There are a few things about life that you convince yourself of as an adult. For example, when you're laying naked in front of your doctor while he pokes various things into your orifices, you tell yourself that he is a professional and he sees this all the time so you have absolutely nothing to worry about. You convince yourself that when you're at the gym, your trainer is more concerned with your form than the fact that you gained 37 pounds over Christmas. You tell yourself that your bartender knows that you are just tying one on and isn't whispering to his wife that you're an alcoholic when he sees you at church.

Despite our insecurities, we convince ourselves that this is the truth so we can carry on with our lives.

I tend to run at 100 miles an hour, all the time. I work, I have a side job, I write, and I'm working on some super secret side projects. I've been keeping up this pace since college, and I never thought that it would catch up to me. I keep my body fueled with a very specific combination of nachos, Diet Coke and Twizzlers, and it's worked for me for almost 10 years.

I was at work on Thursday, and all the sudden I got dizzy. I blew it off, decided it was my blood sugar, and immediately remedied the situation with an emergency Twizzler. It didn't help.

I figured I was tired, and went back to work.

It was only when I almost passed out walking across the office that I realized something was Wrong with a capital "W". Thank the lord for my friend Mary*, who was kind enough to walk me to the clinic on campus, if only so she didn't find me passed out face down in the parking lot in a pile of snow.

Some poking, prodding and a few tests involving needles later, I got my diagnosis.

Exhaustion and dehydration.

To which my response was a simple "Exhaustion and dehydration? Who the fuck do I look like? Lindsay Lohan?"

Turns out, nachos, Twizzlers and a gallon of Diet Coke do not a healthy diet make. It's been a few days and I'm almost feeling back to my normal spunky self. I'd be lying if I said it didn't spook me a little bit. So I decided it was time to get back on the "taking care of myself like an adult" wagon.

Alie over at Hyperbole and a Half wrote a great blog post about how she decides to be an adult, makes it approximately one day, and then burns herself out. She then rebels, starting the vicious cycle all over again. I am equally guilty of this, but this time is different. I don't ever want to feel like I felt on Thursday again.

The first place I went was the grocery store. Time to stock up on food that doesn't have nacho cheese listed as the main ingredient and Gatoraide.

In her post, Alie writes "For a little while, I actually feel grown-up and responsible. I strut around with my head held high, looking the other responsible people in the eye with that knowing glance that says "I understand. I'm responsible now too. Just look at my groceries."

I'm concerned with making sure I make lasting changes, so I started where I always start: Lots of fruit, vegetables and chicken. I threw my purchases onto the belt and waited while the cashier scanned my order.

I had always convinced myself that the people who work at the store don't actually look at what you're buying. Much like doctors, dentists, trainers, and the person who waxes your bikini, they've seen it all before and they don't actually give a flying shit either way.

The cashier hit total, and smiled at me.

"Yours is the healthiest order I've seen all day".

At that second, my world changed. We were lied to. They do notice what we buy. Flash back to the time I bought stain remover, hand lotion, condoms, sugar free chocolate syrup and batteries in one transaction. Facepalm.

My life might never be the same. Now that I know the truth, I will never be able to buy all of my items at the same place. God forbid I need condoms or tampons, I might have to leave the state. Never will I be able to go to the gynecologist without wondering who I'm being compared to. I may never get anything on my body waxed again ever.

But, one good thing came from this.

If I was the healthiest order she had seen all day by process of elimination, that means every other order was less healthy than mine. Which means only one thing.

I won.

I won at being an adult today, and the rest of you can suck it. I'm going to sit here and bask in my well deserved glory.

The only thing that could make this better? Some nachos washed down with some Diet Coke.



*Who I owe so much thanks to. You're such a great friend, and I appreciate you so much!

So it’s been awhile since I updated this, but I swear to god there’s a really good reason why. And not just because I’m busy working at MySpace for a few months, giving them content. (No joke. I told you, big website!)

The real problem is, I’m getting old. Well, not that old. I’m still in my 20s, and even when I’m no longer in my 20s, I’ll be telling people I am until the day I die. The reason I’ve not been around much is that I managed to hurt myself. Again.

I was minding my own business on the Metra, when my stop came up. Which is what usually happens when you’re riding a train. When I ducked out from my seat, I also picked up my laptop bag. This in itself is not an unusual activity, especially since the Metra authorities have asked me a few times now to stop leaving my belongings on the train.

This particular time, I’m not sure what happened. Perhaps I bent funny, maybe my laptop suddenly increased in weight, or maybe I’m just getting old, because the next thing I heard was a very distinct ripping noise.

It took me a second to realize that 1. It wasn’t my pants and 2. I was in horrible pain. My back had never hurt so much in my life. Having never hurt my back I had no reason to think this wasn’t the case, even with my past medical history of never having anything normal happen to me ever.

Fast forward to two days later at the doctors office. I’m sitting there while some sweet old man asks me to push against his hands. A thorough beating with the reflex hammer later, he tells me the news. It’s not my back, it’s my rotator cuff.

I hurt my rotator cuff picking up my laptop.

I even asked him “Who the hell hurts their rotator cuff?!”

His response was a very simple: “Usually, professional athletes”.

I left with a sling, a prescription for heavy narcotics and a note to get out of work.

And that my friends, is how my dream of being a professional baseball player was crushed in one single movement.

My apologies to the Braves, who were sure to draft me this year.