I Can’t Be Allowed to Adult Unsupervised

Somehow, someone deemed me fit to be an adult.


Someone in the Adulting Main Office must have had no more fucks to give the day I was being reviewed. So, when my file came across their desk, they just stamped “ADULT”, without even reviewing it and, thus, allowed my incompetent ass to slide right through into fully verified adulthood.

That’s the only way I can figure I’ve been allowed to adult for this long. I’m wholly unqualified.

If the garbage disposal confusion wasn’t evidence enough (I never knew it wasn’t meant to ground up fully intact foods, like an entire chicken breast), I reckoned they’d figure me out when I failed to ever check my engine oil. On more than one occasion in the not-so-distant-past, the service station attendant has had to deliver the shocking news, “Ma’am, you have no oil. Like, none.”

I knew the Adulting police had to bust me for not owning an ironing board and ruining my kitchen table trying to hastily iron a dress for a wedding I was running late for, because I was playing Words With Friends, instead of watching the time.

Yet, no one has come to revoke my Adulting license.


Had someone interceded, or, at the very least, monitored my every day Adulting charade, perhaps I’d have learned that leaving a candle burning for too long is not only a fire hazard, but a smoke stain disaster waiting to happen.


I wanted to get rid of a winter-themed candle from Bath & Body Works that I have in my bathroom, because spring is bound to show itself eventually.

I figured I’d let it burn for an evening and I’d be well on my way to having room for my spring-appropriate bathroom candle (this is a very important thing, obviously).

What I found when I went to brush my teeth for bed was nothing short of shocking.

First, the candle was on fiiiiiiiiiiya. Like, duh, it was burning, so fire. But, it was raging. It was also hot to the touch (and on the top of a cabinet), so I’d have to stand on the toilet to blow it out.

Because I didn’t want to rip the toilet out of the wall, I sort of stood and half-leaned with my right hand on the bathroom counter.

At this awkward position, I couldn’t really get at the top of the candle to blow the son-of-a-bitch out appropriately.

I decided one, quick stand on the toilet to blow it out would have to do the trick. Crossing my fingers for the safety of my toilet, I stood, blew, and was thanked with a splatter of hot wax all over my face (how it didn’t splatter the wall really just explains how things go in my life).

On the way down, I noticed the wall above the candle looked curiously dark.

When I looked closer, I realized the wall next to the candle was also a nice shade of charcoal.

As my gaze widened, my shock went much like this:

First, I was all:

Then, I was like:

And, finally, I went:

(I wanted these all to be gifs, but my WordPress app wasn’t having that for some reason.)

The candle I had burning for hours, spit out a coat of black soot on all four walls and the entire length and width of the ceiling.

The offending candle. My mom says only cheap candles coat entire rooms with soot. Hmmm. What do you have to say for yourself, Bath & Body Works?

In panic mode and since I’ve been binging on Nightmare Tenants and Slum Landlords, I quickly wet a rag and went to town wiping off every square inch of the bathroom walls and ceiling. I can’t ever be confused for the disgusting pigs that destroy other people’s property.

After cursing, re-wetting and wringing-out a now black rag, scrubbing furiously, and basically having a FREAKING heart attack for a good half hour, I felt my bathroom had been returned to its former glory.

I sheepishly went out to the living room, sweaty, covered in soot, and sat calmly on the edge of the couch. I turned to my boyfriend (WHO WAS MERRILY WATCHING TV THE WHOLE TIME) and asked him if I was the only 30-something who didn’t know burning a candle for too long would turn a small, confined room into the inside of a chimney.

He just responded, “Baby….how did you not know that?”


If anyone reading this has some pearls of wisdom they think I need, please, share them in the comment section. I need all the help I can get.

A Sublime Russian Hat

Ya’ll, I’ve been thinking it’s about time for a good ol’ random observation post (let’s add a random musing while we’re at it). It’s been a time since I’ve done this kind of post, and since I’m either trying not to lose my shit among the madness that is Christmas Shopping, or dealing with self-inflicted acid reflux due to excessive holiday eating, I seem to not have the time to write a proper post.

When I say ‘proper’, I mean a real, polished work of art (or a polished turd depending on who you ask) that I feel could truly be published.

Speaking of publishing-I think I might be getting serious about the writing a book thing. But, like, don’t tell anyone. I want to keep it on the DL.

This is another reason I’m not posting my “real” posts to my blog for the foreseeable future-they just might end up in a book!


Now I really have to do it.

I can feel my acid reflux gearing up for another round, so let’s just move on.

The Musing

I’ve recently discovered I’m an utter shit show. I mean, I’ve always known, in some respects, that I’m a walking shit show, but now I’m one in all the ways.

I used to be that person who is annoyingly, embarrassingly early to any and every event that has a time associated with it. In fact, I’d stress about being late (on time) so much that my morning/get ready routine was much like that of a person who’s perpetually late (harried, sweaty, and cursy), but without the added benefit of sleeping in or extra couch time.

Somehow, there was a shift in the space-time continuum, and now I’m that person screeching into the parking lot with the bottom of my skirt hanging out of the car door.

This past weekend, a good friend of mine got married. The wedding was in Tahoe, which is a good hour away, but was in the late afternoon, so I had plenty of time.

I sat my fat ass on my couch the entire day, blogging, playing Words With Friends, and just generally enjoying my slothness.

About 45 minutes before our planned departure time, I lazily began my I-just-want-to-look-decent routine. Upon putting on the dress I planned to wear, I discovered I must have grown a few inches up, instead of the usual out.

That dress, unless I was going for the bottom butt look, was not going to work.

My second option, was a flowy number that was so wrinkled it would appear I had it bunched up between two couch cushions for years, instead of innocuously hanging in my closet.

If there’s one thing my mom taught me, it was “Dear God, just don’t show up in wrinkled clothing!”

Because I’m such a winner at adulting, I don’t own an ironing board. Whenever ironing is necessary, like once in a freaking lifetime, we just iron on the bed, against the wall, you know, whatever surface is available.

At this point, we had five minutes and the stress of having to iron, had me perspiring pretty heavily.

In my crazed-what-the-fuck-kind-of-ironing-is-that-job, I knocked over a half empty cookie container. As I frantically ironed more wrinkles into my shit show dress, I was stepping on (and spreading all over the floor) shortbread cookie crumbs.

Once I decided I’d done enough damage to my permanently wrinkled dress, I turned off the iron, folded the towel, and saw that while I was ironing more wrinkles, I was also removing the finish on the table.

I don’t even know if I’ll ever be an adult at this rate.

The Random Observation

The wedding previously mentioned in Tahoe was a picture perfect winter wonderland. It was just beautiful.

The wedding and reception was held at a resort and spa. The ceremony took place in an open area that looked out onto the lake and surrounding mountains. The guest rooms also looked out onto this patio.

The beautiful bride and a wedding crasher.

Do you see the woman in the top right corner of the picture?

She looks pretty easy to miss, right?


I almost missed the entire wedding ceremony, because I was trying to figure out a way to get a good shot of her without being rude or too obvious.

By the time the ceremony was over, so was my opportunity to snap a picture of her, because she went back into her room. The free wedding entertainment was over. Duh.

Here’s a zoomed-in version.

This woman made my entire life. It looks like she’s kind of far away in the picture, but she was practically on top of the entire wedding procession. And, she was every bit #goals with her Russian kubanka hat, glass of champagne, and zero fucks.

So, I iron towel patterns into kitchen tables, but maybe someday I’ll just live in a resort, drink champagne all day, and own a sublime Russian fur hat? If that’s the case, I’ll send my clothes out for ironing.

Forget adulting.