A Whole New Category.

Okay so I've been 30 now for little over a month. Nothing really new has transpired. I can't say that anything out of the ordinary has happened to remind me of my milestone birthday.

In the past month or so, I've been asked to state my age on two occasions (one cringing and one confidently), the latter was followed by an astonished 23 year old male (hot by the way), who gasped and informed me that he would have never guessed that I was 30.  How sweet. Wild thoughts ran through my head at alarming speed, and for a second I thought I may have kissed him passionately for his kind remark.  But gathering my witts, simply smiled and thanked him. 

Oh yes, and probably the most significant event was the survey I was required to fill out last week.  30 questions. As I responded questions 1 through 19 with ease, question 20 caught me off guard. There it was.  

20. What category does your age fall into? 

[ ] Under 18

[ ] 18- 24

[ ] 25-29

[ ]30-34

[ ] 35-49

[ ] 50 +

With a gulp, I checked the new category. A whole new category. 30-34. Wow. And there it was, the first time I officially had to put myself in a new age bracket.  I admit, I had a momentary (internal) freak-out. Why is it so damn  important for these surveys to know our age category anyway? 

Ummm...

Okay so maybe I was being a bit hasty- like, you know, I don't need a relationship because I love being unattached kinda stint.. But here is the truth- I am happy... but anyone who says they absolutely don't want a little loving is not being honest with themselves. Seriously, there are times when I secretly cross my fingers behind my back every time I walk into a new bar or am about to meet new acquaintances. Deep down, I don't think it would be so bad to drop the single status. I am reminded of a "situation" not too long ago, where being single was the worst thing that had ever happened and I would have just died to be a "we".

I had been invited to dine with some friends and we met up one fine summer evening on the street before entering. As I watched the people file in, I noticed some unfamiliar faces. My girlfriend confided that she had invited some new "couple friends". As I stood in line waiting for the Maitre D' to seat our reserved table of 12, I took a good look at the group around me and noticed that we were 13. The gang piled in and without hestitation a myriad of confusion broke out as people tried to figure out the seating arrangements to ensure that those two and these two could chat, and those two and these two couldn't sit next to each other... oh and those two and these two have nothing in common.... you catch my drift. Finally, after all were seated, the only one left standing was... of course- me. You got it: 12 +1. As the restaurant staff hurried to get me seated, they found an extra chair in the back room (our waiter was required to yell over the louder than normal chatter of the diners to another waiter nearest the kitchen to ensure the chair was retrieved). At last the chair arrived and I was placed at the head of the table (actually at the head of the table, in the area where the wait staff zoom through with plates and call orders to the kitchen- the seat where huffs were snarled as they squeezed past my chair).

If this wasn't bad enough, I was seated in front of couple I hadn't met before and after some brief introductions the new couple inquired , "Boyfriend couldn't make it ?". With scenes from Bridget Jones playing over and over in my mind, I stammered, "I'm single". "Really?", they chimed in unison. "Really", I maintained. The attention quickly turned as they engaged with the other diners. I excused myself and made a mad dash for the some air. As I held back tears that began to sting my eyes- I knew right there and then that sometimes I really didn't like being single at all.

The question.

There are times in my life that I feel like I am the star character in Bridget Jones- minus the stellar English accent of course. The times it seems everywhere you go and everyone you meet asks you how your love life is going. Pretty simply, its the most dreadful of all questions to ask.


Just last week in the middle of the fury of a shopping mall, I bumped into an old acquaintance. As she held her newborn close to her bosom and introduced her husband- I saw her eyes dart towards my left hand and then greeted me with a grin. "So" , she questioned, "whats new?". "Married?, Children?". As I smiled through gritted teeth, I most cheerfully responded that I am working in a field I love and that I am happily unattached. She smiled at me awkwardly. I couldn't quite read her expression and debated whether it was an awkward pity smile or if it was an awkward, "I'm holding my baby- I wished I hadn't gotten married- good for you girl smile". I chose the latter, and as we parted ways, I couldn't help but think about all the reasons I was in fact- happily unnattached.



Here are my top ten and they aren't in any special order:

1. Peaceful and restful nights sleep. No early morning shivers due to stolen duvets, no snoring, no cold feet. Just a well deserved night's sleep.


2. Answering to myself. I do what I want when I want. An afternoon at chapters with Starbucks and book browsing; crawling into bed at nine and watching a chick flick.


