DO drive

Grown-ups often have to go from point A to point B and walking, dancing, or swimming are not always viable options for transportation. Therefore, grown-ups drive. One would think that at age 20, I would have this skill pretty well mastered. One would think.

I am actually a pretty reliable driver. I have never had a ticket and the only time I have been in an "accident" was when I hit a parked car, which I don't think counts. To be a true "car accident," I think both vehicles should be moving, or at least occupied by passengers.

My real challenges come with the more unusual forms of transportation.

For instance, cargo vans. I am licensed to operate (that means drive, not perform surgery on, folks) almost any type of van for my university. This includes mini vans (a cinch), 12-passenger vans (nerve-wracking), and extended cargo vans (simultaneously shady and scary). Those cargo vans are just plain ridiculous. They are at least 20 feet long, the air conditioning makes funny noises, and they are impossible to park correctly. Backing up my little Taurus already gives me the heebie-jeebie's, reversing one of these babies results in a full-blown panic attack. I have been known on several occasions to just stop the van in the middle of the lot and look pitiful until a co-worker agrees to back it into the spot for me.

Additionally, I'm pretty sure the vans are just coming up with ways to aggravate me. It all began when I decided to remove the key from the ignition. Simple task right? Of course not. I jiggled the steering wheel. I wiggled the shifty-stick. I honked the horn. I rolled down the windows. I did absolutely everything I could think of to remove this key and the van just stared at me, quietly giggling. So, I did what any 20-year-old girl would do- I called my father, crying. After determining that I was not in fact in any danger whatsoever, he suggested the one trick in the book that never occurred to me- pushing the key in. Now, why in the world would a company make a car that requires you to push on the key before removing it?? I cannot come up with a single good reason, other than that Ford delights in torturing those of us that were born in the 90's in a world with cars that willingly relinquish their keys without a second thought.

Another challenge I face is, I suppose, a fairly "normal" mode of transportation- the bicycle.
(Stop scoffing. I can hear you.) I do know how to ride a bicycle. I learned in elementary school along with the other 99% of American children. However, my strongest memories of those lessons involves me crying hysterically and begging my father not to make me get on the bike. Some may say my fear of this two-wheeled weapon of mass destruction was unfounded. After all, I never got more than a couple scraped up knees and elbows during my bicycle tutelage. These "some" would be wrong. The bicycle was in fact, an instrument of torture and horror. Its pink paint and polka-dotted banana seat were just a cover for a dark and murderous soul. Attempting to remain balanced on nothing but two wheels and a hunk of scrap metal was next to impossible when I could barely balance on my own two feet. Just when I thought I had my bike mastered, something in my inner ear (this part is responsible for balance, children) would sneeze and the bike would begin to buck me off. I would cling on like a rodeo master but there was no way I could defeat this bike. After about 3 years of talking up "family bike rides" as if they weren't synonymous with "please ignore the blonde screaming in the back of our bicycle gang," my parents finally gave in and realized that there was no way I was going to be the next Lance Armstrong (or Louis Armstrong for that matter, but that's a story for another time). Since then, I have not approached a single bicycle that was not firmly planted on some sort of pedestal, in a gym, and missing a wheel.

So, to wrap up my fellow grown-ups-to-be- transportation is important. Lessons learned?

Cargo vans have a sick sense of humor.
Your bicycle will kill you. In your sleep. Probably tonight.
Dads can fix anything.

DO NOT name inanimate objects

Ok, folks, before the feelings of outrage set in, please understand that I do realize that many people name their cars. Some name their plants, and others even name their fish (yes, fish are essentially inanimate objects). However, very rarely do grown-up's name the vast amount of items in their possession quite like I do.

Looking back, I think this all began with the many dolls with whom I shared my childhood. Always a creative child, these poor "children" of mine were blessed with names such as Oceana, Craigmeyer, Amy Loo Hoo Net, and Kentucky Lake. This habit was quickly extrapolated into bikes (Annalisa Banana), beds (Squish-squish), and and hard-boiled eggs (Eggbert, of course). While this trend was endearing when I was say, seven, I have learned that at twenty, it is just plain strange.

It also causes quite a bit of confusion regarding my social life. Many people don't realize that if I'm driving LJ and Darrell to go play with Lynyrd, I am actually transporting my netbook by way of GPS to go practice my flute. Much more depressing than having three real-life friends. LJ, for those who don't know me is actually short for Lappy-Junior, Lappy being my original laptop, Darrell is spelled like DARR-ell but is pronounced Darr-ELL, and Lynyrd is the counter-part of my piccolo, Skynyrd.

