Being an Adult is like Being a Baby, Only Cooler

What does it mean to be an adult? Does it mean responsibility? Morality? Logical reasoning? Maturity? Politeness? Maybe some, or all, of these things.

I painted my fingernails bright purple the other day and had the most terrifying thought after I was finished: “Oh man, I’m too old for this.” But what does that mean? How does one “be an adult”? I thought I used to know, but once I started thinking about it, I really couldn’t come to a conclusion. So, I thought, let’s start backwards: how does one “be a kid”?

Kids and the iPad, or How to Raise Technologically-Advanced Barbarians

A friend of mine posted a Facebook status about two kids comparing their iPads. They were nine. My eyes, like yours may be doing now, bugged out slightly, and my cynic lobe of my brain went, “GHWAAA?” What in god’s name does a nine year old need an iPad for? Really, I’m serious. Can anyone suggest a possible necessity here? Even offer me something that the iPad does that a laptop or a video game system does not do, and I can at least maybe go with that. But, from where I’m sitting, this looks like another case of parents who don’t want to interact with their offspring, so they let technology take care of that for them. I’m so excited to see what today’s nine year olds are going to accomplish as world leaders in two decades with their expert and adept Angry Birds skills. Can you kill eight round, green pigs hiding behind glass, stones, and wood with a single bomb bird? Yeah, thought so. So last century.

But the bigger issue here, in my opinion, is the fact that nine year olds get everything they want. When I was nine, there were things my parents said ‘no’ to. If I was nine now, you can bet your ass I wouldn’t be getting an iPad. In fact, I’m twenty-two now and if I told my mom I was thinking about buying an iPad for $500 and I wasn’t sure what I was going to do with it exactly, I know the look that would cross her face:

<– Or something like that. And it wouldn’t even be her money.

I guess the crux of this part of my rant is that parents let their kids do, say, and act whatever and however their tiny, yet-to-mature brains decide, with absolutely no input from the parents. Sorry, but you don’t beg your child to stop acting like a tiny barbarian. No, you tell it, and if it doesn’t listen, you take some sort of action to discipline it, whether that means a stern talking-to or an ass-whooping. A half-hearted, “Honey, would you please stop pulling your sister’s hair?” or “Sweetheart, could you not pee in Grandma’s shoes?” isn’t going to cut it. This kind of “discipline” (if one can call it that) basically teaches kids to ignore the reasonable voice because they can. When you use a reasonable/logical voice to discipline a child and then take no action to back it up, you wind up with kids who only respond, for the rest of their lives, to people screaming at them, and sometimes not even that. But where does that leave us when we have to act like an adult?

The Debt Ceiling and 535 Overgrown Babies

As you probably know–because, let’s face it, doom-sayers abound–the nation is in a crisis regarding the national debt ceiling. Republicans and Democrats are kicking and screaming in order to get their

I imagine he's thinking, "OMFG can we get this shit taken care of already?!"

ideological position validated. On The Daily Show recently, Jon Stewart compared President Obama to the incensed father figure of the childish Congress, lecturing his fellow politicians on the importance of seriousness, compromise, and to quit “playing politics.”

Hearing about the debt ceiling and watching Eric Cantor & Co. essentially stamp their feet and throw a hissy fit like a four year old whose mother won’t buy it a candy bar at the grocery store checkout causes me to wonder: if I’m twenty-two and can effectively compromise with others, what the hell is wrong with these 40, 50, and 60-somethings in Congress? Why do they insist on acting like whiny, stubborn teenagers who think their curfew is inappropriately early? Perhaps because their parents tried to reason with them instead of telling them to clean their rooms, no ifs, ands, or buts about it. We’ve raised a generation that finds itself utterly incapable of listening to logic or venturing to compromise on an issue.

This brings me to a larger point. In America, adults don’t act like adults. They act like overgrown babies. This is evident in a number of weird phenomena: Dads getting in fist fights at their kids’ sporting events, politicians sending pictures of their dicks to young women on the internet, women apparently murdering their toddlers in order to ‘party more,’ as well as the larger and more expansive attitude that the rules just don’t apply to me (whether this means sports stars taking steroids to cheat their way to success or people driving drunk and wondering why they’re getting their licenses taken away).

So, why do people in the great middle age of life continue to wonder why their kids and their kids’ kids have no respect for authority? Why they refuse to obey the rules? Why they’re greedy, stingy, hissy fit-thowing, kicking, screaming, spitting, whining hellspawn in the shape of cute and small children? They shouldn’t wonder, they should just look in the mirror.

So what does it mean to be an adult in America today? I guess it means being a kid. And in honor of entering/reentering childhood, I’d just like to say:

Hey, mom, I’m gettin’ me an iPad!