3. Argument and hassle free. My spirits can't be spolied by anyone else, or having to cheer anyone else up. The only arguments I have are with myself and usually involve heated debates on whether I should splurge.


4. Money. That trendy new outfit- or fabulous shoes. Mine. Mine. Mine. Two vacations a year. Mine.


5. Getting to know myself- my likes- dislikes and my in betweens. The peacefulness of my own mind.


6. Dating. Meeting new people and enjoying conversations about different things and getting to explore different personalities (and realizing that I am better off alone than with someone I dread).


7. No curfew- no explanations


8. The TV remote and couch are all mine. I can flip between the Bachelor, Americas next top model, Sex and the City and Biggest Loser without any hassles.


9. Free. Free to choose exactly where I want to go, be and do.


10. Eating the extra scoop of ice cream, slice of cheesecake or greasy dish with out any comments from the peanut gallery.

The Dinner Party

Falling in love. Check. Getting hitched. Check. Buying your first home. Check. Having a baby. Check. My social networks are quickly crossing off the milestone to-do lists. Let's be honest these are pretty monumental events in one's life. Each event being ceremoniously celebrated within the circle, followed by speeches, toasts, dinners, lavish gifts, laughter and of course showers. The one constant is that as friends, we still manage to get together ( a little less frequent as we would like) for dinner parties.


Whether its just the girls, or the husbands/boyfriends/significant others/partners are welcome- the women usually side off and dominate their own conversation. Back in my early to mid twenties dinner parties and gatherings were focused on our latest crushes, outfit options to wear to the next big party, who broke up and who got together. Purely girly gabbing and gossip. In the last several years, our dinner parties seem solely focused on ring sizes, color swatches, fabrics, baby names and bedroom schemes.

For some of us singletons, its easy to be happy but hard to contribute to these conversations. Incorrect, I've been known to bang out some really great decor tips, and some girls often invite me along for shopping support and critical decision making. Okay so other than that- zippo. I don't even know the difference between a princess and square or what the hell a karat means (the man who snags me will pretty pleased). The most difficult is the baby talk, or rather the new mom chatter. I'm not griping- its just when the new moms chat endlessly about which week this or that happened, or what occurred before, during and after birth- or their breast feeding schedule I have nothing to say (maybe that's a good thing) and even less to contribute. Listen, I'm not talking about a few minutes here and there- I get it- they have fallen in love with their new bundles- I'm talking about excessive and endless chatter- where they absorb themselves and often forget that there are other important topics of adult conversation besides their surprises at diaper change time.

I guess what I'm saying is- remember that other people in the world exist- that just because some of us haven't crossed off our milestone lists that we have nothing to offer a good dinner party. As I type these last few words of what appears to be strong opinion- my fingers are crossed that one day Karma doesn't come back to bite me in the ass.

The Gift

Gift: something given voluntarily without payment in return, as to show favor toward someone, honor an occasion, or make a gesture of assistance.

Someone bestowed a gift upon me when I was 25 that I will never forget. One day, as I lazed about my apartment, sans boyfriend for the day my doorbell buzzed loudly. At the door stood a familiar face, an extended family member with a serious look on his face. "I brought you a gift", he said as he handed me the package. Several thoughts ran through my head as I stood in the doorway. One- it was not my birthday Two- this family member does not randomly "drop in" to give gifts and Three- I wonder what it is. As I searched his face for some meaning, I took the gift and began to feel its surface in my hand. Hard. Rectangular. 3 cm thick. My guess was that it was a book. Fabulous- I was in need of a new good read.

As I began to peel away the paper, he stopped me. He clearly instructed that I open it alone. With my face scrunched up with an uncertain gaze, he double checked to see that my boyfriend of 3 years at the time was not with me. I shook my head, with even more concern. He gave me a quick nod and left.

My feet couldn't move fast enough as I double timed it up the flight of twenty stairs to my apartment. I put the wrapped gift down on the coffee table and stared at it. In times of uncertainty the best remedy was to brew a cup a tea and light a ciggy (this concoction got me through most of twenties).

