When I grow up...

Three of my friends recently shared this link on Facebook. It's a New York Times Magazine article about how 20-somethings are taking longer to grow up these days, how they're traveling around, relying on their parents too much, "avoiding commitments" and otherwise not accepting the imminent demise of their youths.

FULL DISCLOSURE: I didn't read the whole article. It was really long and I got lazy. Judging by the comment stream on Facebook there is a lot more to the article than what I read. But I'm just commenting on the first section. You know, in case any of you read the whole thing and get confused as to why I didn't address the rest of it.

The article mentioned the 5 milestones of adulthood: completing school, leaving home, becoming financially independent, marrying and having a child. People are reaching these milestones later than ever, and apparently, this is concerning.

While the article fully admits that the idea of these milestones is outdated, it still sort of uses them as a basis on which to judge whether or not people have "grown up."

This concept, in my opinion, is completely and totally ridiculous in a really frustrating way.

While I have successfully reached the first 3 milestones, it will be a long time before I reach the last 2, if ever. Furthermore, I'm moving back home in a few days and while I don't receive any money from my parents, I'm not really sure you can be considered financially independent if you live at home and don't pay for rent, food or laundry. So essentially I'm back at milestone #1, which I have actually completed twice (extra credit?).

Somehow, though, I don't feel like any less of an adult. My concerns these days are more of "I need to find a job," "I have a mountain of debt," and "WHY THE FUCK DIDN'T MY WALL STREET JOURNAL COME TODAY?" (seriously, that stressed me out and is pretty much the reason why I thought to even write this post). These are far different concerns than the ones I had when I was 22, fresh out of college and admittedly a lot less mature. I worried about where I would drink on the weekends and whether or not I would receive any funny emails at work that day. Those are still my concerns, don't get me wrong, but they've moved down on the priority list.

When I think about my friends who are married or have children, it seems totally foreign to me. I say things like "Wow, he/she is like a REAL PERSON now," but it's all said in the spirit of facetiousness. Because really, I don't think that having a spouse or a child makes someone any more of an adult. It means they may have more responsibilities and again, different priorities, but not necessarily that they're more "adult."

The difference between being single and free childless and being married with children is mostly circumstantial, and partially a matter of different life choices. My [legally] single friends aren't married because they haven't met the right person or haven't reached that point in their relationships (circumstances). The reason they don't have children is because they haven't decided that they want children yet (life choices - because even if you're single, if you want a baby you can obviously have one anyway).

I guess the idea that I'm not an adult purely because I haven't yet completed the good ol' all-American college-job-husband-child path really just doesn't sit well with me. What about the path of college-job-grad school-focus on career-kick ass at aformentioned career-let the husband/baby thing happen when it happens? I don't think there is anything wrong with slowing down and taking the time to figure out what's right for me. Maybe if everyone wasn't so desperate to get married we wouldn't have a 50% divorce rate in this country.

If your blogs are any indication, I have a feeling a lot of you out there would agree with me on this one.

Trying not to let the bedbugs bite

I assume it's not like this in any other city, but you cannot open a paper or any news website in New York without being attacked by stories of bedbugs infiltrating the subway/hospitals/hotels/retail stores/everywhere. Today alone I've already been bombarded with 3 bedbug stories and as I write this it's not yet 11 AM.

A lot of you know, either from knowing me in real life or perhaps from reading my old blog, that I used to have bedbugs. And let me tell you something: they are No. Fucking. Joke. Here's why.

In October of 2007, I started getting itchy red bumps all over my face, arms and legs. I thought I was having an allergic reaction to something and went to see the dermatologist. After 2 visits and multiple tests, they had no idea what was going on, but new bumps were still cropping up. In the meantime, I missed a day of work because I woke up one day with multiple bumps on my face and neck, in addition to one on my eyelid that made it swell up and look like I got punched in the face. I purchased nearly every type of cover-up I could find at the drug store and combined them all to try and look presentable for a wedding I had to go to. It didn't totally work and you can look at the pictures and see some red on my arms.

The following week, after talking to a coworker who had just finished dealing with bedbugs, I had my lightbulb moment. I told the doctor, and he confirmed that bedbugs made sense. I went back to my coworker to talk to her about it, and she walked me through the hell of getting fumigated. I had no intention of doing that and decided to seek other options.

I went to a hardware store and purchased some anti-bedbug spray. It proved ineffective. I bought a bedbug-fighting powder and turned my bedroom into something that resembled a sloppy cocaine den. That didn't work either. I began a nightly ritual where I would douse myself and my entire room with bug spray before going to bed. I knew it wouldn't work, but at that point I took every suggestion I got.

As I struggled to get rid of the bugs, I was itchy. I had bumps everywhere that ranged from mosquito bite size to as large as if I had been hit with a fastball. The biggest ones were more like welts. Despite the research, there was no rhyme or reason to them. Sometimes they were in groups. Sometimes in lines. Sometimes I would wake up with 7 bites in completely different places. They didn't stop itching for about 2 weeks, by which time I had amassed new ones. I went back to the drug store and purchased all sorts of cortizone creams and moisturizers, and had a few donations from my coworker who didn't need her anti-itch stash anymore. I also began pumping myself full of Claritin and Benadryl and promptly took to taking daily naps with my head down on my desk at work due to the resulting drowsiness.

