Last week marked a monumental accomplishment. One that I cannot believe I reached. I turned 30. That’s a long ass time, people. I still feel like I’m 17 half the time (and really, I swear it’s not in some immature, annoying giggle-in-a-movie-theater-type. Usually). But I remember being a little kid and saying, “When I’m 30, I’ll….” and it was usually filled with something about being a famous actress or having a bunch of kids or being rich. Actually, I have a vivid memory of being in elementary school and calculating that in the year 2000 I would be 21 and wondering if we’d be living like the Jetsons.
Anyway, how much fun can turning 30 be when you can’t exactly drown your sorrows in booze and your clothes no longer fit your protruding belly? Actually, it can be very fun. That is, if you have a husband who will throw you a kick ass surprise party. We came home from dinner and I opened the door to see about 40 people in my living room yelling “Surprise!!” I completely froze, half way in the door, with a shocked look on my face. It was so exciting and fun, especially to see people who had never been to our house before, or I hadn’t seen in a long time.
The gifts were pretty entertaining too. Let’s buy 30 of a random thing and wrap it up! I got 30 disposable razors, 30 packs of gum, 30 packs of Ramen noodles, 30 boxes of candy, 30 pencils (and a bonus sharpener!), 30 carrots (that’s 10 POUNDS of carrots), you get the idea. Oh and of course Metamucil and Depends, cuz what 30-year old doesn’t need that?
I haven’t really had the typical “Holy shit I’m 30” breakdown that I’ve heard so much about. I mean, yeah, it sounds really old and I can’t believe I’m out of my twenties. But honestly, life is really good right now. Husband, house, puppy, baby on the way. Why the hell should I be having a breakdown?
Aw, doesn’t that make you feel all warm and fuzzy inside? BARF.