Why Does the Cheese Always Fall? (A Guide to Faking Adulthood)

Why Does the Cheese Always Fall?

(A Guide to Faking Adulthood)

By Aprill Brandon

Copyright 2013 Aprill Brandon

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

Prologue

Introduction

Chapter One: Living on Your Own (or Architectural Digest for the Pabst Blue Ribbon Set)

Chapter Two: Cooking (or Your Eyebrows Should Grow Back Any Day Now)

Chapter Three: Career (or Who Don't You Have to Hump Around Here to Get on Reality TV)

Chapter Four: Finances (or Who the Hell is FICA and Why Are They Taking All My Money?)

Chapter Five: A Brief Look at High School Reunions

Chapter Six: Pets (or The Dog Ate My Tax Return)

Chapter Seven: Holidays (or Sticking Your Hand Up Some Turkey's Arse and Other Feel-Good Stories)

Chapter Eight: The Magical Kingdom of D'eehmvee

Chapter Nine: A Brief Look at Dating

Chapter Ten: Engagement & Wedding (or Going to the Chapel and I'm Gonna Go Stab Somebody)

Chapter Eleven: Marriage (or 'Til Death or Sweatpants Do Us Part)

Chapter Twelve: Children (or To Reproduce or Not To Reproduce...That is the Question)

Chapter Thirteen: Making Friends as an Adult (Not to be Confused with Making Adult Friends)

Chapter Fourteen: Aging (or Our Bodies, Our Drooping, Ourselves)

Prologue

Alright, let's just get this out of the way. Regarding the title of this book, you may be asking yourself why I went with this particular one. And the answer is two-fold:

1. Cheese is just...it's just so amazing, you guys.

2. But more importantly, it is the perfect metaphor for adulthood. At least, for me it is.

Perhaps I should start at the beginning.

I was 24 when I first realized it. I had just quit my job at a small newspaper in Ohio and had packed up all my worldly possessions (a gigantic laptop from the Paleozoic Era, a garbage bag full of T-shirts featuring curse words and $50,000 in student loan debt) to follow a boy I had fallen hopelessly in love with down to South Texas. I had no job prospects considering my only marketable skill was writing for a dying industry (stay in school, kids!), had never lived on my own before (let alone with a BOY) and had exactly $46 to my name.

That year, I was constantly strapped for cash while being hopelessly under qualified and yet somehow still underpaid working at a broadcast news station that I hated. I was also trying to keep together a relationship that had completely skipped the courtship phase and moved immediately into the joint checking account phase (an account, it should be noted, that usually held the magical sum of zero in it). And while I can't prove it considering I never went to the doctor to get a second opinion, I'm also fairly certain I developed scurvy at some point considering the only thing we ate was fast food tacos and beer.

But, amazingly, despite all that overwhelming evidence, it was the cheese, the CHEESE, that finally made me realize I now had to get my act together and become an adult (or at least pull off a convincing act of it).

See, every single day, every single time I opened the fridge (which was almost always empty save for our cheese drawer, which I'm told most people actually call a vegetable crisper) a package of processed cheese slices would fall from its shelf on the fridge door (put there because there was no more room left in the cheese drawer) and land on the floor.

Every.

Single.

Time.

So, naturally, I would groan, yell WHY DOES THE CHEESE ALWAYS FALL!? while throwing my hands up in a dramatic fashion and proceed to pick up the scattered cheese slices and put them right back in their original position on the shelf.

And I did this every single time.

Every.

Single.

Time.

For months.

And months.

Until it got down right embarrassing.

And then for three more months.

Until one day, after a particularly horrible day at work and a letter from the bank saying we were overdrawn AGAIN (their emphasis, not mine) and coming home to a scary dirty house with absolutely no edible food in the fridge, which I knew because I opened the fridge and the CHEESE FELL AGAIN...

