25 Ways To Tell You’re Grown Up

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Found this list online at www.onelittlemister.com in .jpg format.  Typed out for this blog post, just for you guys!

 

1. Your houseplants are alive, and you can’t smoke any of them.

 

2. Having sex in a twin bed is out of the question.

 

3. You keep more food than beer in the fridge.

 

4. 6:00am is when you get up, not when you go to bed.

 

5. You hear your favorite song…..in an elevator.

 

6. You watch the Weather Channel.

 

7. Your friends marry and divorce instead of “hook up” and “break up.”

 

8. You go from 130 days of vacation time to 14.

 

9. Jeans and a sweater no longer qualify as “dressed up.”

 

10. You’re the one calling the police because those %&@# kids next door won’t turn down the stereo.

 

11. Older relatives feel comfortable telling sex jokes around you.

 

12. You don’t know what time Taco Bell closes anymore.

 

13. Your car insurance goes down and your car payments go up.

 

14. You feed your dog Science Diet instead of McDonald’s leftovers.

 

15. Sleeping on the couch makes your back hurt.

 

16. You take naps.

 

17. Dinner and a movie is the whole date instead of the beginning of one.

 

18. Eating a basket of chicken wings at 3am would severely upset, rather than settle, your stomach.

 

19. You go to the drug store for Ibuprofen and antacid, not condoms and pregnancy tests.

 

20. A $4 bottle of wine is no longer “pretty good shit.”

 

21. You actually eat breakfast food at breakfast time.

 

22. “I just can’t drink the way I used to” replaces “I’m never going to drink that much again.”

 

23. 90% of the time you spend in front of a computer is for real work.

 

24. You drink at home to save money before going to a bar.

 

25. When you find out your friend is pregnant you congratulate them instead of asking “oh shit, what the hell happened?”

 

BONUS:

26. You read the entire list looking desperately for one sign that doesn’t apply to you and can’t find one to save your sorry old ass.  Then you forward it to a bunch of old friends because you know they’ll enjoy it too.  And now you know why I am posting this on my blog.

Don’t call it a comeback. I wasn’t really here the first time.

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I am refocusing on being more productive in a creative sense, as a kind of resolution for the new year.  To that end I created a new blog, moved all the content from my old blog to it, changed up the design, added a few other fun things, and am commanding myself to post as often as possible.

I would appreciate any feedback you have, whoever you may be.  Sharing blog posts, comments, following the blog, and so on.  I hope at least some of you enjoy whatever I come up with to throw at the internet.

NEW LOOK!

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Hello to all…….both my readers.  The time has come to make some changes, and today’s change involves a new look and new address for this blog.  Along with that comes a renewed commitment to adding more content on a regular basis.  Fiction, journal entries, funny pictures, photoshop concoctions, and various other things I decide to throw at the screen.

Killing the fuck out of Zombies.

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Kurt Ford loved killing zombies.  More than a refreshing walk in the woods.  More than a relaxing shower.  He loved killing the fuck out of some zombies.  It was pretty much the greatest thing in the world.  He started out using firearms, naturally.  When you’re new to killing you have to start with the novice methods, relatively speaking.  Shotguns were his favorite in the beginning because of the high damage and the reduced need for accuracy.  He’ll be the first to admit he used more than his fair share of ammunition in those days, but everything has a learning curve.  Even zombie killing.  He of course went on to practice with hunting rifles, assault rifles, and all manner of handguns but just when he was starting to get a little bored with killing the fuck out of zombies, he picked up a baseball bat.

Holy shit.

Hand-held weapons opened up a whole new world to Kurt.  Breaking, bludgeoning, slicing, shattering, splitting, and gutting zombies were often referred to as “my jam” by this one-man whirlwind of zombie destruction.  Zombies would amble, crawl, stumble, even scamper before him, but all of them would eventually wind up with more of their insides on the outside than there was left on the inside.  Kurt’s clothing was constantly soaked through with blood, meat, and other semi-solid remains of the zombies he was perpetually killing the fuck out of.  Sometimes he found himself sporting a massive erection during his slaughter sprees, but could never quite figure out if it was because of the zombies or the killing.  Either way, he would usually grope it with one hand while using the other to kill the fuck out of zombies.  Everywhere he went he found zombies.  None of them could hide from him.  Kurt was a natural goddamn disaster to zombies.  When he was killing the fuck out of zombies he felt like a God.  He rained his judgment down upon every zombie he came across, ignoring their cries and screams while drowning out the noise with his own howls of ecstasy.  Yes, life was good when Kurt was standing knee-deep in squishy, oozing zombies that had recently had the fuck killed out of them.  Life was bloody, smelly, and glorious.

Now, go back and read that story again, but in your head replace every instance of the word “zombie” with the word “baby.”  Now you’re uncomfortable, aren’t you?  Why do you think that is?  Did you identify with Kurt?  Are you feeling guilty for that now?