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How many readers will I lose if I spend another paragraph whining about my complicated life? Three? Forty-Seven?

Sometimes I feel like a kid.  I crave grilled cheese sandwiches cut into triangles–not squares–and dot my i‘s with hearts and wear my hair in two pig-tails.  I watch cartoons and refuse to eat my vegetables and play with floaty toys in the bathtub.

Sometimes I feel like a teenager.  I have emotional explosions responses to just about everything, start to break out in rashes and whine about things like a curfew or homework or something.  I write brooding poetry in cafe’s, paint my fingernails turquoise and wear enormous, brightly colored plastic necklaces with Chuck Taylor’s.

Sometimes I feel like an unstable 20-something (in fact, most of the time I feel this way).  I drag my laundry to a laundromat and loathe writing that monthly rent check.  I am constantly changing direction, flip-flop through jobs and majors and am forever trying to answer that elusive question: isn’t there something else?

Sometimes I feel like an adult.  Although, if we’re being completely honest, this feeling is fairly fleeting.  I should stop gloating about my adult moments; the feeling zen, the self-acceptance and the moving on.  It seems, as soon as I think I’ve made it over some hurdle or another–and subsequently brag about it on the Internets–Life gets pissy and throws me under the bus again.  And again.

Right now?  I’m very much in a return to adolescence.  Ugh.  Adolescence…that is one time period I don’t think anyone wants to relive!  Braces and acne and embarrassing moments in front of cute boys and generally thinking you’re an adult only to be hit upside the head with a solid (and generally exasperated) “No.  You’re Not An Adult.  You’re A Peon.” type response.  My re-adolescence, let me detail it for you:

1.  Acne

Thanks to my mother I was blessed with lovely epidermi-genes (yes, that’s a word) and I haven’t had any real pimple problems for about a decade.  Sure, I’ll get a rogue zit pop up in times or stress–i.e. when I am so depressed I smother my face in french fries and chocolate.  What, like you don’t do that too.  Stop judging.  At the moment, and without any encouragement, I have no less than seven giant red pimply volcanoes that arc from my left eyebrow to my hairline.  It’s like the Pacific Ring of Fire has somehow relocated to my forehead.  Ugh.

2. Embarrassing Moments In Front Of Cute Boys

In the last several days I have had a lot of really big problems with zippers.  That’s right, zippers.  Over the weekend I was on a date, wearing my favorite pair of jeans–dark and perfectly cut, long enough that I need 5″ heels and a tall date (check and check).  Sometime between the fruit smoothie and the home-made french toast I noticed–with horror–that my zipper was down!  What?  How long had it been there?!  I quickly excused myself to the restroom to fix the embarrassing situation before he noticed.  What started out as minor embarrassment quickly turned into near panic–my zipper was not stuck, it was broken.  Broken!  As in “No Possible Way To Make It Stay Put!”  I yanked and tugged and finally got it halfway up only to have the bottom half of my zipper break apart.  So now I have the zipper tuggy thingie in the middle of the zip and wide open breezes both above and below.  I may have sworn under my breath and then tugged my shirt down as far as possible to cover the gaps.  I tried to keep my shirt strategically covering the gaping hole in my pants and when a movie was suggested I jumped on the chance to hang out in the dark for a few hours.

Luckily, I don’t think my date noticed.  Awkward moment: Avoided.  Permanent Silent Embarrassment: Still Lingering, Unfortunately.

3.  Thinking I’m An Adult…When Really?  I’m Sooooo Not.

For all my bragging, I routinely find myself back at Square One.  I don’t know about you, but I’m sick of being in Square One.  Major developments are in place to permanently remove me from Square One…I’ll keep you updated.  In the meantime, if you know of any magic spell to make me Grow Up For Real overnight, I’d really appreciate you sending it my way.  Or pills.  You could send pills.  Especially if you live in Canada, I hear all the good pills come from Canada.  Begging strangers on the Internet to send “Grown Up” pills from Canada is Adult Like…right?  Right?  Ok, so maybe it is a little juvenile.  Whatever, I need “Make Me An Adult” drugs.  Just send them, okay?  I can offer you one pair of fantastic, hardly worn jeans, size 6 with a 37″ inseam, dark wash, look fantastic with heels with just one busted, slightly broken, totally stuck, sometimes touchy zipper.

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