Something 30 this way comes
Well Chicago, if you aren’t going to say it I am. The last conversation we had was boring, wasn’t it? All people can seem to talk about these days is morality in different contexts and I am certainly not the one who should be chiming in. Let’s leave the more important issues to the experts like Joe Everyone on the Facebooks, shall we? Someone should be discussing frivolity since there is so little left in the world. So, Chicago, what’s on your mind? If you swam in a pool filled with your favorite liquid, would you still really want to drink it? If you happened upon a house made of candy would you really want to eat it? It’s almost dinnertime over here so obviously there’s a theme LAY OFF ME I’M STARVING. I’ll tell you what frivolous matter is pretty much always on my mind when I can’t distract it by a Netflix binge or playing Nintendo where I’m the human mayor of an animal town or staring perplexedly at a profile photo of my ex boyfriend’s new baby OR OR OR….besides all that I’m pretty much always thinking about how I’m almost 30.
Wait, what is that you ask Chicago? Haven’t I been almost 30 for 3 years now? Haven’t you watched me wake up crying when I dreamed I lived in a house in a suborb multiple times? Haven’t you listened to me talk to you about all the ways in which I am not ready to be 30 years old? Haven’t I beaten you over the head with how UN FUCKING PREPARED I feel to be shooting off into the great white unknown of another decade of my life? I mean, I don’t even know how to throw a proper party to celebrate 3 decades of life let alone start to live it. Should there be invitations? A venue? A guest list (on which there’d be about 5 people)? FOOD? Should there even be a party because I hate parties! CHICAGO, WHAT DO I DO?
Shit. Fuck. My nightmares have been realized as approaching turns to becoming. I actually almost told 2 separate people I WAS 30 when they asked. Am I so resigned? Have I just decided to start saying it to ease myself into having to say it all the time? Do I have to start acting like I’m flattered when people tell me I look young (a child told me I was only 16 and I actually felt deeply touched)? DO I HAVE TO START ACTING COQUETTISH WHEN PEOPLE CARD ME? I might be older but I still can’t even.
To put my encroaching insanity/spinsterhood/even earlier bedtime (yes!) in perspective, I took a look back at all the times I lamented the onslaught of age (and still did nothing). I found a most excellent piece of writing dated March the 25th in the 2014th year of our lord. I had just turned the blessed age of 28 one month prior and from the sounds of it, had been having a hell of a time accepting it since then. I called it the 28-year-old sads, as if one month in I had any sort of idea what that might mean or if that was actually a thing that exists in reality (it’s just called being sad). Let’s compare and contrast what has happened in the intervening almost 2 years.
To start, I mention that I was still wiping my roommates yogurt hands off of the refrigerator door and I am pleased to say NO LONGER! If anyone has yogurt hands in this bitch it’s ya girl. Except I don’t eat yogurt, it’s disgusting. At the time I didn’t have health care and now I have work appointed health care through which I can do nothing except die. And get generic drugs. Did you know that all generic birth control is named after mean girls you knew from elementary school? I also rode my bike a lot in my 28-year-old melancholic state and I am happy to report that that is still true. I may not be any more in shape than I was at 28 but I still roll my meat sack on down Milwaukee every morning unless it’s below 15 degrees. I also made a pretty hilarious Lieutenant Dan reference somewhere in there that is still just as funny to this day. After the first paragraph, 28-year-old me-1 (for being younger), 30-year-old me-2, one of them is a tie.
I go on to insult the city of Chicago for being old as shit, which now is truer. Herein, I question what it means to be an adult or responsible. 1-Going to the dentist. Still have not done that. In fact, I don’t remember the last time I went to the dentist but I imagine it was around the time when they told me I needed my wisdom teeth out. 2-Doing yoga. I did yoga once in the intervening years. The teacher (do I have to say yogi?) had a man bun and a body made of K’nex in a skin bag and was super snooty. As I was having the realization that my knees were permanently bowed he came over and pressed on my back and as my body started to crumple he said, in the voice of a 10-year-old girl, ‘who told you to bend your knees?’ It wasn’t so much that my body told me to as it was that it just said this is happening and my leg bones started to telescope. After as he was telling us all of his plans to move to [inset South American country] and learn the practice of [body folding and chanting, maybe some bell ringing] I grabbed my shoes, dodged the absurdly large puddle of sweat that the smallest girl in class had produced, and left, forever. Somewhere in this discussion 28 year old me mentioned farting in front of another person and that has never happened and never will. Don’t ever talk to me about it.
3-Meditating. 28 year old me tried meditating several times and fell asleep in the process. 30ish year old me takes a moment every morning to have a moment of quiet so as to allow me not to verbally shred anyone (and everyone) within minutes of walking through the door at work. 4-Getting my own apartment. Done and done. And I have not been murdered yet so added bonus. 5-Buying a piece of furniture. Technically I bought my couch and chair from the girl who used to live here but it was so fucked up when I found it strewn about disassembled in my apartment, covered in stains and deeply embedded wiry dog hair, that I may as well have taken it from the alleyway. 6-Deactivate Facebook. Never. How would I know my own self worth it I did that? So let’s see that makes it 28-year-old me-1 (for being younger), 30ish me-2.5?
At that time I was apparently crying at commercials and VH1 Behind the Music specials because I’m only human after all and because of the aforementioned 28-year-old sads. I’m happy to report that now that I’ve matured I don’t cry at shit. Ever. I lamented not being able to eat cheeseburgers every night of the week and that remains true. I used to eat McD’s once a week and rejoice when that day arrived as though Christmas come early. Cheeseburger will always hold a place in my heart, probably somewhere in my left ventricle as a build up of artery clogging plaque, but I just can’t get down like that anymore. I feared having to shop in the women’s section of any clothing store, specifically as concerns the bizarre outfits created by Isaac Mizrahi, but I’ve compromised on that by wearing stretch pants and the same Sports Illustrated sweatshirt every single night of the week and not going anywhere. Not going out means not needing anything to wear. I pondered if I could still wear jorts and if I needed to buy pantyhose to hide the veins sure to be busting out of my legs at any moment and I’m happy to report that yes and no respectively. I will wear jorts till the day I die even if it embarrasses my niece at her graduation and I will never wear the oppressive, unflattering torture devices known as pantyhose unless I finally lose my mind and need a disguise to rob a bank. 28 me-2 (+1 for being young), 30ish me-3.
And finally, I discussed the imminence of my 10-year high school reunion and how I was going to sound accomplished and important to my peers even though I had achieved LITERALLY NOTHING except still breathing. As it turns out all the people I knew in high school were super chill and uninterested in talking about what we were doing and more interested in drinking copious amounts of beer and reminiscing. But I still told them that I wrote most of the songs on Beyoncé’s album.
To total it all up, 28 year old me wins 4 points, 5 with the tie and 30ish me gets a whopping 7.5 points, 8.5 with the tie. What am I so worried about? Most things get better with age unless we’re talking about food, garbage, the sitcom Frasier, or human skin. Let’s check back in a year and see if I can’t gain another 1.5, maybe 2 points.