Unacceptable Item of the Week – Shape Ups + ?

You’re wearing shape ups and you’re not walking your dog, working out or at home… You’re already wrong.  They’re gross and weird.  We all know this.  However, we’ll make an exception for times when it’s acceptable to also wear grungy clothing, or when you’re actually working out.

Ugly. Ugly. Ugly. Ugly. Ugly. Ugly. Ugly. Ugly. Ugly. Ugly. Ugly. Ugly. Ugly. Ugly. Ugly. Ugly. Ugly. Ugly. Ugly. Ugly. Ugly. Ugly. Ugly. Ugly. Ugly. Ugly. Ugly. Ugly. Ugly. Ugly. Ugly. Ugly. Ugly. Ugly. Ugly. Ugly. Ugly. Ugly. Ugly. Ugly. Ugly. Ugly. Ugly. Ugly. Ugly. Ugly. Ugly. Ugly. Ugly. Ugly. Ugly. Ugly. Ugly. Ugly. Ugly. Ugly. Ugly. Ugly. Ugly.

These are ugly.  So, what could be worse?  I’ll tell you: wearing shape ups with a suit.  Like, a business suit.  This is what I saw yesterday.  There was a woman, in a meeting, wearing a very nice suit with very neat, tidy hair who looked quite put together.  BUT then she stood up and revealed that she was, in fact, wearing SHAPE UPS!  What?

How dare you?  Michelle Obama is ashamed of you!  (See proof below.)  Just wear normal shoes, even flip-flops are better.  You should be wearing flats, sandals, heels, anything but sneakers – anything but Shape Ups.  You fiend.  You fool.  UNACCEPTABLE.

You’re Not Poor

Growing up, I inhabited both sides of the line: having little to no worries about money and worrying about money all the time. I still, however, wouldn’t ever have classified myself as “poor.” It seems, of late, to be the chic thing to do: “I’m so poor!” “I’m so broke!”, to complain about your finances as a ploy to get attention and/or sympathy from others.

Granted, I’m sure we’ve all felt poor at some point, even if we aren’t actually poor. But to constantly insist that you’re poor when it’s obvious that you’re not isn’t just tacky; it demeans the importance and visibility of people who actually are poor. These people have to do things like choose between medicine and food, or wonder about how they’ll be able to afford tomorrow’s dinner. A flat tire isn’t just an inconvenience, it’s a major set back that leaves them in debt up to their eyeballs. College isn’t just expensive, it’s impossible.

And you’re bitching about being poor because you blew all your money on an iPhone, a second guitar, or six brand new pairs of designer jeans. Or, worse, you’re complaining about being poor for no reason; you have everything you want and most of the tings you need, with no substantial money worries in sight. What’s wrong with that picture? Everything. Namely because you think there’s no difference between this guy:

And this one:

Here’s a clue: the second one isn’t really poor. He’s gonna hop on his iPhone to check into this dive bar on Foursquare in about thirty seconds.

So for all you hobo hipsters and others out there who are always complaining about how poor you are to out-hip or gain attention and faux-sympathy from your peers, knock it off. The only empty things about you aren’t your pockets but your brains.

Why It’s Good to be a Geek.

It’s good to be a geek, or nerd, or dork.  Por que?  Well, because nerds are better than jerks, and jocks, and douchebags.  Even though Beyonce recently told us that girls run the world (“Run the World [Girls]” video here, the people actually running the world are mostly nerds.  Sure, politicians are douchebags with too much power, but a lot of what we rely on for everyday life is nerd-created.  Even most of the swanky things mentioned in rap songs and drunken tirades were created by nerds too.

Nerds made computers.  Nerds created the iPod.  Nerds invented all the stuff that goes into plastic surgery.  So, bimbos can thank nerds, dorks and geeks for their big ole boobies.


If this is you, you’re good.  You’re destined to be a little weird, maybe a touch awkward, but ultimately probably pretty nice.  You won’t be a tool.  You’re less likely to cheat – in lots of ways.  You’re less likely to be a total dick bag who ends up unhappy at 50.  You’ll probably get happier with time because success, love and good people will eventually come around you.  Why?  Because you’re not going to be so mean and cruel that you push people away.  Maybe you get made fun of a little, or a lot, but that will make you nicer in the long-run.  Trust, I’ve been there and I’m much nicer for it.  Mean people taught me how to be good to other not so mean people.

I mean, I’ve heard that it’s hard out there for a pimp (ask the Oscars), but it’s also hard out there for a nerd.  Nerds get beat up and pushed down when they’re young.  But, guess what?  As they age, they become handsomer, nicer and altogether more desirable to possible sexual partners!  Yay!  Time heals all wounds and rewards all pocket protectors.  You have been responsible and you will reap the rewards… but you have to make it first.