The thing about bedbugs is that it's not just being itchy that gets to you. I went from being pretty stable to going absolutely out-of-my-brain crazy. I was afraid to go to sleep knowing I would get bitten. I would delay going to bed as long as possible, and then I could never fall asleep because I knew the bedbugs would come out as soon as I stopped moving around (they're attracted to warmth, carbon dioxide, and things that stay still). When I finally did fall asleep I would wake up itchy, either from old bites or new ones (or both). So I didn't get much rest those days. This fear of going to bed only multiplied into an overall uneasiness about going home, because I soon realized that I could get bitten while watching TV or sitting at my computer. If I wasn't moving, they were biting. So I was walking around like a panicky zombie who, as I already mentioned, was uncomfortable due to the itching and self-conscious from the welts. I was on edge and started snapping at my coworkers (and probably my friends too, sorry!) for no reason.

It was after the failure of the aforementioned powder that I knew I had to get fumigated. I called and left a message with my landlord. No response. I left another messge. No response. I called again and unleashed all the fury of a Jewish Woman Scorned on the answering machine and finally, someone picked up the phone and gave me the information for the exterminator. I called them and learned that they refused to make an appointment until the apartment was "prepped." They sent me a prep sheet and I got to work. But as it turned out, this was no easy task.

I had to pack up my room as if I was moving out. Every little thing had to be thrown in plastic bags and moved out of the room. Though I worked at top speed, I had to wait for my roommate, who worked 14 hour days and came home only to sleep and who, I should mention, NEVER got bitten, to do the same. She slowed down the process and there was nothing I could do about it. So as I waited for her to pack up her room, I got bitten.

I was able to schedule the exterminator after we had made substantial packing progress. And thus began an awesome week which involved packing in the earlier days, getting fumigated on Wednesday, heading to NJ for Thanksgiving the following day, coming back to New York on Friday to unpack my life from the garbage bags, and oh, taking this little test called the GMAT on Saturday.

Once I had unpacked and the GMAT was a thing of the past, I felt home free. On Monday morning, I woke up to go to work and had fresh new bites. I resisted the urge to tear out my hair and instead called the exterminator. He informed me that it's perfectly normal to get bitten after fumigation because the bugs don't die unless they come out of hiding and walk through the poison. So essentially I had to lay there in bed as bait for them because if someone wasn't there to draw them out, they wouldn't die. In the words of Adam Sandler, "Once again, things that could have been brought to my attention YESTERDAY!!!" Grumble.

So I kept getting bitten for a bit, but as promised, it stopped. And eventually I had cycled every article of clothing I owned through either the laundry or the dry cleaner (they were ALL supposed to go to the dry cleaner but hello, that's expensive). I added to the ridiculous list of bedbug-related costs by purchasing brand new everythings for my bed. Things were actually, finally, thankfully, better.

Fast forward to several months later, July of 2008. I had been sleeping peacefully in my brand new sheets/pillows/comforter for over 6 months. I awoke in the middle of the night with an itchy face. I lay there scratching for probably about a minute before I realized that my bedbugs were back. I broke down in tears because I knew the whole process was just beginning again. And it did, start to finish. Because that's just how the fucking bedbug story goes.

"It's a funny thing about life...

...if you refuse to accept anything but the best, you very often get it."

My dad emailed me this quote from author Somermet Maugham after one of the many job-related talks I've had with my parents. The fact that my dad has an appropriate book quote or recommendation for any situation is testament to the fact that he is smart in a way I will never be. And also that he reads a crapton.

The point is, my job search is still in full force. The main problem with it is that while I'm flexible about what I could do next, the thing I really DON'T want to do is exactly the thing I was doing before business school. And so my resume, which no matter how much rearranging or emphasizing of other things will still always show what I was doing before school, speaks really well to recruiters and potential employers about me being awesome at the very thing I don't want to do and therein, my lovely readers, lies the problem.

Despite the fact that I have an MBA which is sort of the Unofficial Degree of Career Changers, I still get comments such as, "you don't have the required experience to get a job doing anything else." This would be true except NO IT'S NOT. I'm bright, I learn things quickly, and why the crap would I spend all that money to go to school just to do the same thing I was doing before at the same salary? (Do not even get me started on the people who say there's no way I'm getting my desired salary increase because I "haven't worked in 2 years" ALSKJFOAIWJERLKASJ).

I am not willing to settle. This is especially true because what I'm asking for is, compared to other MBAs, nothing. Last week I turned down a second interview. It was a job I didn't want to do and over an hour outside the city (!). It was a fancy firm that supposedly "only hires from the Ivies" and "pays a shitload" and sure, I was flattered that they were interested but I just couldn't imagine myself in that kind of role and frankly, I didn't feel like I needed an MBA to do it or that I would be proud to tell people that that was my job.

So I'm working as a receptionist until I find that close-enough-to-the-dream job, which seems all sorts of contradictory because answering a phone and making sure the fridge is always stocked with Diet Cokes (SERIOUS JOB PERK) certainly does not require an MBA and of course I don't sit here with my head held high knowing that I suffered through a 7.5 hour long Accounting review session just to pass the final, get a decent grade and eventually land myself here. But there's a comfort in knowing that this is only temporary and that after 3 weeks of working here I will have made enough money to pay off the massive chunk of interest that has accumulated on one of my student loans.

I will turn down as many interviews as I have to if it means that it leaves me open for something better to come along. I worked too hard to settle.