The Dreaded 3-0

Oh joyous rapture, I have landed amongst the thirty-somethings of the world. That statement isn't really the quinessential, dripping with sarcasm expression you'd expect from me; but it's not a glowing proclamation of sincerity either. The truth is, I have nothing against 30. I haven't lived in fear of it for the past year or five or ten. Unlike many women in my birthyear, I will not proclaim this to be my last "official" birthday, nor will I wince at the question of my age for the next five years.

My twenties were by and large spectacularly miserable. There were a few bright and shining moments centered around various graduations, holidays, and special moments; but I wouldn't exactly characterize them as the best of my life thus far. I took the long, hard road of school...followed by more school...and then some more after that. Because I'm an apparent glutton for punishment, I also worked...and then worked some more, and then some more after that in laborious and humiliating jobs that paid in a regular month roughly what I will spend on cabfare in the next few weeks.

I did it all though, because it put gas in the crappy little car I drove, enabled me to stay in school so I could continue to complain about all the hours I was working and "working," and imagine a better life down the road. I quite literally lived for the future then. I imagined finishing law school to have some fabulous job, go to happy hour every once in a while, have a fabulous boyfriend and family/friends I had time to spend with.

Upon super-speedy analysis of my current life, I can honestly say I have most if not all of those things. My job is pretty cool most days. It keeps my busy and challenged, and the pay isn't half bad. I don't work 80 or 100 hour weeks like some of my lawyer counter-parts, and I can enjoy going home to crap TV most nights instead of spreadsheets and midnight conference calls....OK, most nights.

My boyfriend is fabulous; and charming, and intelligent, and sexy. He surprised me with a couple of my girlfriends to throw me a surprise party at a local bar last Friday with decorations, cake, and open bar. I see my family...well, what's left of it, and friends in Connecticut every couple of months instead of once or twice a year...a marginal change, but still one for the positive.

I get out to happy hour every so often, and the club scene too. I don't have kids, so I can pick up and go to St. Croix on the weekend if I want to (and did). I can walk into a designer shop, buy something extravagant for myself and not suffer ills in my wallet or my guilt complex.

I've made strides for my health too, and down over 50 lbs and working on the next 40 or 50. I have visions of plastic surgery dancing in my head.

I have no parents left to die, so I've gotten major tragedy out of the way early!

Hey hey!! Thing are actually pretty good here. Maybe joyous rapture was a sincere expression after all.

So what if I still live in a shoe box apartment. So what if I can't eat bread. So what if I have bunions from my designer shoes. So what if I haven't exactly fulfilled my utmost career potential. So WHAT if I've still got cellulite. So what....so what...so what!!! 30 is good dammit!