Thirty

So, I turn 30 today.


**twenty minutes have just passed while I stared at that sentence, and there's a little puddle of drool all over this nice man's tax return**

***not that that's anything new, I spilled salsa on it yesterday. there's probably a reason there's a no eating at your desk rule, and that reason is me***

I'm not sure how that happened or where the last ten years went, which is fair since it's hard to remember time when you're living in a heavy drug haze, selling stuff you stole from your own parents house to get some dope, then after several interventions, going in and out of rehab, slowly trying to regain sobriety through lots of dark, hot coffee, and group meetings run by a lady named Tye in a facility called Sunshine Days Clinic which ironically only had windows on the west facing walls - where the sun sets - and finally kicking that dark horse when you meet your four year old daughter you don't even remember having because you were too fucked up to process the difference between reality and stoned dreams, and you're not even sure who the father is, but it's fairly clear he's black, which doesn't really narrow the field at all, but she is so, so, so worth it.

Ok, that wasn't what happened to me, I think I saw that on a Lifetime movie, something with Gabrielle Carteris in it - but that would have been a really good excuse for why I feel like I just turned 20. (Plus I'd have a little daughter! And I would love her and let her live in the garage with me and my cat! *sigh* I would call her Elliot.)

Anyway, the first text message I saw this morning was this one:

"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear cunt face! Happy birthday to you!"

Thanks Gabi! (Just so you know, she doesn't hate me, "Dear cunt face" was carved into my elevator door in my apartment building in Chicago.) (Man, I wish I knew what the rest of that letter was going to be.) (Because 'cunt face', really? That's harsh. What ever happened to good old fashioned bitch face?)

And the next call I got was a birthday song from my grandma followed by a request to hurry up and get into work.

Then my mom texted me.

Because we don't need to talk anymore now that I'm thirty. We can just text.

Then my sister danced for me while wildly singing happy birthday in a bra with towel on her head.

Then a voicemail of a list of why I should have a good birthday, which gets to number twelve and then says, "We're gonna skip the teens, cause I can't think of that many". (it was still a really awesome list which, if I get permission, I will post here, especially because it tries to rhyme the word 'seven' with the fact that the caller likes 'leavened bread'.)

Then James pooped.

Then I inadvertently flashed my neighbor when I walked out with just a towel on to dump James's poopy litter box in the trash can, lost my grip on the trash can lid and in a moment of panic couldn't figure out how to hold both my towel up and not let the lid bang against the fence - chose to save the lid from fence banging, dropped my towel, showed my neighbor my goodies, screamed, "Crap crap crap!" and tried to keep a hand on the lid while reaching over to get my towel, because I was panicked and forgot that trash can lids will probably survive a four foot fall, finally got my towel, but could not figure out how to wrap it around myself with one hand so I just put the lid snugly back on the trash can, and ran back to my room, towel in hand, screaming, "Crap crap crap!" again, and showing my whole back yard my 30 year old stuff.

(Suddenly have a new, and profound appreciation of people who only have one hand.)

(Also, I should never be in a which-wire-do-we-cut scenario, because chances are I'm just going to freak out, drop the bomb, and get naked inappropriately.)

All in all it's been one of the giggliest birthday mornings for me ever, which is nice because I thought I'd be crying in a corner all day. But it turns out thirty feels just the same. And if this morning was a glimpse of what's to come I can't say I'm not excited. Dancing, running, listing, singing, laughing, mom-texting, eating, drooling, more laughing, for-the-rest-of-my-life-neighbor avoiding, tax returning?

Thirty is going to be awesome.