Another nice thing about being a nerd is that you’re probably not a big whore from a young age.  Nerdy girls and boys aren’t in danger of becoming “that girl” in high school, or worse.  In fact, at worst you’re a secret slut, and those aren’t too bad.  Secret sluts are the girls who just have a lot of sex with very few people in high school and no one knows about it – genius.  Nerds are all, “Stay outta my undapants.”                          —>

And, that is a good thing.  Fewer unwanted pregnancies, fewer diseases and when you do actually have sex, you’ll probably be more prepared to handle all the things about it… You know, consequences and all.  ‘Cause is, like, kind of a big deal.

Anyway, the point is that being a nerd is awesome and it totally wins over all that other crap.

Nerd Power!

Oh, but no matter how amazing and great and nerdy you are, don’t get a tattoo like this one, because that is totally awful.  Just please, don’t do it.

Haters!!1!!1! (part one)

Urban Dictionary defines “hater” as “A person that simply cannot be happy for another person’s success. So rather than be happy they make a point of exposing a flaw in that person. Hating, the result of being a hater, is not exactly jealousy. The hater doesnt [sic] really want to be the person he or she hates, rather the hater wants to knock somelse [sic] down a notch.”

I hear this word a lot in rap/hip-hop songs. Often the user is referring to the haters as their own, as in “I got haters.” Okay, so maybe hip-hop stars can legitimately make this claim. I can reasonably believe that people are jealous of someone with fame, money, women, etc. I start to raise my skeptic flag high, however, when I see stuff like this on Twitter and YouTube from Average Joe and Average Jane.

Additionally, when these people say ‘haters,’ they do, it seems, wish to imply a vague sense of jealousy radiating from the accused party toward themselves. Recall the phrase ‘Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful…’ yadda yadda. But really?

Here’s the facts: no one knows you so nobody can hate you. You don’t have an unspecified, shadowy group of ‘haters.’ You’re 12, or at least have the mentality of a 12 year old. No one is scanning through your Facebook photos or your 140 character tweets thinking about how much they want to be you. What do you have? Other than way too much time on your hands to be informing the world wide intarwebs that they’re all your haters…

This also applies to all you idiots who use the phrase ‘BE JEALOUS!!!!’ after you state what you’re doing. Why not just ask people to be happy for you? Why promote bad feelings? Why must you revel in 12 year old internet drama?! You really just end up looking like a fool, because everyone knows you don’t have haters. You just have eye-rollers. Same goes for the claim of fake vs. real. You’re “so real”? IT’S THE INTERNET, GODDAMNIT! Nothing is real! Nothing has mass or density or volume! Therefore–not real!

To sum up, I leave you with the wisdom of the 4chan superstar known as Jessi Slaughter, who is an imbalanced, foul-mouthed, eleven year-old phenomenal combo of stupidity and insanity, and the “Leave Britney Alone” Guy, Chris Crocker. Don’t take my word for why using terms and phrases like ‘haters,’ ‘be jealous,’ and ‘fake’ is dumb. Watch and learn (beware for work; this is definitely not suitable for the office!):

The British Are Coming! (and they’re not the only ones)

I’m starting to get worried about our country because we don’t seem to know that British Royalty is not American Royalty.  The paparazzi are freaking out because Prince William and Princess Kate (or is she the Duchess of Cambridge?  Whatever, you know who I mean) are in America, traveling about and meeting people.  They’ve arrived and all of America is overwhelmed with excitement.

First, there was the engagement.  The dress!  The ring!  Holy balls, people were pumped.  The interviews played over and over again, dresses were made and bought and bought and bought and bought.  The woman is beautiful, the man is attractive (was more attractive a few years ago), but settle it down.  They’re royal, yes.  They are also just two people randomly pushed into the spotlight because his bloodline is special.  Yet, their faces appeared on plates, posters, coins and all other kinds of paraphernalia.  They were on mugs, people.  Unacceptable.

After the engagement, the wedding happened, and this is when our brains exploded.  BOOM!  Reporters predicted useless information about what might happen, then they freaked out over the tiniest details.  The dress was beautiful, and I’m sure the ceremony was nice, but I didn’t watch it because I don’t know them and weddings are effing boring!  All wedding ceremonies are boring.  Well, all wedding ceremonies that happen in churches… sorry.

So, now that they’ve descended on America, it’s happening again.  We’re watching them, we’re really, really watching them.

What are Wills and Kate doing?  Where are they going?  Who are they talking to?  What are they saying to each other?  What are they saying to other people?  Did they just talk to a celebrity?  Who was it?  Who was it? What is Kate wearing? OH MY GOD, what is she wearing?  We just wanna know what she’s wearing!!

