“Yes, this is crazy, but soon we’ll be too old to do anything crazy” – Alan Alda’s character, Manhattan Murder Mystery
So, I missed celebrating my half birthday on my blog. It’s been a week or two, but I am officially 29 1/2. Am I too old to be counting my age with fractions? “I am 8 and 5/8ths!” (Was I the only 8 year old that talked like that? Likely. I was also concerned about taxes.) I’m trying not to be one of those girls (it’s always the girls, we should collectively work on that) that has a meltdown on their birthday, but 30 seems like some kind of milestone that I should
mourn commemorate (cue The Final Countdown). And I have officially decided that I will celebrate and embrace – none of this “first anniversary of my 29th birthday” business. None of this “this was not where I thought I’d be by 30” kind of crap. It’s going to be “I’m 30 bitches, watch out!” As you know, I’m all about that attitude adjustment – seems to be the theme of my blog (and the struggle of my life). You’ll have to bear with me.
When I turned 29, my boss said “enjoy this year, it’s your last one before you have to act like a grownup”. Thanks for making the future so bleak (though, at the same time, thanks for ratifying and legitimizing any and all past acts of childishness on my part). Now, I’m not trying to say I plan to behave like Peter Pan for the rest of my life, but I don’t have a significant other, no kids, no mortgage, no responsibilities outside of my job – why the hell not DO WHAT I WANT?
Now, I have had quite a year so far. I’ve been to Barcelona, Lisbon, Austin, Santa Fe, San Francisco, and I’ve got plans at the minimum to hit DC, very likely Colombia, and potentially one other fun weekend destination. I guess I take for granted that I do have the ability to just jet without having to worry about any other responsibilities (remind me this every single time I try to get a puppy). At the same time, a lot of times I just feel like I sit around at home alone, reading, or worse, watching crappy tv. (My night tonight in front of Woody Allen doesn’t count. Woody Allen is cultural.) So here I am, (even though I know it’s going to be totally exhausting) vowing to have the most fun six months ever before having to officially behave like a grownup (though let’s be real, just because the age clicks over on one day like one of those 80’s alarm clocks, doesn’t mean anything actually changes, right?). Send all awesome fun event invitations my way – I’ll be there!