Dear DMV for Adulting,
There seems to have been some sort of mix up. Facebook, Google, and, allegedly, my birth certificate, all claim that I'm 22. You know what people in this country "my age" are doing right now? Getting married. Making babies. Buying houses. Holding 9-5 jobs. Would you care to know what I do with my time? I watch The Amazing World of Gumball, and laugh my ass off because I think it's bloody funny. As far as my progress in my journey down the aisle, I shall refer you to my blog post from 8 months ago. I randomly reminisce about playing kati (a game that consisted of making a ball out of socks and basically trying to hit people with it). Ask anyone who's spent more than 10 minutes with me, I make random sounds. I wish I could tell you why. I could go on, but I don't really think I need to.
Also, I feel like I've been shortchanged. A little heads up would've been nice about how way less exciting birthdays are after the big 2-1. Now it just seems like people are entirely too gleeful about rubbing it in my face that I'm getting old. I mean, if you're gonna make me go through this, the least you could do is keep me away from the toddlers....I mean, teenagers, for that one day.
OK, so it wasn't all that terrible. I got to jam to some T-Swift all day (and all year, just so you know). And I hang out with some pretty awesome people, so props for that. However, I am not so easily appeased. Just two things, no big deal. Can I, for the love of all that is good and pure, be cured of this incessant social awkwardness? Weighing a bit less would be nice, too, but prioritize.
Me thinks y'all are in need of an overhaul, pronto, is all. Maybe a handbook?
Sincerely,
Disgruntled...*cringe*...adult
P.S. You can tell that I'm trying, because I had a golden opportunity to point out that my birthday was about a week agooo, but I have risen above that.
