Tag Archives: being an adult sucks

Diary of a Wimpy Adult


Wanna know a secret? About being a grown-up?

You do! Well…us adults? We’re really just big kids with bank accounts.

(Granted, some with…ahem…smaller bank accounts than others).

I know! I was as shocked as you are to learn this. As I got older, I kept waiting to finally, officially feel like an adult. But lo and behold, the years kept passing by…18…22…26…29…29 again…the second anniversary of turning 29…and nothing.


Oh sure, there were small changes here and there. Cartoons lost some of their allure while beer gained a LOT of allure.

But overall, I still feel pretty much the same (my encyclopedic knowledge of anti-wrinkle creams notwithstanding).

No…wait. I take that back. There is at least one thing that changes as you transform from kid to adult. While you guys whine on the outside about having to do stuff you don’t want to do, the majority of us have learned to only whine on the inside. So, to you it looks like we’re calmly and diligently paying bills at the kitchen table. But on the inside, we’re all screaming “But I don’t waaaaaaaant toooooooooo…This is soooooo STUPID…I hate iiiiitttttttt…UUUUUUUGGGGGGGHHHHHHH…”

So, just as a heads up, let me give you a list of other annoying crap you’ll eventually have to endure and will continually whine internally about:

Grocery shopping: You know how every time you open the fridge, there is always magically edible food in there? Yeah. When you’re an adult, the only magical thing that happens when you open the fridge is that the green moss-covered leftovers from March haven’t sprouted legs yet. And the only way to correct that situation is to battle traffic, the overcrowded parking lot, the two chubby women who ALWAYS stop in the middle of the aisle to talk about something that absolutely CAN’T wait (like frosting) and then a long line manned by a 20-year-old burnout who physically can’t move faster than molasses or else they die (much like the human equivalent of the movie “Speed”).

Taxes: You know that big essay you’re assigned that counts for, like, 50 percent of your grade and your teacher gives you three weeks to work on it? So naturally you keep blowing it off until 11 p.m. the night before it’s due? That’s how it is every year for us when tax time rolls around. The only difference is that the worse thing that can happen to you is you get an F and/or detention. We, on the other hand, get slapped with “penalties” we will never be able to pay off in our lifetimes and/or jail (which is like detention but without the “Breakfast Club” whimsy).

Cleaning: Oh, you hate cleaning your room? Your ONE room? Aw…boo-hoo. Try having to clean six rooms. And no one gives you an allowance for it.

Eating healthy: You think it’s bad when mom nags you about eating brussels sprouts because they’re good for you? Try having the media endlessly nagging you about eating them because if you don’t you’ll get cancer and die. Or get fat. And then get cancer and die.

Going to work: Don’t tell anyone *looks nervously from side to side* but sometimes we fake that we’re sick too. Cough. Cough.

Dealing with bullies: That 3rd grade bully? He eventually becomes the 39-year-old balding, alcoholic bully. That sits right next to your cubicle.

Going to the DMV: Driving is cool, right? Just you and the open road. You and this wonderful machine that stands for the ultimate symbol of freedom. Except for the fact that you first have to go through all the circles of hell, including the Circle of the Eternal Line, the Circle of Finding Out You’ve Just Spent Two Hours in the Wrong Line and the Circle of Dealing With Anita, the Disgruntled Employee Who Hates You.

Insurance: The very first thing you learn as an adult is that you need insurance for everything. Your home, your car, your health, your very effing life. So, you pay thousands of dollars each year to insurance companies to “insure” you should the unthinkable happen. And then, when the unthinkable does happen, they take all those thousands of dollars you paid over all those years and deny your claim to it. Now, you may be thinking, “but wait…isn’t it MY money?” No, it is not. Because the cold sore you had when you went to the emergency room because you got hit by a car means that your intestines, which are currently hanging outside of your body, are now a pre-existing condition and that you are now at fault for the car accident even though you were actually parked at the time and the guy that hit you drove through two houses before hitting you in your parked car.

Once upon a time, an adult had a nervous breakdown

Hey kids! You know how you can’t WAIT to become an adult and do all the COOL stuff that only adults get to do? Like…

Well, kids, ice cream gives you heart disease, puppies eventually grow old and lose bladder control and insomnia gives you wrinkles.

And now, Auntie Aprill wants to tell you some more “special” stories, little ones. All about the other COOL stuff you get to do as an adult.

The first story is called “The Princess With the Out-of-State License.”

Once upon a time, there was a princess who had moved to the kingdom of Texas. But being a fairly lazy princess, she waited a little too long to replace her Ohio driver’s license with a Texas license. So when it came time to renew her auto insurance, the evil step-insurance agent said “Princess, we can’t renew your policy until you get a Texas license,” and then laughed an evil laugh.

So, the princess drove her “technically” un-insured car all the way into the bowels of Hell, also known as the Department of Motor Vehicles. And it was there she was told by the horned devil, also known as a DMV employee, that “Princess, we can’t give you a Texas driver’s license until you have proof of insurance,” and then laughed an even evil-er laugh.

So, the princess, trying to remain in good spirits and not chew through her seatbelt in utter frustration, returned to the evil step-insurance agent and told them what the horned devil had told her. And then do you know what happened, kids? That’s right! The evil step-insurance agent said, “I’m very sorry, princess, but we simply can’t give you insurance until you have a Texas license.”

