Friday, December 21, 2012

Turning 30 with a high five!

Recently I became 30 years old. Apparently this is monumental? If we were still using roman numerals to write out numbers, turning 30 (XXX) would be greatly appreciated after the stretch of space that was, for example, 28 (XXVIII). So much ink would be saved!

My plans for 30 varied depending on how old I was. And I never really thought "30", but more so "after I've been done of school for while".

When I was 16, my plans included being a CEO and making important decisions. This didn't pan out because I realized that would require too much work therefore I decided I would settle for being a VP of some random Disney division. Life and work visas lead me no where near that direction. Also, I am terrible at making decisions. My fallback plan was buying the Confederation Court Mall and turning it into an awesome club. I still think this idea has merit, although Charlottetown's population of "classy" clubbers would have to increase dramatically for it to be substanable. (Also, unlike the Globe, Charlottetown's club du jour, I wouldn't lose my patron's credit card.) Oh, and I also planned on buying the building the old Pat and Willy's was in. I would have two bars, and they would be connected by the overpass above Kent Street. It would also feature a bowling lane and staff would wear colourful wigs. This was my plan around the time "The Night at the Roxbury" was in cinemas.

Half a decade later at 21, a flatmate was talking about having children at some point. I decided I would have two by the time I was 30ish, because it seemed safe to say that with the "deadline" being a decade away . I determined that would be a good age as the adorable spawn wouldn't still be living at home while I was trying to retire and complete my snowbird training. What I failed to consider was the steps I wanted to take prior to having two off-spring and the time required: 18 months of production, at least a few years of dating/marriage, raising the first one for a little while before creating the second, etc. This meant the sort of deadline for step one was when I was 25, and based on who I was dating at that point, I'm really glad this "goal" wasn't met. Yikes.

And that's it. I'm not much of a goal setter and those are the only things I really remember thinking about, other than living in England and working at Disney World. England wasn't accomplished, but Scotland was geographically close and a most worthy substitute. Disney World happened, and will probably be brought up at every job interview for the rest of my life and make me a service snob. Yes, I will notice your shitty service and let my mind wander to my not-developed-at-all business idea of service awesomeness.

The actual day of becoming 30 was a good day. I woke up, tried to steal back some of the blanket that le Boyfriend stole over night, failed, and we went for breakfast. We were sat in our usual spot, which sounds much more romantic than it was as it actually means "we were sat at the same table as the one other time we went to the restaurant". Then we slowly strolled home. I, being tragically old, took a nap at some point. Then there was a bike ride, a phone call from brother bear, and an adventure to pick up boots I had ordered online.

TIP: If you order boots from Sears, order them 6 sizes smaller than you usually would wear, otherwise it looks like you are trying to run around in a giant's boots.

Upon return I spent about 15 minutes searching for grey hairs and gently ripping them from my skull. It goes along nicely with my poor habits of picking pimples, scabs, bites, disturbingly long ingrown hairs, anything that looks pickable, etc.

Eventually, le Boyfriend took me to a birthday party (for me!) and people were merry, ate lots of food, drank enough (not too much, but enough), danced, high fived, and, I like to imagine, marveled at the lack of grey hairs sticking out among the mess of brown strands.

After much primary research, I have determined the keys to turning 30 with grace are:

  • Alcohol (just a little bit, it's good for your heart, I hear).
  • Spending your 20s acquiring many wonderful friends. Make sure at least 60 percent of them are older than you so they turn 30 before you.
  • Acquiring a younger boyfriend. It helps you get used to cougar jokes earlier. It also helps if he's awesome. (Caution: Rachel tried this in Friends, and it didn't really turn out for her. However, she is a fictional character and she chose wrong.)
  • Being happy at 27, 28, 29, etc. Or at least when you're 29. If you're happy at 29 and 364 days, there is no need to be unhappy at 30.
  • Trying my new numbering system: turning twenty-ten years old was great!
  • Going on an awesome vacation a couple of weeks prior.
Hurrah! By following these six steps you will be guaranteed a smooth entry into your fourth decade. I wish you as much success as I.

