I am Not Sure I Will Ever Really be an Adult

So most days I like to pretend that I am a put together adult... However if you have ever met me, you would know that is not even a little true. Yes, technically I am legally an adult, and I am in college and I work, but the rest of my life is a mess. Most days I am one auto-tune and hipster outfit away from being Ke$ha. I could probably deal with how awful I am about being responsible if I did not have real adults rubbing their successful put-together lives in my face.

So I work in retail in the Mall of America. I get to see tons of people every day, and many of the people who shop in the store I work in are these put together adults I am talking about. Women come in with perfect outfits. They have nice black pea coats that are spotless, they wear high heels and walk without looking like their feet are going to fall off, and worst of all they have nice manicures that are not chipped and there is never a single speck of dirt under their nails.

Then there is me. I am always covered in pet hair. It does not matter if I use that little lint rolly thing or not, there is always hair all over me. My jacket is missing two buttons even though I just had them put back on like three weeks ago. Did I sew the buttons back on right after they fell off? Hell no, I am way to lazy for that, instead I just tighten the belt on my coat and hope for the best. The worst part of me on any given day though is my nails. Because I have to peel stickers off of pricey sunglasses I cannot wear acrylic nails for fear of gouging lens, so instead I just paint my nails. No matter how nice of nail polish I use, the number of coats, or how careful I am about ten minutes after painting them they are chipped to shit. If I don't paint them, there is constantly dirt underneath my nails. I am not sure how the dirt gets there, but it always does.

Notice that every single one of my fingers has chipped polish.

Oh yeah and I am always the queen of wardrobe malfunctions. I am lucky if it only happens once a week, but it seems like every day I have my skirt tucked in to my tights or have my bra sticking out of my shirt. As someone who wears a skirt or dress every single day, you would think I 'd have enough skill to at least keep my ass covered. Nope (Chuck Testa). I remember the first day I started working at the doctors office. I was really nervous about what to wear. I had never had to dress in business causal before that and spent like two hours picking something out. I remember wearing a knee length black skirt and stockings. I walked to work that morning, feeling pretty confident that I looked good. As I got to the building, someone tapped on me on the shoulder to tell me that my skirt had twisted into itself. My entire ass was exposed. So as if it was not bad enough that I had walked HALF A MILE (yes half a fucking mile) without anyone telling me that they could see my Hello Kitty undies. What makes it worse is the fact that the person who finally did point it out happened to be the first patient I checked in to the clinic on my first day. Let me tell you, it was an awesome way to start a job... (I ended up hiding behind a rack of files every single time that patient came in, because I was too embarrassed to look them in the eye. )

Check out my bra sticking out. I am one classy mother fucker. 

My hot mess of a lifestyle extends further than just my sense of style. I make terrible life decisions.  For example, last week I had a final paper due, which was 100% of my grade for the class. It was a 12 page paper, on four books and needed about ten sources. I had not read any of the books and did not eve have a topic till one week before the paper was due. 

A week sounds like plenty of time to write a paper, right? I am sure if would have been, but that is not what I did. Here are the things I did with that seven days.

I watched the first two seasons of Sons of Anarchy, reorganized my bookshelves, played Batman Arkham City, started Phantasy Star Zero, watched 3 movies, went to the bar, read 2 books that were not related to my paper, went to work, and browsed the internet for hours. (Fuck you Reddit). So instead of having a week for my paper, I had 18 hours..... (I ended up getting a B-. Go me.)

I think I need to get a life coach or something to shape me into an adult. Maybe MTV will let me be on that show Made.... They can make me into a real grown up. 

Who knows, maybe next year I will get my shit together. 

This Might Be TMI: How a Doctor Made Me Feel Like a Giant Whore

So if you actually know me, you have probably have heard me bitch about how I always get the weirdest illnesses.  I don't really get common colds or the flu... but I do get things likes inflamed lung tissue and upper respiratory infections. My current affliction is no different...

I have a staff infection on my skin.... everywhere that I shave. I am not contagious, it is not deadly, just ugly and itchy.

 Well the first time I went to the doctor, they gave me antibiotics and told me not to shave for a week. The pills did not work. Perhaps it was my fault, maybe because I sucked at taking them on time or maybe because I did not stop drinking, who knows. I do know this, one week later I was still itchy, the only difference was that I was hairy and annoyed.

So Tuesday I went back to the doctor to finally get this ugly rash off my knees. I get into the office and they ask me the normal whirlwind of questions. 

"Do you smoke?"

"No"

"Are you pregnant?"

"No"

"Is anyone hurting you?"

"No"

"Do you drink?"

"Yes"

"How much?"

"I don't know? A couple of drinks a week?"

"More than 3 on any given night?"

"Uhhh...I guess sometimes?"

"Are you aware of binge drinking?"

"Yes...."

Well that goes on for a while...  After the questions are done, I feel like a grade A shit bag and an alcoholic. Anyway the next step is me stripping down to my undies so that the doctor can look at my gross ass rash first hand. 

What happens next requires some back story. I look like a walking abuse case right now. I am one clumsy motherfucker. I can barely walk around my apartment with out running into a wall, or my couch, or a table, or anything else that it is physically possible to crash into.... So between how often I run into things, fall down drunk (currently I have little skin on my left knee because I feel off the stripper pole at Sneaky Pete's), and have my cat walk over my chest I am covered head to toe in bruises. 

This is the pole that stole all of my skin

So anyway, I stripped down. Because the rash is on both my knee and my underarms, I had to see the doctor in just my panties and bra. With that much skin showing, it was pretty apparent that I am covered in bruises.  The doctor took one look at me, and quickly asked once more, "Are you sure no one is hurting you sexually? Do you feel safe?"

I tried my hardest to express that I am great and that my only problem is that I covered in itchy bumps. So finally we move on to my nasty ass rash. I was just expecting a visual exam or maybe a swab, but I was not that lucky. Suddenly my doctor whips out a black light, and tells me that it will some how help that her figure out what to do.... I can not remember what her reasons why it would help because all I could think was oh shit, this is going to be just like an episode of Room Raiders, only I was going to be the bed....

There are only three times in life that involve black lights. One, you are like 13 and own a black light poster from Spencer's Gifts.

Two, a forensics team is searching for blood.

And three someone is looking for semen. 

As I am not a black light poster or a corpse, this black light test made feel like I was being searched for semen. I knew that there was nothing on me, but still I started to panic....

Let me tell you this, there is nothing in the world that makes you feel more like a dirty whore than standing on a medical examination table while someone runs a black light over your body after being called a lush to your face....

This is my life.