I’m 30. So what?

January 9, 2014 § Leave a comment

Okay. I did it. I turned 30.

Not like there was a choice. I didn’t mean to make it seem like I finally “took the plunge,” it wasn’t like purchasing a new car or becoming a member of the Polar Bear Club. However, if given the choice I’d probably turn 30 again.

Don’t worry. I’m still alive. In fairly good health, although I did get a migraine the other day as the result of my overindulgence in holiday cheese. The milestone birthday didn’t help me acquire the super power I hoped for, but ever since the dawn of my 4th decade I’ve been feeling relaxed. Relaxed in a pillow bed of baby giggles, weight lifted, jazz hands with an antidepressant cocktail on a Tuesday kind of way. The serenity has been surreal. It’s like my 20s were just a giant checklist of to-dos before 30, but now that I’ve officially missed the deadline, my “fuck it, dude, let’s go bowling” attitude has taken over.

To my surprise turning 30 didn’t give me gangrene on my ring finger. Looks like I won’t need to schedule that amputation after all, and may get successfully engaged one day. There’s still hope, mom. There’s more exciting news. My uterus didn’t implode either. I’m told I got five more years until I have to worry about my baby maker tuning into quicksand, thus proving, thirty isn’t really all that dirty.

6811f73679d19edfb5f399eb1d780f992120850085Doesn’t “dirty 30” refer to a 30 pack of shit beer? Are you comparing each year of my existence to a can of Natty-Ice? Sure maybe those first two years of college, but the rest of it will not be whittled down to sips of watery Bush Light waiting to be turned into pee. Dirty 30 should be a strip club on a forgotten interstate, or a good name for one of those muddy obstacle course 5ks that are popular now. After some research I came across an acceptable explanation for the origin of this term.

Dirty Thirties
The age at which single women without children realize their biological clock is ticking, As a consequence they may lower their standards and increase their willingness to perform sexual acts as a matter of desperation in order to find a mate/sexual partner. They may also attempt to hook up with younger males as an attempt to elongate their youth.

The expression almost always refers to women, as men are thought to always be in this state.

Urban Dictionary is the Jewish mother of definitions, it really doesn’t get the credit it deserves and it constantly wants you to wear ugly t-shirts. However, sometimes she yells at you about something completely off topic. This was a less applicable definition.

Dirty Thirty
A thirty minute power nap that also includes masterbation.
Personally, I’ll take the latter. With a glass of carrot juice after, cause thats what I’m into in my old age. Napping, juice, and a quick orgasm…. sounds about right.

It took about only three days before I started feeling my thirties. My birthday was on a Tuesday, and my back went out on Friday. I’m in pretty rad physical shape “for my age” so I bounced back quickly, but whoa, time to start “being careful”. Especially when executing the quick orgasm. I’m not going to sacrifice standard form just because we’re short on time.

You might be wondering what happened to my 30 Days to 30 Bucket List. Well, in conclusion, I will share the embarrassing failures of my outlandish bucket list in the hopes you will overlook the fact that I went AWOL for three weeks and now rouge on the posting schedule. See, writers need deadlines. Anyway…

1. Participate in a dance performance. Or “dance off”and this can be a living room activity.

I did, on a stage. You can see it here. I pretty much wore a knee pad to every rehearsal without shame because I’m old.

2. Go to a fancy dinner party, act like yuppies, and drink too much wine.

I drank too much wine at dinner with Mister Red in a sleepy central coast town and we acted like yuppies desperately searching for nightlife. Then we realized the entire population had kids our age and things would be shutting down early. Not sure if this counts.

3. See Hawaii.

It was really clear out one day. Looking out over the coastline, I could have sworn I saw Hawaii.

4. Do a handstand.

I’ve been diligently practicing yoga, hand-standing when I can. There are moments where I’m all, “I’m doing it, I’m doing it!” before I crash into the person next to me, completely ruining their zen. So… I’m still working on this one.

5. Purge all the things I don’t need or never use. (this one sounds like I’m already 30).

Then there was Christmas, and I got more crap I don’t need.

6. Purge all the people who don’t contribute to my happiness.

Might need to remind myself of this daily. I constantly dwell on irritating people.

7. Throw a pie in someone’s face.

It was a cupcake into Red’s face on his birthday. No picture proof, but there were witnesses.

8. Start therapy. (because after I turn 30, I’m probably going to need it).

Check. Still crazy.

9. One last piggy back ride.

This might have happened the night we got drunk and acted like yuppies. I don’t remember.

10. Topless beach. (what if I turn 30 and they immediately sag to librarian status?)

This is on this year’s “to-do” list, cause gravity is a real thing.

11. Renew my passport (I’m going places in my 30s… but that’s a different list.)

I’m a procrastinator, and this sounds like work.

12. Scuba dive. (but I might settle for a really amazing hike excursion).

I’ve been watching a lot of nature docs on oceans.

13. Don’t kill my basil plant.

So I just didn’t buy a new basil plant. Problem solved.

14. Make a new friend.

Does my therapist count?

15. Become a REAL author. (this doesn’t mean whisky drinking, I’d settle for an agent taking a serious look at me) AKA start my dream job.

Basically I want to be exactly like Tina Fey, but I think I’m too shy. So I sent my manuscript to an editor and I’m starting my 30s off by fixing typos.

 

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