With the paper strewn on the floor beside me, my gift was revealed. I scanned the glossy cover for titles and words that would capture my attention. At first glance, the words, "from a writer and a consultant of sex and the city" were printed at the bottom of the cover. Bright hues of flashy pink and lime green caught my eye as I then saw the image of a white phone. A spark of excitement rushed through me as I held my new girly read close to my chest. Then as my eyes narrowed on the big pink circle in the middle of the cover I saw the typed words, "He's Just Not that into You". My eyes flicked from side to side as I read it again, and this time the smaller print read, "the no excuses truth to understanding guys" . I flipped through the pages, not completely understanding. This had to be a joke. As the pages slipped through my fingers, I scanned the table of contents.

Chapter 1, "He's just not that into you if he's not asking you out", or Chapter 2"if he's not calling you" or Chapter 4 "if he's not having sex with you". As my blood pressure eased, relief settled in. Phew - this was a joke- this had zero connection with me and my current relationship. I scanned a few more and there they were Chapters 7, 8 and 11. "He's just not that into you if he's breaking up with you"; "if he doesn't want to marry you" and the clincher, "if he's a selfish jerk, bully or a really big freak". Fury and rage rushed through me and I blindly launched the book through the air.

"How dare he", I glared. I got up, picked up the book, and stored it neatly away on my bookshelf. I actually took the time to hide it behind some other books. Never to be opened again.

That's a lie. One year later when the nigtmare was finally over with my boyfriend, I ransacked my apartment knowing that I had been given this "gift" but couldn't excatly remember where I had placed it. Several spots later, there it was, exactly as I had left it. I read the enitre book in less than an hour.

In hindsight, my Uncle's gift was one of assistance. A gentle prodding- a reality check. At the time I hated him for his "hidden meaning" gift. But as the years carried on, I found myself giving the same gifts to loved ones around me. They probably hate me too, but I realize that there is nothing more gratifying than giving someone the gift of wisdom.

Now What?!?

Okay. That's it. Im officially 30. Three, zero. The hoopla's over, the last bits of confetti wiped up, and parcels and sentimental cards tucked neatly away.  As I worked off a slight hangover the morning after the celebration- I took a moment to reflect on my new number. "Thirty". Somehow with such a milestone birthday I thought for sure I would somehow feel different... but as the haziness cleared and my head stopped pounding I learned two things: 

(1)  you're exactly the same 

and 

(2) a "3" and  "0" simply replace the "2" and the "9"

As I stared at my reflection in the mirror, I couldn't help but search for signs. Not a single grey hair. I think I may have found a few more crow's lines around my eyes- but who can tell for sure. No  major shifts or changes. Its still the same you. A better you. A you with the experiences of your twenties behind you, a little more wisdom and a lot of class.    I realize that its okay to be where I am, just as I am and that everything will eventually fall into place. 

Im rearing to go. Up and onward. To thirty more years.... and another thirty after that.  In the meantime, I think I like the ring of "29" a whole more and plan to celebrate my 29th over and over and over again. 

With the last three decades behind me

S is for Scoundrel

A couple of weeks ago I attended a bash in celebration of Football's hottest event: Super Bowl. As the sound of tackles, runs and crunches filled the room- I mingled with some unfamiliar guests. Friends of friends, that sort of thing. Sitting around the table, we chatted away, getting acquainted and trying to place if we had all met in earlier times through other friends or at some local pub throughout College. We griped about stories over the years, particularly those scandoulous enough to make its way into every social gathering. Several laughs later, it was my turn. Somewhere during the conversation, someone pointed out that one of the guys had previously worked with my ex, and he immediately turned and all attention focused on me. Turns out the two had worked at the same establishment for awhile. When he learned of who my ex was, and the lenghth of time we were involved, he quitely placed his hand on my arm. He looked straight into my eyes and said, " I am so sorry". His words were genuine. I always knew my ex was a creep , but you know he was a dirty, rotten scoundrel when two years later, someone you've never met sincerely takes the time to provide his sympathies.

At that moment, years of lies, transgressions and deception flashed before my eyes. I read his facial expression, and knew instantly that he would be able to provide me with the missing pieces from so many years ago. Instead, with my head held up high, I answered , "Its okay. It was a huge learning experience".

I realized at that moment as those words escaped my lips, that I had grown- that somewhere along the way a lesson was learned. Back in my early to mid twenties- I would have jumped on the opportunity to gather evidence, sift through it, and re-hash it trying to understand why, be angry and cause a huge scene.

Somewhere out of that experience, I learned that you don't need to understand why. You just need to accept it.