30

There are tons of things that no one tells you will happen when you turn 30. Thank god I’m here (I know you must think that everyday). I have a friend named Bean who is significantly older than me (well, not really that much older), and she told me that shit just goes to shit when you turn 30 and no one warns you about it. I feel it is my duty to give all you almost 30-something ladies (like the 26 -29.5 crowd) a big fat heads up.

I’m 31. Well, 31 and a half, but I still think I’m 13 (see, that’s 31 bakwards. I’m so clever). I somehow managed to get myself this far, so there must be a god (just kidding, there isn’t (oh poo, don’t be mad that I just said that)). I have learned some things through having older sisters and older friends and, well, just entertaining way too many “hard knocks.”

Ok, so here we go.

You Gain Weight

Yup. Your body slows the hell down. You can’t keep it off unless you really try. And if you like beer (which you also acquire a taste for by your 30’s (unless you already have one)) you can surely count on those pounds adding to your newly sagging chin-scape. And Birth Control? Be choosey into what goes into your body. Your 30’s are WAY different than your 20’s, so be careful with the hormones.

29 years 364 days vs 30 years 1 day

You Just Can’t Hang Like You Used To

Hangovers will last, if not ALL DAY, the entire weekend (since drinking during the week is now a death sentence and you would never dream of going out on a Tuesday). You really just can’t drink like you used to. And if you decide to go out, all you want to do is go back home and watch Netflix with a bottle of wine and something Carbohydrate to “soak it up” with while wearing a snuggie or “real” pajamas. Hanging out is for the frat kids. And they are now way too annoying to even deal with.

You’re getting too old for hangovers.

You Throw Dinner Parties

You convince yourself that it’s almost cheaper than going out and you can get a little shitty without having to worry about getting home or having really uncomfortable shoes on. Plus you get to show off your cooking skills, which you learned from all of the cooking shows that you are now addicted to. How adult of you! Hopefully you have a dishwasher or super awesome guests.

Feeling like your parents yet?

You Want to Mate, Like, Always

You turn 30 and that clock just starts ticking very loudly. If you haven’t already had a kid (one or two is enough ladies), then you start thinking about it, and you really really want one…. or you consider getting a puppy. Plus mating is important and you are so ready to still feel young and sexy.

Insert Baby Here.

You Hope to Get Carded

I always say  “I love you” to whoever cards me, even if they tell me that it’s Virginia State Law to card everyone under blah blah blah…. I feel good no matter what.

Yes, please!

You Like to Sit

If there is a seat on the train, you will gladly run, fight, and kill for it. You are a lazy mess if you don’t normally work out, but even when you do, sitting is still a hobby and you will do it joyfully.

You would KILL for this seat…

When I was Your Age

Yeah. That’s now you…

You’re Not Cool Anymore

Yeah. That sucks. You really have to TRY and keep up with the times. Everything is for a younger generation these days. Even though you’re still young (and you tell yourself that everyday), no one cares about your age group. You have no idea who any of the new musical “talents” are and it takes double the time to figure out how to do something on an app or in a computer program and you still have to go and ask your 15 year old niece to show you.

Also, being a 30 year old hipster these days is just kinda lame. You really have to try not to be a hipster in your 30’s… Subdue subdue subdue…. Graphic T’s are still okay, but polka dots and plaids with dip-shit glasses with no frames are just way too “senior in high school” for you.

Do hipsters even know this is what they look like most of the time anyway?

You Smell

Holy crap, please shower everyday. Those armpits are stank, even if you don’t work out. And you certainly can’t wear those cheap Payless Slipper shoes anymore, since your feet soak up all the stinkiness of the day and amplify it tenfold, even if you only wear those plastic shoes for 10 minutes.

You Grow Facial Hair

Grab a box of facial bleach or go get threaded (waxing causes pimples, friends) because YOU NOW HAVE A MUSTACHE! It’s okay. A good tan will cover it, but most likely, you gotta visit the salon or one of those Indian ladies with a basket full of thread. They can do your unibrow, too, as well as those sideburns that have been inching down the minute you celebrated your third decade on this earth! Oh and you also grow toe hair. Yup.

