Sometimes I feel so grown-up that I want to jump up and down.
Which is about the least grown-up thing one could do. When was the last time you saw a grown-up jumping and down. Sporting events don't count because that's structured time for grown-ups to puncture their brains and act without them for a few hours. All in good fun, of course.
But really, grown-ups jumping up and down at the grocery store? "Ketchup is on sale! OH MY GOSH!!!" At the doctor's office? "Free toothbrushes? OH MY GOSH!!" No.
So you see how it poses an incredible paradox for me to want to jump up and down when I feel like a grown-up?
Well, today I had an appointment with an investment broker. Remember how earlier in the month I met with my own insurance agent? Well, now I have my own investment broker. And if I was in a contest for "Adulthood" and didn't win from this month alone, I would throw everything I could find at the judge's heads. Which is really mature, if you just don't think about it.
So I went into the investment office 20 minutes early. 20 minutes early? Yep! And the extremely overzealous man at the front desk ushered me to the waiting area and offered me some free drinks and cookies. I just stared at the plate of free cookies. Part of me wanted to dump the plate into my purse, but then I had to remind myself that the sugar-stealing-child within cannot exist anymore.
So I sat back in my chair and read a magazine article about Carl Icahn, who apparently has beat out George Soros as the richest investor in the country, topping out at $26.2 billion. I remember George Soros only because I once had this boyfriend who loved Glenn Beck SO much, and we would watch his show late at night, and there was this one show about how George Soros was the demon of the universe and murdered bunnies with baby teeth and so many other dramatic things that only Glenn Beck could come up with. Well I broke up with that boy shortly thereafter, and maybe or maybe not it had something to do with him liking Glenn Beck.
Anyway, Glenn Beck isn't as rich as Carl Icahn, so I don't care about him.
So after I felt like Carl and I were best friends, only because the magazine used an entire page to display an unnecessarily large picture of his face, I was finally approached by my investment broker.
"Hi Chantel. I'm Bobby," as he stuck out his hand to greet me.
"Hi Bobby. I'm Chantel." eeh, wait, you already gave evidence to knowing my name, so I just repeated you. I jumped up and started talking about the world and peace and other dumb things to try and hide my dumbness.
We went back to the office of one of his co-workers, because that was the only vacant room. There was a side desk lined with pictures of children. Like 4,000 children heads. Or 6. It's hard to count so fast. I commented on all the children, and Bobby said the dude was out on maternity leave. Oh is he now? A man who has babies. Let's put him on Glenn Beck.
Then Bobby just stared at me. And I stared back. And then I started talking about investments. Sir, will I be conducting this whole meeting? And I pulled out my notebook of all the funds I had already researched, as well as my risk model, as well as my proposal for my portfolio. Then Bobby told me some information that only made me irritated. Sir, tell me something I DON'T already know. It's like going to a doctor when you have a sore throat and he says, "Well, looks like you have a sore throat." I just paid you $200 for that. I'll kick you in the shins. I prefer people to be two steps ahead of me if they are in an expert position that claims they will be. So I told him I have a pretty advanced understanding of investments. Move along buddy.
Then he jumped to the more juicy stuff. Like a biotech fund that grew 66% last year. Get me some of that. And I actually ended up learning a lot!
After we narrowed my stock/bond allocation, Bobby called some super important guy who would buy into Wall Street that very moment with my monies. Can I run around the desk and take a selfie with you really quick, sir? This must be recorded! So while Wall Street Man and Bobby were confirming my hard-earned dollars, I stared off at a painting on the wall. It was some beach in Boston. The top half was really pretty. But then the bottom half looked like the painter puked on it. Sometimes I wonder how some art gets so famous. Like one time I went to a museum with a different boyfriend. We came across a painting of an old man who's hand was curled up in front of his face. The whole man was really well-done, but then his hand was a smooshed blob of color. My friend said that's when the oven timer went off - "Oh, the lasagna is ready!" And that was the end of that.
I'm going to sneeze all over a piece of paper and sell it.
"Chantel..... Chantel? Your funds are complete."
Oh, right. GREAT. Because I'm starving.
And then I went outside to a rainy afternoon and walked the downtown streets trying to step on every worm with the point of my heels.
I'm such a paradoxical adult.