Don’t mind me as I check myself for wrinkles.

For the past two months or so, my Facebook has been on drugs. The Adderall kind of drug. All my news feed could think about was graduating and getting married. Well, I guess it’s more of a Ted-Mosby-if-he-was-a-high-school-girl kind of drug. But you get what I mean… super tunnel visioned!

I tried to remind myself that I’m not that old. I’m only 24, after all.

Just a few years ago, I was posting those cap & gown photos!

Oh god. I’m 24.

24 is pretty much 25.

Which rounds to 30.

And everyone knows that the 30’s just blend in with the 40’s.

So pretty much I’m 24 going on 50.

I tried to remind myself that just 6 short years ago, my Facebook was full of statuses like “____ IS dreading the AP Calculus exam tomorrow. Meet me at Starbucks beforehand so we can 1) seem like sophisticated high schoolers that drink coffee and 2) squeal together about the test.”

(remember when FB forced you to begin your status with “___ is _________?” It was so much harder to be whiny and witty back then.)

And just two years before that, we were all outstretching our backs, taking pictures of ourselves at super awkward angles in the dirty bathroom mirror to post onto MySpace!

So when did I get to this point in my social-media life that screams “EVERYONE ELSE AROUND YOU IS AN ADULT! HURRY AND GROW THE HELL UP!”

(Beastie, I’m sure you can relate to this given how often I complain about it how often we talk about it.)

Then it occurred to me that simply complaining about feeling old meant that I had already begun to grow up! VICTORY! Between doing a back-breaking number of crunches (bikini season always has a way of sneaking up on me like Simba on Zazu) and eating slices of Cookies ‘N Cream ice cream cake (I deserve to splurge after those 20 situps), I sat down and made a list of ways in which current me is more mature/older than “Alexha is currently waiting for the OC series finale to air and wishing it didn’t have to end. My life is over.” me.

If you’re ready to be wow-ed by my personal growth, read on.

Ways in which I now act like an adult:

  1. Weekends mean doing chores, not sitting around the house watching TV while your mom tells you to clean your room, because you no longer live with your “laundry fairy” (my affectionate nickname for my mother) and if you don’t wash your undies, water the plants, and clean out the fridge, no one will. And you will die of excessive mold inhalation.
  2. I listen to classical music during my commute, because today’s pop music is “too much noise.”
  3. When I go out to dinner with my friends, we are all civil until the bill comes out. At that point, all hell breaks loose. Everyone claims “I’m a working man/woman! I’ll pick up the tab!” This is also a good indication that not only are my friends and I adults, but also Asian.
  4. Taking shots is suddenly child’s play. If your cocktail wasn’t muddled, foamed, fizzed, imported from some European country, include some sort of obscure herb, served in a martini or high ball glass, AND cost less than $12 per sip, then you might as well go back to drinking your juice box at recess. Bartenders are barbarians– I only trust my libations with my mixologist.
  5. During my lunch breaks, I’m either looking up recipes to cook for dinner, perusing wedding registries, or working. Because there’s that much work to be done.
  6. As an extension of the last bullet, I also worry about work-related projects after work and on the weekends. And when I run into friends, we ask each other how work’s going, not “what did you get for the 3rd question on yesterday’s midterm?” and then secretly hate each other for getting the tricky question right.
  7. Calendars are my new best friend. There are too many things to do, and 90% of the time I forget unless I write it down. I’ve started penciling everything into a compact but dense schedule. My only glimmer of adolescence is the cute colors and stickers I put on my calendar.
  8. Seeing baby shoes makes my uterus quiver with a strange mix of fear and excitement. Similarly, I have also made a mental note of “baby names that I think are cute.” I will not elaborate on this, however, for fear that my bf is reading this.
  9. Going out or “getting away for the weekend” means finding a sitter for my baby or finding canine-friendly activities/venues.
  10. My fridge is a mural of take-out menus and coupons instead of crayon artwork and “A+” science quizzes.
  11. The movies I’m most excited to see this summer are NOT typical superhero-summer movies (though I am pretty excited for Dark Knight Rises). Instead, I am looking forward to seeing two of my favorite books made into movies: Anna Karenina and Perks of Being a Wallflower. I also plan on pitching a tent and camping out in the IMAX-3D theater on opening weekend of Magic Mike, but that’s another story.
  12. I take a multi-vitamin, glucosamine, calcium + Vitamin D, and fish oil pill every day. And have flirted with the idea of investing in a pill box. Do they make them in pink with pictures of unicorns? Is there such a thing as a mini-pill vending “machine?” Like those M&M dispensers you buy in NYC or Vegas! Ooh, I’d take all my vitamins if I had one of those.
  13. Mornings without coffee mean mornings with headaches; nights without a whiskey nightcap are unprecedented.
  14. Every conversation with my parents end with an “I love you” because, well, you just never know.
  15. I pay my bills… on time!
  16. I have to be careful while watching the Olympic trials because some of the male athletes I think are cute are younger than me– or God forbid, under 18. (Is there such a thing as being an seasonally Olympic cougar?)

Despite all this maturity, however, I still feel like a braces-having, training-bra-wearing, insecure and curious little 15 year old girl. Most days, I still find myself feeling like Jennifer Garner’s character in “13 Going on 30” and wondering how I got here.

I’m not really in a rush to grow up. I just thought I’d feel differently, especially now that I’ve graduated college and work full time and live on my own. I still feel like a little kid inside.

Oh well.

Now that my rant is over, please excuse me while I go check my face in the mirror for wrinkles and browse the interweb for deals on Spanx.


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