adulthood failures.

All it takes is one night out at the bar for me to recognize just how old I feel sometimes. Preparing for a night out past 11 p.m. now requires a 5-hour energy, the justification of a good workout beforehand and properly fueling myself like I'm about to run a marathon. Three glasses of wine in, I'm usually way more lit than I'd ever proudly admit, and three margaritas later, I'm left with a two day hangover and the ever increasing desire for Chipotle (ok, so maybe some things don't change).

It usually leaves me with the notion that maybe I'm more cut out for adult life than I thought I was. Maybe I've moved past the crazy late nights and ugly mornings, the desire to wash away a bad Friday in tequila or the need to sit on a patio and drink every time the Ohio weather hits 65 degrees (ok, so maybe I still like that one... I told you, some things don't change). But then something happens that makes me realize I'm so unfit for adulthood that it's really quite alarming. With the upcoming arrival of beautiful spring weather (hopefully...come ON Ohio), people are making their spring cleaning lists. My fellow homeowners are preparing for spring and summer yard maintenance, washing windows and cleaning out the garage. Then there's me. In the spirit of remembering that I'm not quite as old as I feel sometimes, here are some of my biggest adulthood failures. No shame. Ok, maybe a little shame.

I've never washed my walls before. Or my windows.

Some of the outlets in my house do not work and I have made zero attempt at rectifying that situation.

I have not vacuumed the area behind my beyond-hairy dog's bed in months.

When I vacuum my living room, I never move the coffee table to vacuum underneath it. Sometimes, if Rob has left his socks on the living room floor, I simply vacuum around them. I consider this my passive aggressive way of saying "pick up your fucking socks."

I have a laundry list of outdoor living possibilities I'd like to do in my front and back yard, but we're going on year three without me attempting any of them.

My patio chairs were knocked over by the wind nearly a month ago and I haven't picked them up yet.

I still have pool supplies stored in cabinets that could be much better utilized for other storage options. I haven't had a pool for two years.

I cannot clean a floor or a shower. All I ever seem to do is move the dog hair/dust/dirt/lint around to different places.

I've never done a thorough cleaning of my baseboards.

Despite having a new car, the inside still looks like I'm a college student. It could easily be cleaned out, and there's no permanent damage by any means, but throwing away all those Kroger receipts is proving really difficult.

I loathe folding laundry, and as a result, most of our clean laundry stays piled on top of the washer and dryer. As self-dubbed laundry doer in my house, I can usually get away with not doing laundry for weeks at a time (the benefits of a shopping addiction), and Rob often thinks we're living in turmoil.

There are canned goods still in my pantry from when I first moved into my home and brought stuff over from my apartment. In 2010.

Brody, our youngest pup, has affectionately chewed on the corner of our coffee table, leaving a huge wooden chunk showing through the black finish. I've contemplated using a sharpie to color it in, but instead let it just sit there.

Anytime I wish I could still be young and carefree like I was four years ago, I simply remind myself that more often than not, I am pretty much a homeowning failure. Working 40 hours a week, working out almost every day, cooking all my meals essentially from scratch and still trying to maintain a clean house, exercise my dogs, plan a wedding and still have a real life means that something along the way has to give. And let's face it, who the hell likes washing windows? Sorry not sorry.