7 Things No One Tells You About Adulting

At this point in my life, not that many people want to assassinate me. And yet whenever I’m in my huge 5 bedroom house alone, every little noise makes me think someone is about to come kill me. The most worrisome time this feeling occurs is when I’m in the shower; please, for the love of God, I don’t want to die naked. I haven’t even completed my diet yet! Realistically if I looked like Adriana Lima or Heidi Klum, I’d be like yes, please let everyone I went to high school with find my perfect body and be insanely jealous. But not now; my bod just isn’t ready.

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I just moved into my new place and will be living with five other girls. However, only one of them has moved in so far and she’s not home all the time. Whenever I’m home by myself, I’m constantly checking to see if the doors are locked and, like I mentioned previously, each little noise that the house makes immediately makes my brain go into “intruder alert” mode. If you think about it, it’s pretty narcissistic for me to think so many people want to kill me. I’m really not even important enough yet to get death threats or any other cool things celebrities get to go through. Like why would all these assassins be in my house? And if they’re so good at their job, why can I hear them? This is one of the things no one tells you when you kind of almost live by yourself temporarily. Here are some other things you will encounter so you can be prepared. You’re welcome.

7) You will have to kill all the bugs yourself.

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If you saw my previous post about my self-diagnosed arachnophobia, then you know exactly how hard it is for me emotionally whenever I encounter bugs. When you’re alone and you see a bug, you have to kill it; or in my case, give it your best shot and attempt to kill it. I have no sympathy for the ugly little critters trying to move in with me. Like, bitch no, you don’t pay rent. The other day, I saw a very small spider on one of the walls in my room. After a few minutes, I built up the courage to get a napkin and do the deed. I go to squish him and BAM, Little Lucifer the II jumps onto another part of the wall. OH GOOD. A JUMPING SPIDER. I try again to squish his puny little body in between my napkin and the wall, and of course, he basically flip jumps off the wall onto the floor with his tiny middle fingers in the air pointed at me. I’ve lost him. Now I’m late for work and have a new roommate.

6) You have to figure out how and when to take the trash out.

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…and if you take it out on the wrong day, you get fined and have to go to court. Basically the same as if you get caught for assassinating someone. Also, you still have to take it out even if it’s raining. Hopefully the love of your life doesn’t walk by when you’re in your pink robe covered in wet dirt trying to take out your trash.

5) You have to uncork your own wine bottles.

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This was actually the one thing that I enjoyed doing. I usually get wine bottles with caps so that there’s no way I can interfere with my drinking habits unless I drop the bottle on the floor. Every time I’ve tried to uncork a bottle of wine, I end up either breaking it up into little pieces and having to drink half cork-half wine, or I push the cork into the bottle. If you ask me, pushing a cork back into a bottle of wine takes more skill than uncorking the thing. Anyway, now I know how to do it without ruining my wine.

4) There’s so much shit you have to clean.

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I was always vaguely aware that my parents cleaned the house, but I rarely ever cleaned anything myself. I know how to fold clothes and that’s about it. No one told me that parts of my house will be dirty in ways that I couldn’t have possibly imagined. I decided to try to clean my bathroom after a few days of living in the new house. One of the nastiest things I encountered were the blinds covering one of the windows. They looked like they hadn’t been cleaned since World War II; I couldn’t even figure out what color they were supposed to be. At first I tried dusting it off, but this dirt was pretty insistent on never moving. My boyfriend was with me at the time and he thought it would help to SPRAY FEBREZE on the dirt. When I tried to go over it with the duster, the dirt started sticking together and began falling onto me. Cute. Eventually we figured out that wet wipes would evict the little specs from their residence on my blinds. They’re a shade of white by the way.

3) Sometimes your landlord won’t return your text messages.

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I’m not sure how to solve this one yet.

2) Fire alarms do indeed come out of the ceiling if you pull hard enough.

