So I’m having this quarter-life crisis where the finite aspect of living has kicked in and I realize that each year i’m just going to become a slightly more bitter, wrinkly, more senile version of my former self. Oh what’s that? I’m only 25, what do I have to worry about? OH, IT’S STARTING PEOPLE, IT’S STARTING. Please see my well-illustrated examples of why being an adult blows below:
Summer is my favorite time of year. I will fight to the death against the shit attitudes of every pale North American who wish the frigid cold of winter upon us as soon as it gets over 70 degrees. I get it, it’s hot, but have they never felt next-day rug rash from a drunken slip and slide session? Have they never assaulted an ice-cream man for not stopping long enough on their street? These are some of the blissful memories that can only happen during the magical months of July and August. Here are the reasons why I love Summer:
A self-help quest for how to loose the post-college freshman 15. An epidemic caused by the transition from running around bussing tables to stapling documents in office cubicles.
Here is why I have a hard time juicing, clean30ing, or doing whatever other fad diet is hip these days.
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