This weekend, while out at a girlfriend’s 28th, I asked the birthday girl and the rest of my friends if they felt a big difference between who they are now, and who they were when they were freshly 20-21. Their answers ranged from “still the same old Jane/don’t remotely want to get pregnant”, to “I was a jack-ass-hole with no regard for anything other than peeing in alleyways when the lavatory was out of order on the Bustonian”. I asked myself the same question, and felt like it was difficult to answer in the sense that I feel like the same old Molly who breaks the seal too early in the night, but who also got excited over Pumpkin pasta sauce in the supermarket today, as well as the growth spurt of my lucky bamboo plant (shit has has 5 leaves now! It used to have 0 leaves. So by comparison, you can see that we have nourished this bamboo plant since the day we brought it home from Ikea).
This got me, a poorer version of Carrie Bradshaw who has literally zero in common with Carrie Bradshaw, thinking:
Who the fuck cares? Why do we ask questions like “do you feel different from when you were 20-21?”. Of course we all feel kind of different from when we were in our early 20’s! Unless we are still playing games called Edward 40-hands, wearing BOGO shoes from Charlotte Russe that disfigure our feet to house parties, and feel like “over a railing at some random dude’s place” is a normal place to get some solid rest, we are probably a little different. But at the same time, we are not that far off from our early 20’s because 21 was only 5-6 years ago, and those Charlotte Russe tragedies are still in the back of our closets, and every year they aren’t given to Goodwill, a podiatrist has a minor heart attack. Basically we have come into who we REALLY are. But only slightly. Like, we still watch Teen Mom. But only when there is nothing else on, and we hate all the moms now, not just Farrah.
My friends and I went on to talk about turning the “big” 3-0. Basically, we are unphased about turning 30. Nothing blogworthy there. I actually get irritated when people complain about turning 30 because again, who the fuck cares? Thirty is still young. You can put “People Who Base Their Happiness Around Bullshit Life Milestones” in the top 14ish of my “Things That Are Kinda Fucked” list. If you think that some hyped up milestone will be the sole provider of your happiness, then I’m sorry for you because you are going to get reality checked SO hard the day your plane hits the runway on the returning flight from your honeymoon and your husband turns to you and makes a joke about dutch ovens. Or the day your baby poos on your hand 17 times. Shit has changed. Women (mostly) aren’t purposely getting pregnant before 25 anymore (18 in the South). And getting married post 30 is actually pretty regular lately. I felt YOUNG getting married last year at age 26. I remember thinking “I wonder who will think I’m knocked up, lol”. Shit has changed. I mean, these milestones are really fucking exciting. I almost had to pop a squat halfway down the aisle I was THAT excited while getting married (JK…KINDA! GROSS!). But they aren’t the be all end all, or whatever. Don’t be that asshole who has a doomsday countdown to 30 on your iphone, because no one likes a type A personality.
I mean, Is 30 really “dirty”? Because I felt slightly dirtier when I was shitfaced eating at Chau Chow’s at 2am at age 20 on a Monday night. Anyways, pardon me and my 2.5 years left of the 20’s (sorry to any 30+ readers).