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The night before my first day at my new internship, my fire alarm started chirping every two minutes even though I had just changed the batteries. Luckily my superhero boyfriend was there to Google how to fix it while I laid there and complained. After about 45 minutes of him running around the house trying to steal the batteries from the other alarms and watching strange YouTube videos about how to fix the problem, he ripped the fire alarm out of the ceiling and saved the day. I texted my landlord to tell him about the problem (this time he replied) and he said he would come replace the batteries. I briefly informed him that “mine is on the couch.” He did not think that was as funny as I did.

1) You can and you will drink alone.

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And it’s awesome. Sip on some Pinot at the end of a long day and you’ll sleep through the sound of assassins trying to break into your house.

Little Lucifer

Arachnophobia is defined as:

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I believe I have this. I am not a doctor, nor have I gone to a doctor to confirm, but I fucking hate spiders. And I’m sure they hate me too. They find me everywhere: the shower, my room, outside. I know that technically, I’m infiltrating their environment if I’m outside, but I’m narcissistic enough to believe they shouldn’t be there. Spiders are like serial killers to me. They look creepy, they move fast, and I’m almost positive they have axes in their back pockets.

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My friend Carolina sleeps in my room on Mondays and Tuesdays because she has work across the street from my dorm. We were studying together on Tuesday and I decided to take a break. My breaks last about an hour, while my study periods drone on for about 10 minutes. Journalism is a truly torturous major. I was laying on my bed during my short study break and there it was: a killer black spider crawling around on my ceiling. Once I see a spider, I can’t ignore it- similar to when a sex scene comes on while you’re watching a movie with your parents.jennifer-lawrence-scared-funny-face

When I pointed it out to Carolina, it was clear that she was not willing to kill miniature Satan with 8 legs. I continued to ask her to kill it despite her hesitance. I insisted that my arachnophobia would get in the way of killing it properly. As she continued to refuse to put her big girl pants on and step up to the plate, I tried to make her feel guilty while I built up the courage to approach little Lucifer.

Let me make one thing clear: I want all spiders to die. I’m not against murdering them all. I just have a hard time getting near them. It’s not a moral issue. I don’t want you to mistake me for a decent human being.

I had goosebumps all over my body (SINCE I HAVE CLINICAL ARACHNOPHOBIA) and I walked over to a chair in my room.  For whatever reason, my school puts rocking chairs into the residence halls, as opposed to regular chairs – It’s weird that the administration assumes we’re all 90 years old. I began to position my rocking chair underneath the spider; I did this while keeping one eye on the spider.

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All of a sudden, the spider decided to do the little Spiderman thing and hang its web from the ceiling (like the asshole that he was). I began to scream as if someone had told me vodka would stop being sold in the world. This inevitably made Carolina start screaming as well. Part of me thought that the spider had jumped on me in an effort to either be friendly or kill me and I danced around trying to get if off, breaking my necklace in the process. Cool.

When I finally settled down next to Carolina, we looked at the ceiling and tried to find the spider, hoping it hadn’t left the ceiling. I thought it had committed spider suicide and jumped to its death. In most instances, I would have felt relieved by spider suicide, but my carpet is navy blue and I wouldn’t have been able to confirm little Lucifer’s death.

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Then, there it was, back in its cozy spot on my ceiling. One of my floor mates had heard our screams and texted me to ask if everything was ok. I wrote back “no. spider. please kill it.” It turned out that the only person willing to kill El Diablo was a little under 5 feet tall, a feisty female munchkin at best. She walked in casually and asked me where it was. I pointed in its direction trembling with fear. She stood up on my rocking chair and reached for tiny Satan, and just when I thought my life would be back on track, she could not reach El Diablo r; she was too short. In my time of crisis, I was overwhelmed with the idea that a spider would be living with me permanently (he hadn’t even bought me dinner; it was too early in the relationship). However, the munchkin was able to think quickly and left the room momentarily to go put high heels on. As far as I was concerned, it was the most innovative idea I had ever heard of. “She will be the next Steve Jobs,” I thought. “Or Samantha Jobs, I guess (since she’s a girl).”

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She stood up on the rocking chair with her bravery and high heels and killed little Lucifer with one smoosh of a napkin. “MY HERO!” I screamed. The munchkin smiled and walked out of the room just as casually as she had walked in. Carolina and I sat there basking in relief and continued to avoid homework at all costs.