Sunday, April 8, 2012
I guess it's been a while since I posed. Blame it on life. But here I am! And somehow I woke up 29 years old. This is the oldest I've ever felt and not just because it's the oldest I've ever been, 29 has been etched in my brain since I was a kid. My mom gave birth to me when she was 20. I still remember her 29th birthday party...and her 30th. This isn't about being 30, sure I play that game, but it's fun...till I turn 30. My mom always joked about her age and she always said that she was 29, even when she was well past 35. I remember being confused at her 30th birthday party (and more to follow) when people kept wishing her a happy 29th. All I gathered was that 30 was the worst age you could possible be and that 29 was all that was worth clinging to because when you turn 30, you're probably going to go bald, lose your boobs, grow a beard/mustache and possibly even spontaneously combust...or something like that. Years have passed and the numbers 29 and 30 have continued to haunt me. What's so special about 29? Or maybe the question is, what's so bad about 30? Should I start making a bucket list? Then I found out on the news last week that 32 is the new 21. But, but, I don't want to be 21 again! Can't they just say, "Yay! You're 32, here's ice cream!" Who doesn't feel good about that? I know today at Easter with the family I am going to be slammed with 29/30 jokes. Luckily I know that both of my middle fingers still work and I still have the mouth of a 14-year-old pubescent girl that I can turn on like a light. It's not all dread, don't get me wrong. I woke up this morning to my handsome boyfriend singing happy birthday and to 29 kisses...one for good luck, maybe 29 is special after all.