Admittedly, we’ve been light on the blogging recently. Folks, let’s draw back the curtain for a second. We’re going through some staff shakeup (I think). On top of that, your boy’s busy. Talking studying in class for 5 hours, then studying for another 5 hours, every day of the week, busy. Not one to complain (that’s a lie, I love complaining more than I love peanut butter filled pretzels), but it’s hard to get the energy for a blog about draft grades or something stupid.
And what a better way to come back to blogging than with a non-sports blog (insert sarcasm mark, which this world needs). The kid turned 21 about 5 weeks ago, thanks for the wishes. Fact: once you have no more birthday milestones to look forward to, you’re officially an adult. So let’s rap, about the three worst things about being an adult.
1. Groceries, things of that nature
Whom knew there were so many kinds of pasta sauce? Like, how about just normal pasta sauce? But oh no, we gotta hide that it’s mushroom pasta sauce on the bottom. Fine, my first red flag should’ve been that it was $0.79, but I had tunnel vision for the deal, and the deal only. And I can’t even imagine being the person buying non-generic stuff. Like is the Creamette pasta really better than the Shnucks generic pasta? Yes, yes it is better. But I’ll save the $0.40.
Step two of the groceries process. I love cooking as much as the next person. Truthfully, I may have been a baker in another life. That’s not out of the question. But at the end of a long day, it’s a chore to make a whole thing of pasta. The other day, I had a bag of popcorn for dinner. The day before that? A microwaved potato. Folks, if that’s not hashtag thriving and hashtag adulting, I don’t know what is.
3. The dwelling thought that every step from here on out could in one way or another determine your entire future, and that the stopwatch on the “i’ll figure it out later” clock is running out of time, and that maybe you want to do a real career but maybe you just want to throw away your phone, buy a VW van, drive it to Chile, live on the beach, and send a nice postcard to your family and friends explaining your current situation and that you’ve now got a pet dog you found somewhere between Mexico and Panama named Thomas