Inspiration in the form of a plush rhino

On fake flowers and scraped-up ankles

I'm growing up.

No, stop laughing now--please. I may look like I'm 19, but as I approach birthday #23, I'm slowly moving towards being a fully functioning adult.

Last weekend, I bought a couch.

This weekend, I bought an entertainment center. It may be secondhand, but it wasn't free, and it matches the furniture I already own. Since making this purchase today, I've begun contemplating how I might make my living room look fully adult. I've finally settled on the idea of decorating the top of the entertainment center--I'm thinking a bouquet of fake flowers (sunflowers, preferably) and some framed pictures.

I'm also considering shifting around some bookshelves and attempting to balance out the room.

Next up is purchasing a slipcover for my armchair, so that it will match my curtains and my couch.

But let me tell you about the entertainment center. It's really not all that exciting, but the layers of skin on my ankle that were sacrificed to move this thing into my apartment are lying outside, loudly complaining that they deserve recognition and a breakdown of their final moments attached to my leg.

Ew, I know.

You see, this thing was already put together (duh--it was secondhand). And because I am 5'4" and rather small, I was at the top of the entertainment center, while my much taller friend was bearing the brunt of the weight on the bottom.

The only problem with this scenario? It's really difficult to walk backwards up a flight of stairs whilst hauling a rather heavy, bulky piece of furniture with you.

Especially when the friend helping you carry it is moving faster than you are, which means that every time you go up a step, your right ankle ends up slamming into a concrete stair in the back, and then having a large entertainment center slam into the front, edge-first.

I am now missing multiple layers of skin on that ankle. All that sacrifice just so that my apartment could look less college-like and more adult-like. I salute you, top layer of skin.

I think that I amuse my co-workers (the closest one in age to me is still 7 years older) because I am unabashadly 22. I realize that I am 22. I do not claim to be older and wiser than my 22 years would suggest. I fully admit to the fact that I have no idea exactly who I am or where I want to be in 5 years, that purchasing a watermelon-pink couch as been my most adult decision thus far, and that I cannot relate to their lives AT ALL. And I think they find this hilarious, because apparently most 22 year olds refuse to admit ANY of that.

I do enjoy being the exception rather than the rule.

I also enjoy the fact that I'm expected to come into work on Monday with stories of hangovers and wild parties and late nights, because they re-live their early 20s glory days through me. And Internet, I try not to disappoint.

For instance, it is Sunday night, and while those two margaritas may not have been enough to knock me out, there were definitely enough to get me buzzed.

posted by K @ 8:35 PM