Now, kiddies, do you see the problem with this scenario? You do! Well, good for you! Because apparently the asshats trolls at both these institutions did not. So finally, the princess told the evil step-insurance agent “Well, lady, something’s gotta give. Else I will be stuck in your office forever because I can’t drive anywhere.”

Luckily, the evil step-insurance agent finally relented and agreed to give the princess proof of insurance under the condition she immediately return and show them her new license. So the princess drove back to the bowels of Hell, stood in line for 43 hours and then finally went through the ass-numbingly dull process of getting her license. But just when she thought her epic journey was finally at an end, the horned devil behind the counter said, “That will be $62.50.” As the princess whipped out her debit card, the horned devil disguised as a human being added, “Sorry, we only take cash.”

“You didn’t feel the need to mention to this earlier?”


“What about a check?”


“OK, well, let me run to the ATM. Can I have my Ohio license back real quick?”

“Sorry, princess, I can’t do that. Once you turn it in, I can’t give it back.”

“Can you give me the Texas license then?”

“Nope. Not until you pay.”

Kids, do you see the problem with this scenario? You do! Good for you! Because once again, they did not.

And so, the princess said “Well, lady, something’s gotta give. Else I’m stuck here forever and I’m about two seconds away from re-enacting that scene in “Steel Magnolias” “Terms of Endearment” where the mom really wants the nurse to give her daughter the drugs.”

Luckily, the horned devil let her run to the ATM real quick in order to get $62.50 in cash after discussing it with Trooper Gary, who said “Whatever. Just don’t kill anyone. I’m on break.”

And they all lived happily ever after.

That is, until the princess decided one day that in order to pay off one of her credit cards, she needed to cancel her security protection and warranty policy on items purchased because the monthly charges were adding too much to the interest. This story is titled “The Princess and the Battle of the Automated Phone Answering Service” and can be read in one of my earlier columns here. (You can also read the story of “The Princess Who Tried to Find a &#$@ing Place to Live in the Kingdom of Boston” here.)

This next one I like to call “The Princess and The Ogre Guarding the Rental Car Office at the Columbus Airport.”

Once upon a time, there was a princess and her prince who flew in a giant, metal bird to attend a friend’s wedding in Ohio. Upon landing, the two went to meet the ogre guarding the rental car office at the airport.

“We’d like to rent a car,” the princess said.

“OK, princess. May I see your license?” the ogre replied.

“Oh, well, actually it will be the prince driving. My license expired this week and unfortunately, I didn’t notice,” the princess said.

“OK. Does the prince have a credit card?”

“No. But I do. I’ll be paying.”

“Oh, I’m very sorry, princess. We can’t allow that.”

“Allow what?”

“We need a valid license and a credit card to rent you a car.”

“Right. And that’s what we have. He has a valid license. And I have a credit card.”

“I’m sorry. It doesn’t work that way.”

“What way? I’ll sign a waiver or whatever saying I am allowing the prince to drive the car.”


“No, what? Look, we’re together. Like, together together. Not married yet or anything but we have a joint bank account and I’m comfortable enough to fart in front of him, so basically, all that’s missing is a piece of paper. We have what you require: A license and a credit card. Now give us a freaking car.”

“I’m sorry but one of you needs to have both.”

“Are you kidding me? It’s two hours to my family’s house. We. Need. A. Car.”


“I’ll give you my first-born!”


“Don’t make me jump this counter, little man.”

“Princess, you’re becoming belligerent.”

“I’ll show you belligerent, you mother-…”

“OK, princess,” the prince finally said. “Time to go.”

“Have a good day, princess!” the ogre cried out as they were leaving.

“I hope you die!” the princess said as dignified as she could while being carried out fireman-style.

And if all THOSE stories weren’t enough to convince you of the joys of adulthood, kids, check out this one fresh from this morning, which I like to call “The Princess and the Multi-State Bureaucracy Nightmare.”

Once upon a time, a princess tried to register her car with the Massachusetts Registry of Motor Vehicles. Now, the princess, through a rare instance of fiscal responsibility, had actually paid the car off and owned it in full. Now, kids, you may be thinking she should be rewarded for that. But NOOOOOO. No, because see, the princess originally bought the car in Ohio, an evil land where apparently, when the bank no longer owns your car, the title doesn’t go to you. Oh, no, silly goose. It goes, obviously, to the Clerks of Court in whatever god forsaken county you happened to purchase the car.

And in order to get it back, you have to download and fill out Form No. 3774 to apply for your certificate of title (of the car you legally own, by the way), and under the replacement box, put No. 5500XXXXXXXXX, and then under some other line put 67907XXXX, fill out the vehicle information section, have it signed by a notary, then mail it to the Clerk of Courts WITH a self-addressed, self-stamped envelope. Luckily, you should retrieve your title before the Mayan-predicted end of the world next December.

(Kids, this is all true).

After that, you have to get auto insurance from a Massachusetts state-approved insurance company, who has to fill out a RMV-1 form, send it to you, which you then print out and bring it with you to the Registry of Motor Vehicles, along with your registration from Texas (of which you can’t find), some other documents you are pretty sure are simply just made up, a royal decree agreeing to give the RMV your second-born (since your first-born promise to the ogre at the car rental place is binding) and the still beating heart of a baby bunny.

And the moral of all these stories, kids? Don’t ever grow up. And if you do, don’t ever buy a car, move to another state, get a credit card, travel or drive. Just become a hermit. In the woods. Far away from civilization.

Just make sure you fill out Cave Dwelling and Advance Beard Growth Permit Form No. 9073 first…in triplicate.