It’s my sister Christy’s birthday! She’s thirty! Today! Wheeeee!
We’re going to meet up for Ethiopian food in a couple of hours and then go see the concert tonight. Last night’s concert was great, except Slaid Cleave’s fiddler just bugged the crap out of me. And that’s hard to get over when you’re in such a small venue. I just tried to concentrate on his guitar-playing and the words and his great jeans, but I kept watching her – a little twenty-year old blonde with long dreads, who only fiddled marginally, sang atrociously and mouthed all his words when she wasn’t singing.
I get to give Christy her Booga J bag tonight! Whoo hoo! I told her a few days ago that she couldn’t look at my site, and I don’t think she has. This is when we grow up, isn’t it? When we can keep ourselves from peeking, from looking in the closets, from shaking the packages under the tree. We figure it out – it’s only disappointing to guess it ahead of time.
At least that’s what I got from thirty. I totally dug turning thirty. I felt like I was finally official, not in my silly twenties anymore, but still young enough to still occasionally (and sparingly) wear glitter lipstick. Thirty-one is awesome, too. It helps that I’ve always had older friends and lovers – I know what I’m headed for and I’m happy with it. They make older look good. I figger I’ll be okay until just about thirty-nine, when I’ll have a stern talking-to with myself, and I’ll have to make friends with forty.
Off to fight briefly with Safeway about Bethany’s film which they didn’t have for me last night. I’m going to kick some ass if it ain’t there today. Yeah. Right. I would ass-kick with all the methodology and expertise of Charlie Brown. But I can SAY it as if I mean it.
Arrrr. Blimey. Forgot to talk like a pirate. Okey-doke then. I’ll swab the decks with the scurvy Safeway manager. And then buy some half-n-half, because I’m fresh out. Ahoy!
Happy Birthday to Christy! Woohoo! Welcome to thirty!
Happy Birthday to youuuuuu!
Happy Birthday dear Christy,
Happy birthday to you!
and many more…..
I’m here to tell you that just this side of 50 is where you really come into your Power and begin to own it….
Make friends with 40 and beyond,
it’s the E-ticket ride..if you can get it on
without all the baggage.
Love to hear the Pirates tawkin….
Happy belated Birthday, Christy! Hope you like the bag! Yup, 30 was not nearly the traumatic experience I thought it would be. I was finally able to get real estate people to show me the nice, grown-up apartments.
From 31 to about 37, I didn’t care and could hardly remember my age year to year. In fact, when I was 33, I remember bumping my age up a year for several months because “I’m going to be 34 on my next birthday” became, “I’m 34.” I was busted at a family gathering. I don’ forget these days.
I totally agree with you about turning thirty — enough of those silly twenties! I hope your sister had a fabulous birthday. Lucky her to get a Booga J bag!
By the way, I’m also sock-obsessed. Something to do with the onset of fall? A biological response, perhaps: “Must keep feet warm.”