that? I’m only 25, what do I have to worry about? OH, IT’S STARTING PEOPLE, IT’S STARTING. Please see my well-illustrated examples of why being an adult blows below:
- When I was 18-23 I ate whatever the hell I wanted. In college I participated in binge drinking red wine, 24 hour burrito runs, and Mcdonald’s breakfast, which I still swear is the only true way to kill a hangover. Something happens to you when you turn 25 where the food you used to eat all the time suddenly makes your ass really fat. Like, what the hell?! So, fine, checkmate. I throw in the towel and start eating salads and quinoa and I put spinach in my smoothies, which is so fucking dumb, but I do it anyway. Problem solved right? Rock hard abs are just waiting to blast out of my size XS button down now and boys everywhere are like hey girl, heyyyyyy. No. False. I just kept getting fatter. I refuse to cut out alcohol and Bowery Bagels and thus my body looks like a potato.
- Your mid 20’s is when your body starts seeing the effects of what you have done to it. This isn’t my opinion, that is a quote from a skincare professional. A skincare professional who also told me I need to consider an eye cream. It’s true. My skin has lost it’s sparkle and I no longer have the “people are generally good and everything is going to be alright” light to my eyes. I even found a dark hair the other day that was coming out of my FUCKING CHIN. What. The. Hell.
- Smoking isn’t cool anymore. FUCK. All those years of spending my allowance on a pack of Turkish Silvers and a six-pack of Heineken never helped to get me laid by one of the skater boys in high school. NOT EVEN ONCE. Oh but that didn’t stop my from quitting, oh no, that would be just too square. Now as a result, I start dry-heaving half way up my bedroom stairs and my hair smells like litter. Oh, and it might actually like, kill me, and give me blood clots now. Bonus.
- I can’t wear whatever I want anymore. The other day I thought about dying the ends of my hair turquoise. When I was 17, it was perfectly acceptable to present myself to the world as a neon-haired emo little shit head. I used to wear fish nets and thigh highs and now, that would just look desperate and I’m pretty sure it would cut off blood flow. Besides, now I have client meetings and have to wear pencil skirts and seamless underwear and other adult garments that I won’t get into. I want to go back to the world where I could wear ripped tights, an oversized T-shirt and a beanie and people wouldn’t assume it’s because I had a Tinder date the night before and just didn’t have time to change.
See? See what I mean? Getting older blows and it just keeps blowing until you die, which blows the worst of all. The only thing we can really do is think about the positive parts of getting older. Like getting to eat cereal whenever you want, and getting to watch naked people on TV without getting grounded.
milky feelings 