Some of us can pull it off…

You Shave Less

I don’t know about you, but if I know I’m not going anywhere on a weekend, I skip on the armpits. And the legs. And I sometimes skip on the toe hair, too.

You Cry… a lot

Saw that cute kitty video? Or the Autistic man singing the National anthem? Tears. Go ahead and cry. It’s okay! You actually look for those touching videos on the internet, just so you don’t feel like humanity is going to shit right around you.

It’s okay. The world isn’t so bad!

You Get Sick to Your Stomach

Long gone are those days of putting hot sauce on everything without having to face the consequence…. and that over-dose binge on Sushi will keep your face in the toilet for hours. You definitely “learn” how to eat and let your body decide what it should and should not have. You even look forward to a good salad. Crunch.

No thanks. That hurts my teeth.

You Ache

Your feet hurt. Your knees are achey. You’re tired. Nothing says “you’re old” like the pains of growing older. Even typing for too long will make your wrists hurt…. and have you written a letter in a while? Even the stamina for that is gone. You begin to sleep with ibuprofen on your night stand instead of in your medicine cabinet.

You Worry

You start to realize what all of the important things in life really are. You may not be political, but the things in this world really start to affect you. Long gone are those days of caring about what he hell Britney thinks she is doing, or keeping up with the Jones’, when you barely feel like you can keep up with yourself. And it’s okay catch up on the LiLo tragedy, but it’s not going to cause any sleep loss.

You are 30

Once you turn 30, you will always be thirty until you turn 40, then you will be 35. The age of lying about your age in the wrong direction has now officially started. Welcome to the years of fretting over weird things, like tiny lines around your lips, or how 6 hours of sleep just doesn’t cut it anymore. You want to eat dinner at 6:30 and go to bed at 9:30. You even start to know just where that one little grey hair is going to grow in within the next few days.

Aging as a woman these days is so ridiculously blown out of proportion. With all the “advances” is beauty technologies (like Plastic Surgery and injectable youth) we will always be able to find something that’s not right with our faces or bodies. But age 30 is somehow a defining moment for us personally and for society. I’d like to say I don’t care, but moving on to 32 in the next few months as an unmarried motherless cat lady, I am starting to worry that my time will be set in stone soon, based on where I thought I’d be when I was 20. But  then again, I know I still have time.. I am still young and still feeling as beautiful as I was when I was 28 (or 17 or 10). Plus the fact that a homeless man spewing chewed donut all over the place told me that I was so beautiful that I made him cry. Yep… I still got it!

So when you turn 30, please be happy to know that it is the new 25. Phew!

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I Miss My Body

When I was 26, I was 105 – 110 pounds. I thought “Hey, I look damn good. So good in fact that If I gained a few pounds, I’ll look even better because I am SO skinny.”  I would see larger people and be grossed out thinking, “I could NEVER let myself get to be so big.” Well, here I am about 40 – 50 pounds heavier, thinking about my mid-twenties and pining for the days of physical activity, eating anything I wanted to,  and being completely comfortable in my skin and bones.

The story beings when I was 23. I moved to NYC to go back to school at FIT (three of the best years of my life so far). At the time, I was so poor that all I ate was pickles, popcorn, and dry Cheerios. I was always thin and athletic, but not in a disgusting way. I lost 15 pounds over the course of 3 years and was loving it! I loved that I could wear anything I wanted and be whistled at in the streets and be asked to “model” by Photography Club Pals. My jawline was fierce and my high cheekbones stuck out like a chiseled statue. I did, however, hate that my rib cage that would show on my chest. That was gross. Oh, and I was also starving ALL THE TIME. As you know pickles and Cheerios and popcorn aren’t all that filling. Someone asked me once why I didn’t eat a cheeseburger. I replied ” Well, shit. I would if you’d buy it for me.” Of course they didn’t oblige (jerk!).

Lunch.

