How I Became an Adult Child (Again)

One day I heard a couple of bar patrons discussing their "adult children" which, upon further investigation, I discerned was a term coined by someone to describe an adult who lives at home with his or her parents.  I thought to myself, "well thank God that's not me anymore." 

John and I had our own little duplex in the heart of beautiful downtown Corona, surrounded by drug addicts and thieves and we felt very, very safe.  Not really.  John worked an 8-5 at the time, so most of my day was left home alone and I was always inside, developing a sweet case of agoraphobia and nursing my ever-present anxiety. 

Our landlord was a complete asshole, a real "slum lord" that would not even fix broken windows or heaters, knowing it was part of his legal obligation to do so.  For six months we had a neighbor who played the drums (or what he thought was playing) and he would begin somewhere around 7 am, and would (depending on whether or not he worked that day) would continue intermittently, throughout the day and night.  He was also a pathological liar.  He would tell us he owned a business, a warehouse, that his girlfriend was actually married so to "watch out" for "strange dudes."  I'm like, I'm looking at you right now, buddy.  You are the strangest fucking dude ever.  You own a business?  You don't even own a car.

Eventually he moved, we got tired of having things become "missing" from our yard, and I was having a harder and harder time staying sober.  I am not kidding when I say a trip to the corner market was all the time I needed to score whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted.  John and I were fighting more and more over his intense hatred of his job, my non-stop clandestine activities and basically, being stuck paying almost $800 a month to live in a garbage dump.

So it was those two patrons whose words rang in my head when my mother and father were kind enough to sit us both down and offer us a place to stay, here, in their home.  This would not be the first time I had moved back home, there was post-college, and then the time I hid my heroin addiction and then had to kick methadone in the freezing garage (GREAT blog post for later, by the way, I'm sure you're dying to hear that one), and of course...once again, now. 

I am forever grateful for their kindness, especially for my furry babies who never had a real yard to run in, and now get to be with their friends and pups all the time!  However, just like everything it has it's pits and it's peaks.  I am thinking about making this a regular thing on Fridays, sort of a way to check in with my readers, as well as set goals for myself in terms of moving on.  More importantly, it would be a great way to keep me motivated and also from killing anyone.

Example of one of the "joys" of being an adult child: 

I get VERY VERY VERY excited about Maks and Val Chmerkovskiy, in fact, too excited.  So you can imagine my banter when they both danced together the other night on DWTS.  Yeah, I watch DWTS, deal with it! mother and father both dropped their famous lines:

Dad: "Who can hear what's going on over you?" 

It's a show about DANCING, so what do you need to HEAR and you just asked me who the professionals are...would you like me to sign it to you or perhaps draw on the TV like John Madden?!?

Mom: "I know, she hasn't shut-up for fifteen minutes."

The dances are three minutes long, maximum, and we had fast forwarded through seventy percent of the show.  I hadn't even been downstairs for ten minutes, let alone fifteen, and I am pretty sure the only person I heard talking was you, asking me to bring your bags in from the car.

But, alas, I say nothing.  I figure that after this long, no one is going to change: not them, not me.  I can only hoard money and pray that John's job will eventually transfer him to Colorado, where I would really like to be.  Hell, I wouldn't mind Barstow at this point. 

We have set a goal for the end of be out of this house and into our own place again, with savings.  So, I have cut my Etsy addiction, tried to behave myself as much as possible, we go NOWHERE, and basically unless it helps keep me sane (ahem) we don't need it. 

If John was not here with me everyday, putting up with my bullshit as well as my family drama, I don't know what I would do.  Plus, he's sexy as hell, so that helps.  I want to thank him through this little blog, because he needs to know I could never make it without him, or his helicopter.
yes, I know that's the raddest mustache you've ever seen



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