So, as I prepare to enter the real-life, grown-up world I have been threatened with, I realize that my dear and loyal friends may have to re-assume their formal, object-y names. But, I don't think there's any need to rush the process.

Lessons learned?
Craigmeyer still isn't a real name.
My real-live children will probably need therapy.
Pretending to have friends is still kind of fun.

Time to go prepare breakfast- now where did I put Eggbert?

DO buy groceries

You may find this hard to believe (I apparently did), but grown-ups need to eat too. Also, grown-ups do not go out to eat all the time or beg food off of their friends. They go "grocery-shopping" to buy real food that they can prepare at home. So, one of the first stops on my quest towards adult-hood took me to Kroger.

Now, grocery shopping for me is quite an ordeal. I try to put it off until the last possible minute so Wednesday afternoon found me sitting in my room staring at my food selection and wondering what I could possibly make for dinner. My choices were as follows: English muffins (but no toaster), one granola bar, the Greek yogurt my roommate left behind, and some strawberry-flavored cream cheese-- a few items worthy of being labeled sustenance, but not nearly enough for an entire meal. I was faced with the terrifying reality that I needed to buy groceries.

To begin this process, I would typically write a list of everything I needed. However, this time I chose to forgo the list for two reasons- 1) I needed absolutely EVERYTHING and 2) my lists usually turn out looking something like this:

cereal
drink
that one kind of yummy crackers
don't forget to email Mom
cute new flip-flops
dr. appt Friday 2:30

which is truly not helpful in the least.

So, off I go to Kroger, the nearest grocery-buying destination to my dorm room. I walk in, struggle with the usual cart vs basket debate, remember that I still need to buy absolutely EVERYTHING and choose the cart. Now, I think to myself, I will pick up my groceries, check out, and be back in my room with a full tummy in no time. How wrong I was.

First of all, I may be the only person to think this, but Kroger is not laid out logically. I am positive I passed at least three different displays of yogurt, found the cereal in the dog food aisle (yes, mother, I'm positive it really was cereal), and made about five laps before finding everything I needed. At this point, my cart is filling up and I'm feeling pretty accomplished. The next task is to check out and pay for my groceries. I go to the self-checkout (fostering my new-found sense of independence) and I am driven into the depths of madness quicker than I ever thought possible. The cause of my insanity? Just one simple sentence "Please place the item in the bag." An innocuous sentence on its own- helpful, simple, polite even. However after about 60 repetitions of that same phrase, I start to go a little bonkers, which brings me to the lesson inside the lesson:

Grownups DO NOT yell at inanimate objects (in public)

Becoming quite frustrated with this evil machine, I scan the rest of my groceries as quickly as possible, pay for them, and then leave. Now, one detail I forgot to mention. Since I was so terrified of grocery-shopping and overwhelmed by the idea of the whole process, I actually didn't make it to Kroger until about 8pm, the time in which all the crazies in town seem to decide to buy groceries (I know what you're thinking, but I myself am not a crazy.. yet). So, I am now faced with walking to my car while all the zombies are chasing me and yelling things at me from their respective vehicles and I'm FREAKED OUT. However, I am also incredibly fortunate. The security guard (Yes, Kroger has a security guard- who knew?) was available, saw the wheels turning in my head as I mentally reviewed all my best zombie-fighting maneuvers and kindly walked me to my car. What a nice guy!

So, I am quickly loaded into my car, I make the hike up to my dorm room with all my groceries (in one trip no less) and I begin to unpack. And as I am unpacking, I begin to worry that I had an out-of-body experience. While at Kroger, it seems I have forgotten that I will occasionally have to eat actual meals (grown-up's do that). I have bought plenty of delicious, healthy snacks- cereal, oatmeal, fruit, yogurt, sugar-free jell-o, but I have completely neglected the idea of meals, leaving me essentially back where I started with a slightly smaller possibility of starving to death. So, it looks like I will eventually need to conquer my fears yet again and return to the grocery store.

Lessons Learned:
Write a list. A good one.
Try to memorize the lay-out of Kroger. It will not make sense.
Go shopping before the zombies come out.
Remember that meals are important too.