The last semester of school was the hardest. I was having all kinds of stress from work and school and then discovered I had an inguinal hernia. That’s the kind of thing boys usually get. It’s discovered when the doctor grabs their balls and makes them cough. I found mine in the shower… a small lump where my body meets my leg. I seriously shit a brick.

After surgery, I was, naturally, a hot mess. Then came finals and then the total freedom of graduation followed by the empty sadness of having to get a real job and wear dresses and fancy shoes. I found work at a production company doing this and that. After work we’d all go out for a beer and that’s when it happened… I started drinking beer.  I always hated beer, but now I love it. I need it with pizza, or on a hot day, or on a cold day….  I just love it (except Guinness. ew) and it’s cheap!

Beer, will you marry me?

Once I started receiving health insurance, I went to all the doctors for all the check-ups and decided to get back on birth control. I opted for the Mirena IUD, since my plan would only cover contraceptive “devices” and not oral contraceptives, making the pill about $75 a month after insurance (Gotta love the American Health Care System).

If it were only this easy!

Since the application of my contraceptive device, I have gained about one million pounds. To top off the Beer and Birth Control, I love pizza, bagels, tacos, pasta, and Netflix. I am eating a hunk of cheese as I type. I also worked a desk job for 3 years and hardly ever moved all day. So, there we have it. I am becoming a true American: lazy, fat, and unhappy.

Anyway, once the pounds started to find their way onto my bones I was like, “Oh hey! I have boobs again!” And now I am like “Wow, I am using my belly as an arm rest!” Something has got to give, friends! I have recently switched to Light Beer (so gross) in the hopes that a difference might be made. I am also switching to imbibing only on the weekends and taking long walks in the park as well as bike rides (and teaching myself the fine art of arm circles and hoola hooping). I have switched to salads, too, but then run the risk of devouring half a bottle of dressing! YIKES (ok, that was an exaggeration, although salad dressing is delicious)! I may even join the gym, but the thought of a stranger taking my weight is just horrifying… and then having to work out with other strangers who obviously work out all of the time? Gross!

I don’t even wanna know!

All in all, the biggest problem I am having is not being comfortable in my skin. I am so uncomfortable! I feel sweaty and smelly all the time, I even have knee sweat! I have a gigantic ass (which I’m actually okay with). My boobs are great as long as they hang out past my belly, but I’m now growing boob rolls. BOOB ROLLS!

I didn’t even mind the first few pounds that I gained because I was starting to look like a real person and not a skeleton in a skin costume. Captain Clam reassures me a thousand times a day that I am not fat, but I have “gained a few pounds.” I’d say I’m chubby, and these days I am so worried that my arms are fat. Imagine… of all the things. ARM FAT! Oh arm fat, I love you! NOT!

Armpit Vagina.

I don’t think it’s bad to be big. In fact, I have a lot of friends who pull off a full figure very well and the absolutely adore themselves (as they should). It’s really about being comfortable and relaxed in your body. I know that’s ridiculously cliché, but after being a stick-thin starving artist and now being labeled as a “bold figure” by the gal at the Levi’s store, I am realizing that the skin on my body is not mine. There is a much happier person locked away in here somewhere, like I’m a sculpture that needs more chiseling (Wow, that was mad cheesy (I love cheese)). I seriously go out and am always thinking about how huge I feel and wondering if any notices just how fat my arms are. Some days I refuse to leave my house. It’s not abut the weight or the size, it’s about the flip and the flop; all that flab jumping about. I can feel it and it just feels wrong.

Thanks Goodness Gracious that I clean up pretty well when I slap on some make-up and hair-do, a dress, and what I like to call my “bike shorts.” I don’t feel that bad about myself when I’m in “costume.” Now if I could only get my thighs to have a fight and stop hanging out so much. I am learning the big girl tricks, like never leave home without baby powder… and just give up on wearing a belt entirely! I have also shunned bathing suits (that may have something to do with bad tattoos as well). All in all, I am ready to get my shit together… just in time for the end of bathing suit season.

I’ll keep you posted on my progress, because I know that you care.