Turning 30 means nothing

I bet you know a lot of people who are scared of their birthdays and who are especially scared of "milestone" birthdays, like 30. A few days ago I myself turned 30. Oooh, aaah. But if you really know me, you know that I am more like 13 than 30. Age is a number, albeit a BIG one at this point. I was the one who told everyone how old I am, followed by how little I have accomplished so far in life. But hey, I've managed to stay alive, which is just so fantastic at this point. Being the clumsy person I am, and having been so close to death or really bad bodily injury due to said clumsiness, I am SHOCKED that I have made it this far with little to no serious ailments. **KNOCK ON WOOD** In fact, it is more appropriate for people to say to me CONGRATULATIONS ON MAKING IT TO 30, than to say HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

My brother, who is (chronologically) 4 years older than me, only remembered one thing about my birth: going to a petting zoo on the day I was born. It was obviously a monumental occasion in his life. He possibly felt that my birth interrupted his plans of being the spoiled only child that he was, so he managed to make my life a living hell until I was 15, then spent the next 15 years convincing himself and others that he was a great older brother. This is the same guy who used to tell kids in the neighborhood that he'll beat them up if they as much as touch me, because ... wait for it, wait for it... he was the only one allowed to beat me up! But then again, I'd want to spend my younger years beating up a younger sibling if all I got on the day of their birth was a short visit to the petting zoo.

Regardless, I had a great time celebrating the big 3-0. It was all fine and dandy, until a friend said to me: Happy Birthday, welcome to the fourth decade of your life. What a shitty way to say something nice. It's hard enough accepting the fact that I am 30, now why don't you go put it in terms that make it sound even older. Fourth decade, that's like 40. I am quite the math genius, yet I had to do the math a couple of times to comprehend that one. DAMN, I am starting my 4th decade. Now I felt old.

But hey, at least I have people who love me, right? Well, sure, we'll go with that. Or at least people who like free alcohol so much that they would put up with me and tolerate me to show up to my birthday party. Yes, I pay my friends. In all seriousness though, it was a good time, until the skies opened and a monsoon hit the city, and I was practically kicked out of the bar into the pouring rain. That's when I realized that "my friends" just took off and left. No one cared that the birthday girl was practically drenched. Having no one to lean my drunken head on, I took off my shoes and started running barefoot in the streets, and ended up sharing a cab with a complete stranger. He was nice, he thought I was 22. But damn, it's not a party till you're running through downtown Chicago barefoot and finding someone drunk enough to estimate you to be 8 years younger.

Although, I am pretty sure the highlight of the night was when one of my friends was talking to a guy earlier in the evening and telling him how she knows and that I am very nice and friendly. But as soon as those words came out of her mouth, I said to one of my friends in an almost screaming voice: "next time I see that bitch I'm going to kick her bitchy ass!" The guy turned to my friend and asked: "are you sure you're talking about the right person?"

Ah, to be young and foolish again.