That's when I realized why the cheese always fell. It fell because I kept putting it right back in that same damned spot. And there was no one else who was going to move the cheese.

I had to move the cheese.

Because I was now an ADULT.

And so I did.

Six months later when I finally remembered I had something vaguely resembling an epiphany regarding the cheese.

And so that, children, is why the cheese always falls. Because just like in life, it's going to keep falling until YOU make a change and start taking charge of your life.

Or until you make a grilled cheese sandwich.

Whichever one comes first.

Introduction

Hey kids! You know how you can’t WAIT to become an adult and do all the COOL stuff that only adults get to do? Like...

Well, children, ice cream gives you heart disease, puppies eventually grow old and lose bladder control and insomnia causes wrinkles. And all that COOL stuff that only adults get to do? It gets squeezed out by all the crappy, responsible stuff we have to do instead.

Super fun, right!?!

Oh, how do I know all this, you ask? Well, as a writer and newspaper humor columnist for the past decade, I have been documenting my transition to adulthood from college to the dirty 30. And at this point, I pretty much consider myself an expert. And in my expert opinion, adulthood is something that no one should ever have to go through.

At least not sober.

For instance, let me share a few more fun stories about being an adult, lil' ones.

Doing stuff you don't want to do: When you're a kid, you can whine loudly and frequently about having to do stuff you don’t want to do. However, the majority of us grown-ups have learned it's only appropriate to whine on the inside. So, while to you it looks like we’re calmly and diligently paying bills at the kitchen table, on the inside, we’re all screaming But I don’t waaaaaaaant toooooooooo…This is soooooo STUPID…I hate iiiiitttttttt…UUUUUUUGGGGGGGHHHHHHH…

Grocery shopping: You know how every time you open the fridge, there is always magically edible food in there? Yeah. When you’re an adult, the only magical thing that happens when you open the fridge is that the green moss-covered leftovers from March haven’t sprouted legs yet. And the only way to correct that situation is to battle traffic, the overcrowded parking lot, the two chubby women who ALWAYS stop in the middle of the aisle to talk about something that absolutely CAN’T wait (like frosting) and then a long line manned by a 20-year-old burnout who physically can’t move faster than molasses or else they die (much like the human equivalent of the movie Speed).

Taxes: You know that big essay you’re assigned that counts for, like, 50 percent of your grade and your teacher gives you six weeks to work on it? So naturally you keep blowing it off until 11 p.m. the night before it’s due? That’s how it is every year for us when tax time rolls around. The only difference is that the worse thing that can happen to you is you get an F and/or detention. We, on the other hand, get slapped with penalties we will never be able to pay off in our lifetimes and/or jail (which is like detention but without the Breakfast Club whimsy).

Cleaning: Oh, you hate cleaning your room? Your ONE room? Aw…boo-hoo. Try having to clean six rooms. And no one gives you an allowance for doing it.

Eating healthy: You think it’s bad when mom nags you about eating Brussels sprouts because they’re good for you? Try having the media endlessly nagging you about eating them because if you don’t you’ll get cancer and die. Or get fat. And then get cancer and die.

Going to work: It's like going to school only with exponentially more assistant principals with Napoleon complexes. Which is why we sometimes fake that we're sick too. Cough. Cough.

Dealing with bullies: That 3rd grade bully that made your life a living hell? He eventually becomes the 39-year-old balding, alcoholic bully. That sits right next to your cubicle.

Going to the DMV: Driving is cool, right? Just you and the open road. You and this wonderful machine that stands for the ultimate symbol of freedom. Except for the fact that you first have to go through all the circles of hell, including the Circle of the Eternal Line, the Circle of Finding Out You’ve Just Spent Two Hours in the Wrong Eternal Line and the Circle of Dealing With Anita, the Disgruntled DMV Employee Who Hates You.

