Blame it on all the rom-com’s I watched growing up, but I never wanted to turn 30. And 35 and 37 are my ‘scary’ ages – like, it’s the first step of really getting older. It’s the age where I figured I’d be slowing down, settled down, mortgaged, and basking in the accomplishments of my 20’s. I always thought of 35 as the dead-end. Like if it didn’t happen before 35, then it wasn’t going to happen. And “it” meant anything from career to marriage to six pack abs to mastering the roast chicken to figuring out how to style my hair.
So, to combat the ‘scary age’, this girl had a birthday week.
On Friday the 9th, my friend Kat and I went out for pizza and to see 10 Things I Hate About You at the Hayden Orpheum (which is fast becoming my favourite theatre ever). Saturday the 10th, I had birthday happy hour with Joel’s mum and aunty, and his brother’s girlfriend, Gabbi. It was super cold and blustery, but we wanted to sit outside and catch the sunset by the Harbour Bridge. About 5 minutes into our first cocktail, I put my drink down on a menu to keep it from flying about. The wind blew the menu up from the opposite end and knocked the cocktail into my lap, and the glass rolled off my lap and shattered on the ground. It was ridiculous. We moved inside, I got a new drink, and was spoiled with presents and we all had a good catch up. Tuesday was my birthday, and my work wife, Sarah, covered my desk with Happy Birthday post-it notes, and my other work pals brought me balloons. It was really cute. I got to go home a few hours early, and Pancake gifted me with an hour long cuddle sesh – also really, really cute. Joel came home and made me my favourite dinner – punch drunk chicken with fennel/radish salad (SO. DANG. GOOD.), and cake and candles. He bought me my first Chloe piece ever – I was basically hyperventilating as I opened the box, because I never thought I’d own anything from the brand, and I had no idea it was coming. He even got me an “A” charm to hang off of it. It’s beautiful, and I was floored. Then, on Friday, I organised a little birthday thing at 1989 Arcade Bar, and it was the most fun. I merged all my different friend groups (why is that stupid stressful!?) for the first time, we ate pizza, drank themed cocktails, played old school arcade games, and indulged in heaps of 80’s/90’s nostalgia. My pizza pals bought me the most beautiful wristlet with my name stamped in gold, and also a little cat face stamped in gold – so “you can always take Pancake with you!” It was such a cool and thoughtful gift. I was pretty close to having almost every friend I’ve ever made in Sydney there, and being surrounded by so many good people made me drunk on love and happiness. But I was also drunk on rum. Lots of rum. And whiskey, too. I was in bed, fully clothed and passed out by midnight.
On Saturday, I had a hungover, but very good session with my therapist, and came home just feeling – happy. Content. And very excited about what’s to come.
This week has made me feel so special and loved, I can’t even tell you. And I feel like I’m more on the right path than ever.
I’m 35 and everything is still a work in progress. I can’t roast a chicken. I’m still answering phones. I have a six pack of jiggle. I don’t own a home. I can only blow dry my hair straight. But I do have a real savings account. And I’m writing more every day than I have in the last 10 years. And I don’t hate myself every day like I used to. AND I don’t feel like a haggard, decrepit old lady, (unless I’m climbing stairs) so hey.
Like… if this is my scary age, I say bring it on.