I just don’t get it.  They’re just people.  They’re not even American Royalty.  They’re from another country and they’re pretty.  Get over it, you hags!

Your Facebook Birthday

It’s your birthday and all your friends remembered… OR, they went on Facebook and it reminded them that it’s your birthday… But still, so many friends and acquaintances are thinking of you and taking the time to contact you with well wishes and happy thoughts.  It is actually quite nice.  You feel loved and popular, as you should on your birthday.  Congrats!  You’re important and loved.

Up ’til now, you’ve done nothing wrong…  So far you’ve just maybe been a little vain or self-concious.  You’re doing fine.  It’s when people start whining because not enough people wrote on their walls.  OR maybe those people didn’t quite say the right things… maybe they messaged you a birthday wish instead of writing it publicly.  The terror!  OR Little Miss Birthday Girl might whine because a specific person didn’t write on herwall.  Often, the person who didn’t write on the wall is a person who attended a birthday party, called directly, or was seen in person by the birthday-er.  It’s facebook.  It’s not real life.  Let friends be real friends.

Also, remember that most of the people writing on your facebook wall don’t actually know your date of birth and didn’t remember it was your birthday until they logged in as usual and saw a little reminder on the side of their screen.  Creeping is not the same as caring.

This is what happens now.

Here’s where people start to go wrong.  They get a little too high and mighty about their facebook popularity.  Take a few things to remember:
1. I promise you, it’s okay if 500 people didn’t write on your facebook wall.  You should be more than happy with the 50 people who did.
2. Your best friend didn’t write on your wall?!?!?!  Yeah, but she called you, saw you, got you a gift and planned you a party… She did a whole hell of a lot more than writing on your stupid little facebook wall.
3. You’re the only one counting.  If anyone else is counting how many of your “friends” wrote on your wall, they’re just a straight-up creeper.
4. Not every post needs a reply, but if you do decide to comment on each, don’t say exactly the same thing to every person.  That just re-emphasizes how impersonal this all is.  The people that just say, “happy b-day,” with no capitol letters, not even taking the time to write “birthday,” these people are not highly invested in you and do not require your further attention.  Simply reading it is sufficient.
5. Finally, it’s your birthday… get off facebook and go have a drink or something.

Crazies, Babies, and Casey Anthony

Yesterday I watched the verdict to the Casey Anthony murder trial read live. I then watched roughly an hour of news coverage on MSNBC while awaiting comments from the jury (or lack thereof) in regards to their decision. During this hour, I was both aghast and amazed at the investment people made in this trial.

For example, the reporter for MSNBC interviewed one woman who had driven two hours with her mother and children in tow to stand outside the courtroom and wait for the verdict. Okay, I say to myself, maybe they knew the Anthonys. Nope. Just some random people, who, additionally, had stopped at the deceased child’s grave on their way there in order to drop off flowers and pray and grieve.

Pardon me, but what the hell?!

1. Why make personal grief and frustration that isn’t yours? Is your life so awesome that you need to adopt other people’s pain as if it is your own? The thought, admittedly, is nice, perhaps even sincere, but in completely bad taste.

2. Don’t you, oh, I don’t know, HAVE JOBS? DO SOMETHING? HAVE COMMITMENTS? It’s the first day after a long holiday weekend, so I assume people with jobs are at them, and if you don’t have one you might want to be looking for one because obviously you need something to occupy yourself, and wasting a bunch of gas driving 2 hours to a courthouse and dragging your kids and elderly mother along ain’t it. Why don’t you try doing something productive and helpful to society instead of something pointless and wasteful!

3. I’m shocked at how many people followed this trial so closely. A friend of mine posted quite the insightful status on Facebook; something along the lines of “Wouldn’t it be something if people were as invested in local issues and events as they are in a murder case in Florida?” Something to think about.

Additionally, the reporter interviewed two other people: a middle-aged guy who lived two blocks away who came over to see what all the fuss was about and a nine-year old girl. The questioning was along the lines of, “do you understand what has been going on?” To which the girl responded, “I think so, kinda.”

Give me a break, media. DON’T INTERVIEW NINE YEAR OLDS. EVER. Unless you are covering an elementary school picnic, I don’t give a shit what a nine-year old thinks/feels/understands about an obviously adult topic. I care what a nine-year old thinks about Anthony’s trial about as much as I care what she thinks about the National Debt–which is to say not very effin’ much. If we were talking about Santa Claus or pink unicorns that shit rainbows and fart roses and are BFFs with Barbie, that might be another story. But until you’re covering the tragic accident involving the mall Santa and tween-aged mythical creature sightings induced by too much Harry Potter, DON’T INTERVIEW CHILDREN.

The lesson to be had from all this? Sometimes it’s best to stick with the expert opinion rather than polling crazies and babies. Just sayin’.