Insurance: The very first thing you learn as an adult is that you need insurance for everything. Your home, your car, your health, your very freaking life. So, you pay thousands of dollars each year to insurance companies to insure you should the unthinkable happen. And then, when the unthinkable does happen, they take all those thousands of dollars you paid over all those years and swiftly deny your claim to it. Now, you may be thinking, but wait…isn’t it MY money? No, it is not. Because the cold sore you had when you went to the emergency room because you got hit by a car means that your intestines, which are currently hanging outside of your body, are now a pre-existing condition.

And I haven't even scratched the surface yet.

But first things first. Before proceeding with this book, please take the following Adultness Quiz to see if you are qualified to even being reading it (otherwise you might be scarred for life and quite honestly, I don't want that kind of responsibility on my hands):

When filing your taxes this year, did you...?

a. File them as soon as your employer handed you the proper paperwork.

b. Waited until April 15, when you accidentally noticed the date, left work in a panic, drove 120 miles per hour, possibly maiming a pedestrian or two, to the nearest H & R Block where you thrust a bunch of wrinkled, coffee-stained scraps of paper that may have at one time been your WD-40's or whatever (or may also have been a bunch of receipts from the liquor store) at the nice woman behind the computer at 4:58 p.m. on the dot.

c. Those are voluntary, right?

d. No income = No problem, bro

How would you describe your housekeeping skills?

a. You could eat off my floors

b. You once moved the couch to sweep under it and were so frightened by what you saw you haven't moved it since.

c. Innovative. All my friends love my pizza box couch and matching beer can duvet.

d. My mom keeps my room wicked clean.

How regularly do you maintain your vehicle?

a. Like clockwork, you change the oil, rotate the tires and are on a first name basis with your mechanic.

b. You remember writing down you should get the oil changed, like, three years ago. Maybe four?

c. Just a little jump from a friendly stranger in the parking lot every once in a while and the Pimp-Mobile is good to go again.

d. I don't know. Daddy usually takes care of that stuff.

What shape would you say your personal finances are in?

a. Good. I've already built up a nice little nest egg with my 401K and have paid off all my outstanding debt.

b. Paycheck to $500 check from grandma after frantic phone call to paycheck

c. I live so far beyond my means it's safe to say we've never actually met.

d. Octagon.

How did your last relationship end?

a. Calmly and through mutual consent that neither of us was getting what we needed from each other.

b. In sweatpants.

c. Slamming doors, words like ASSFACE! and a brief visit from the cops.

d. Last night was fun...now get the hell out.

How often would you say you drink?

a. Oh, just the occasional glass of wine or two with dinner when I'm out with my fellow co-workers.

b. Whenever I can afford it.

c. Does now count? Cause I am. Drinking, that is. Right now.

d. Wait. Is my mom going to read this?

The last time you missed work was because...?

a. I had the flu.

b. I had the flu (wink, wink).

c. Ugh. It was, like, this whole thing. My car wouldn't start so I called up my bro Scooter to pick me up but he was two hours late because of this big whatever with his baby's mama, who, by the way, is a total drama queen and by then I hadn't eaten so we stopped off at McDonald's and he had to run some errands real quick but when I called to tell my boss all this, he was, like, a total douche about it.

d. Seven years ago.

What are you currently reading?

a. The New York Times.

b. Hunger Games (shut up...it's not just for kids)

c. How many calories are in this wine bottle.

d. When my court date is.

If you answered mostly A's, put this book down.* You are annoyingly stable and have all your crap together and are pissing me off.

If you answered mostly B's or C's, congratulations! You are just like the 99 percent rest of us who are trying to figure how the hell to navigate the world as an adult and this book is for you.**

If you answered mostly D's, you're probably my ex-boyfriend and you still owe me 50 bucks, jerk.***

*But not really. I need your money.

