Here’s a warning. I’ve been in a terrible mood for the past couple of days. Perhaps you can tie it into my monthly cycle. I chalk it up to my forceful ability to be ignorant of my surroundings until one little thing sets me off and I break down harder than the Red line during rush hour.
The other day, I left my apartment early, stressed out as usual, and I had to mail my taxes. I was calm about the whole process, since H&R Block saved me over a thousand dollars. Yet, they don’t put me in the commercials like they do with the exuberant overweight woman or the peppy bald guy. Like most bleeding liberals, I have no problem paying taxes. I do have a problem with the post office. As I stood in line, punctually at 8:50 AM, I had probably five people in front of me. I have no idea who tailgates the Wheaton Post Office more than 10 minutes before it opens, but I imagine their lives are either significantly more or significantly less fulfilling than mine if they place that much emphasis of an early advent to the post office.
When were finally granted admission, there was only one employee working at the counter. I felt my anger rising but I tried to push it down. “They’re probably just all sorting mail in the back, to make sure it goes to the right place,” I consoled myself, conveniently forgetting that my paycheck has been incorrectly delivered twice to my new apartment, despite filing two change of address forms. It wasn’t until the man in front of me reached the counter, and proceeded to get verbally accosted by the postal clerk. The customer didn’t speak English very well, but like everyone else, he was trying to mail his taxes. All he wanted to do was ensure that he could track his taxes and certify it’s delivery. And, like all of us in line, we don’t have all the tiny pastel-colored mail forms memorized with their purpose and cost. It didn’t help matters that this man was dealing with the postal worker Dana and I refer to as the Soup Nazi, or the “SWIPE HERE!” lady.
She yelled at him for what felt like an hour, but was really two minutes. When I got up to the counter, I couldn't decide if I wanted to punch her or cry. As a sign from above, I noticed a poster warning me that assaulting a postal worker was punishable by up to 20 years in prison and a fine not to exceed $20,000. (Ironically, it's less jail time than than the cost of mailing hazardous materials). I may have saved on my taxes, but not enough to make a girl fist and throw it. So, I settled for meek acquiescence, and ordered my certified mail with perfunctory responses that made the postal Soup Nazi happy. But I wasn't.
I've been thinking about this "being an adult and having grown-up problems" topic for the past few weeks and have come up with two inter-related conclusions:
1. Adulthood is just glorified adolescence, but with more money
2. Throwing money at a problem is how adults solve problems.
Let's put this in terms of dating, since that's really what adults do best. When you're in grade school, you want to date the person who has the coolest things, whether it be that Nintendo 64 or the new bicycle. It was probably video games. I loved visiting my friend Francesca when I was younger because we used to play Super Smash Brothers. Francesca was my best friend for other reasons, but she had, in my mind, cooler things than I did. Okay, bad example, because I never wanted to date Francesca. But plenty more guys wanted to date her than me.
In high school, all the cool kids had cars. I'm sure you put out because your high school date had a car with a large backseat. Since I was a late bloomer in the car, (re: driving) department, my Darwin instincts told me my survival would increase if I latched onto the people with the used Kias.
Enter college. It's like grade school all over again, but with more booze. You mean he has a keg at his party? I don't know...I'd rather go to the one that has the three beer pong tables. Oh my god, where did you get that dress? You mean you don't shop at Rugged? You're taking how many honors classes? You banged THAT many TAs? College is social climbing masked upon ambition and fueled by money from our parents and minimum wage jobs, with the sole purpose of getting laid for bragging rights at the next party.
And now, like most of us, we're employed. Some of us longer than others, but we're full-fledged adults. Which means the game's changed. Now, the entire world is our playground, and we have paychecks. Again, let's put this in terms of dating and relationships. I'm not going to disclose your names, but I was talking to a good number of my male friends. Every single one of you spoke favorably to some degree of the option of a mail order bride. For most of you, it's a last resort, but it's a definite option. When I asked for clarification why men do this, one of my friends explained, "...it is when you hit 40, have tons of spare cash and crushing feeling of loneliness".
Now, maybe this is a guy thing, but I have yet to meet one chick who is serious about a mail order husband, (if this service really exists). I don't surround myself with ugly people. I can't imagine why my guy friends would actually feel the need to literally buy someone because they're lonely. It's pathetic. And that's when I realized my second conclusion of adulthood: money fixes everything. You're lonely? Poof! Buy someone!
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| He couldn't have bought 4 less trashy women? Those boobs probably cost more than my Federal return. |
One of my very good friends told me about the time he was with a prostitute. I know this is a delicate topic, but I had to include this anecdote. He's extremely good looking, he's funny, he's creative...I could go on, but it's irrelevant. I just couldn't believe that someone like him would have to pay for sex when he could just go to a bar, buy a girl a couple of drinks, and bang her for way less than he paid a prostitute. But he didn't. When I berated him, he explained that you can do things with prostitutes that other women won't let you do. I still don't want to know what that means, but I couldn't help but ask, "Wouldn't it be more cost-effective to just find the right perverted woman instead of having sex with a prostitute?" I'm a hopeless romantic. But, I'm also financially misinformed because sex with a prostitute is apparently a great transaction.
If you're an adult, like we all are, money is the only thing that drives us to do or receive anything. We wouldn't work as hard at our jobs if we didn't receive an incentive. And that pushes us to want more and more. So, we blow our paychecks on things we don't need (unrelated, I just bought the iPhone 4S), and on dating. I can't even begin to calculate how much both sexes pay on dating. I'm sick and tired of the argument that guys always end up paying, because you guys don't realize how much money goes into our perfume, cute summer dresses, hair products, eyebrow waxes, and razors to shave our cooches. It probably evens out in the end. Unless you're getting paid to have sex. Then, you're probably making a profit.
Anyways, the convoluted point I'm trying to make here is that all we do is spend money to get others to like us, or to fix our problems (the two are related). As we get older, it only gets worse. We need to live in nice houses, drive better cars, and put our eventual children in good schools. The cycle will never end. My favorite band, "The Killers" have an amazing line from their song, All These Things that I've Done: "I am so much older than I can take". Without trying to gush over their lyrical genius, I am in awe over this one sentence. I am so much older than I can take. I cannot accept my age. I am not able to process my age. I physically am unable to be this old because I don't know what I'm doing. And I'm scared.
Every morning, Dani and I bemoan being grown ups with responsibilities. But, wasn't it pretty much the same when we were younger--just with different responsibilities? When does the stress end? It ends when we stop letting money and stuff ruin us. I know I previously blogged about my love of douchebags and 'treating yourself', but for fuck's sake, don't let it take you over. I see people consumed by greed for the newest phone that they'll never call their parents on. (I'm safe--I Siri texted my mom earlier but she hasn't responded. Ball's in your court, Mommabear). They buy the awesome high definition TV but don't have anyone to invite over for movie nights.Your iPad 3's retina display won't suck your dick.
You can end this. I know they say money doesn't buy happiness, but my grandmother used to say that it's been known to bring a smile or two. Don't give it all up, but don't let it define you. Do you really want to be known as the guy with the awesome car and the Ukranian mail order bride? Stop solving you problems with money and solve them with action. Or, enjoy your Eastern European herpes.
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