Independence Shmindependence

I have decided to take a break from talking about my most embarrassing moments.  Not because I don't enjoy sharing them, but because it's my blog and I can do what I want. 

Don't you all worry, I still have plenty of embarrassment to share, they will just be scattered throughout the blog whenever I feel like talking about them.

Now that that is covered, let us move on.




When I finally moved out of my mom's house after I graduated college, I felt so free.

I lived alone. 

I could come home whenever I wanted to and not have to worry about waking up my roommates.  I never wore pants.  I watched Harry Potter and the Lord of the Rings on repeat, quoting every line perfectly, and I didn't have to listen to my sisters yelling at me to shut up.  I could listen to and choreograph dances to Broadway showtunes without judgement.  My books found a safe home without fear of being creased.  It was honestly one of the most amazing times in my life.

I had never lived alone before, so I really didn't know what to expect.  Having 5 siblings meant that I always had to share a room with someone.  In college, I had multiple roommates.  This was the first time in my life in which I was completely alone, and there was no turning back for me.

This was my first taste of independence.  A lot of people think that college is your first real independent experience, but I never felt that way.  You see, my brother and I went to the same college, so I never really felt like I was on my own. 

Independence came to me when I moved down the road from my mom.  Literally down the road.  Other than the house number, our addresses were exactly the same.

Anyway, things were great in my apartment.  I felt so good about myself.  I always knew that I would do well on my own, and now I had the proof.  Everything was perfect until, one afternoon, I decided to go and get groceries. 

In one of the bags was a delicious snack.  A gloriously large jar of kosher dill pickles.  This jar, very quickly, became my enemy.

I couldn't open it.

I tried every trick in the book.  I used a dry towel to get a good grip on the jar.  Didn't work.  I tapped the edge of the lid on the counter, rotating as needed.  Didn't work.  I used a bottle opener to try and wedge it open.  Didn't work.  I burst into tears, pleading with it about how hungry I was.  Didn't work.

Crying over a jar of unopened pickles.  What had I become?

I had this stubborn fuck of a jar sitting in my fridge for 2 weeks, taunting me.  Multiple times a day I would open the door and just see it staring back at me, with it's dumb face. 

(I drew a face on it at one point because I had clearly gone insane, and saw a jar of pickles as my enemy.  Figured I needed to make it as dramatic as possible because of who I am as a person.)

I couldn't do anything about it,  I felt helpless.  I contemplated asking my best friend, who is 200 pounds of pure beefy muscle, to open it, but I felt that that would mean I wasn't as independent as I thought.  Also, he hates pickles and if I had to listen to him complain about getting covered in pickle juice, I would have thrown the whole jar at him.  It got to the point where I almost put it in my sink and smashed it with a hammer.  I contemplated eating glass shard ridden pickles just so this jar didn't win!  It was in that moment, that I knew it already had.

I caved.

I called my dad crying because I couldn't open it.  No matter what I did, it wouldn't open.  He told me he would come help, so he ended up driving 30 minutes to my apartment solely to open a jar of pickles.  He walked into the apartment to find me curled up on the kitchen floor clutching a gigantic jar of pickles, crying.  He didn't say a word.  He just picked up the jar, opened it WITH ZERO FUCKING EFFORT, put the jar back into my arms, and left.  Angered, I screamed, "I LOOSENED IT FOR YOU!" as he walked out the door.


Rebecca's Adulthood Survival Tip #8:  Being independent does not mean you still don't need help every once in a while.  You are still a strong, independent person, even if you have to call your parents crying about a jar of pickles you can't open.  Just don't call your siblings, they WILL make fun of you and won't be of any help at all.