**In fact, you should probably buy two.

***Which you can make up for by buying this book! Or fifty of them!

Chapter One: Living on Your Own

(or Architectural Digest for the Pabst Blue Ribbon Set)

There is nothing quite like spending the first night in your very first place. The freedom! The sense of accomplishment! The sitting around on the floor in the dark because you don't currently own any furniture (other than that crappy dresser with the missing handles that your mom let you take from your room) and you haven't contacted the electric company yet! And then eating a can of cold beans that you opened with a hammer because it was the only tool you could find while staring at the wall where the TV will go because, once again, you don't have electricity yet! And then gently falling asleep on the floor using your winter coat as a blanket because you suspect the box that held your blankets and pillows fell off the back of your buddy Tito's truck!

Ah, yes, it truly is a magical moment.

But before you can get there, there are some things to consider.

First, you have to figure out where you are going to live post-college. Your hometown? New York City? A small town in the Southwest so you can finally put all your energy into your art?

Of course, sometimes the matter is completely out of your hands depending on where you end up getting a job (or not getting job and thus are living in your parent's basement...No judgment...Mostly). But, if you do have a choice where to live, I can help. I've traveled and lived all over this glorious country of ours. So, just for you, I've composed this list to help you narrow down your decision:

More Realistic State Mottos:

Texas: Come for the ungodly-sized bugs, stay for the debilitating heat

Arizona: Just as racist as you imagined

Florida: Housing the majority of senior citizens so the rest of the country can get to work on time since 1967

Delaware: You can’t even pick out our state on a map and you know it

Illinois: At least we have Chicago

Idaho: We're working on it

Kansas: Flatter than your 12-year-old sister

North Dakota: The North State

South Dakota: The South State

Rhode Island: Officially neither a road nor an island

Ohio: Screw you, Michigan

Kentucky: Over one million people, only 15 last names

Nevada: Prostitution is legal, bro

Georgia: We should already be on your minds

Michigan: Suck it, Ohio

West Virginia: The Alabama of the East

Utah: Former Day Saints now welcome

Arkansas: Not as bad as Mississippi

California: For sale

North and South Carolina: The Wonder Twin Powers of the U.S.

Washington: Sorry about Starbucks

Missouri: Motto Currently Under Reconstruction

Colorado: Come for the mountains, stay for the snotty rich kids on school break

Alabama: Not as redneck as Kentucky, ya’ll

Louisiana: Mosquitos big enough to rape your dog

Iowa: Yeah, it surprised us too when we legalized gay marriage

New Hampshire: Like Old Hampshire, only newer

New York: Like we care about a motto

Connecticut: One giant suburb for New York

Virginia: No presumptuous directional prefix required

Alaska: We pay YOU to live here

Hawaii: No. 1 in dealing with flabby, pale tourists

Maine: We have crabs!

Massachusetts: The Traffic Jam State

Mississippi: Now with slavery abolished!

Maryland: The Other OTHER M State

Nebraska: Corn. Also, corn.

Montana: Ask us about our state motto contest!

Wyoming: Wy not?

New Jersey: The Reality TV State

Pennsylvania: It’s not really always sunny

Tennessee: Rivaling Mississippi in misspellings since 1867

Vermont: Name two of our cities, we dare you

Wisconsin: We’re actually OK with global warming

Oregon: Like California, only crappier

New Mexico: Our wildlife can and probably will kill you

Oklahoma: We hate that damned musical too

To Buy? Or to Rent? That is the Question

The next thing you have to decide is whether or not you are ready to become a homeowner. Because even though your place will likely be filled with bean bag chairs and a couch you took from the sidewalk that harbored a nest of raccoons, it does make a difference if that lovely decor is in an apartment or a darling little starter home.

Or, at least, to some people it matters.

To me? Not so much. I've always been a renter. And will probably be OK with being a renter for the rest of my life.

And here's a little story why...

The Night of the Ceiling Boil

Once upon a time, I lived in a rented townhouse in Texas. It was a great little place nestled in a not-so-nice part of town.

(Although, BY FAR, those were the most polite drug dealers I've ever