Sunday, December 02, 2012


Something monumental has happened recently! It's so note-worthy that I am writing a blog about it.

Now, why am I writing a blog about it? [you ask]

Because I *can*! [I reply]

Seriously, le Boyfriend and I bought a laptop so I literally can write again. My laptop was getting to the point that I had to hold the screen at a very precise angle in order for it to work properly. Typing with one hand is not so conducive to blog posts. I could had been old school and wrote stuff on a sheet of paper and posted it on various telephone polls throughout the city, but then I'm opening my writing to weather destruction.

Speaking of destruction, I have had trouble spelling the following words this week:
- destruction (not distruction)
- occasion (not ocassion or occassion... seriously, it took me three tries and I'm pretty sure I just used spell check at that embarrassing point)
- embarrassing (it just happened in the previous bullet! I like to think I spell it wrong as I don't get overly embarrassed so I use fewer letters to represent that - I just get 'embarassed')
- tongue (I try to make it rhyme with lounge. It doesn't.)

So there we go. I am losing the ability to spell. That somewhat implies I was once a great speller, but I don't think I was. I was decent. My point got across. I spelled "phoque" properly on the board in French class during a spelling contest. However, I do remember asking one of my teachers how to spell 'mansion'. I was told to look it up in the dictionary. After too many minutes searching for 'manchon', I probably changed my story to read, "She lived in a very, very, very big house." Bonus points for creatively solving my problem by completely avoiding it. I will point out while I was not a ninja in spelling, I did get a special shout out on my report card for being very good at using expression when I read out loud. Nothing is more a sure fire way to win friends in elementary school than reading out loud with excessive amount of emotion. If I were reading this out loud to you now, that last sentence would had been dripping with well practiced sarcasm.

(Note: I spelled sentence wrong the first time I typed it in the previous sentEnce. Nice.)

Back to one of the original steams of thought above, le Boyfriend and I own a functioning laptop. That means between the two of us, we have one completely disassembled laptop (a learning experience pour le Boyfriend, for he will never be able to put it back together and it's currently 'resting' in a laundry basket), one twitchy screen laptop, and an actual functioning laptop with keys that press, a screen that works, and it doesn't take ten minutes for it to 'warm up'. I also like how opening a new tab in Chrome doesn't cause a glitch in the space-time continuum any longer. The simple things make me happy.

WAIT! [you ask] Isn't purchasing a laptop with someone an inextrodinate amount of commitment?

Why yes, I am glad you brought that up. First of all, I commend you for your use of the word 'inextrodinate'. The internet tells me it is not a real word. Apparently my bad hearing made it up and it's probably actually a completely different word. I'm glad we're on the same page.

We have been building up to this purchase. Not too long after we moved in together (some would argue that it also a big commitment, le Boyfriend would take that chance to point out we didn't sign a lease), we bought a toaster oven. The actual commitment test happens this weekend because I turn *hushed whisper* 30 years old on Saturday. Personally, I think my 30th b'day will be much more fun that my 19th birthday, which also occurred on Saturday. That night I wrote an Accounting 201 exam which was super long and we stayed past the allotted three-hour period. So I got home around 10:30, probably had another exam on Monday morning, and went out and had, like, two drinks. Crazy was not my middle name. My middle name was probably, "Holy shit this bar stinks."  This was pre smoking ban.

Back on track. Yes. Thirty. I shall hide le Boyfriend's bags so he cannot pack and secretly move out while I sleep. Besides, he won't do that... he can't  leave because then I would have no one to do the majority of my laundry and cook 70 percent of my meals. In return, he would have no one to bless him with the gift of laughter and wit. So. Much. WIT.

Blah blah blah. Now that I have a functioning laptop again and am not trying to compose my feelings on le Boyfriend's iPad, you can expect exciting posts such as, "I went on vacation and saw monkeys", "I turned 30 with so much grace that people mistakened me for Kate Middleton", and "No, seriously, I saw a monkey!!!"

Until next time!