Ten birthdays ago, I visited Sweden for the first time, and made friendships that double with each repeat trip. Ten summers ago was when I moved to New York and met Weatherly, with whom I'll be spending this forthcoming birthday. Nine birthdays ago, I flew to Japan to float in hot springs and visit Sanrio Puroland. Eight summers ago, I moved to Portland on little more than a whim and the knowledge that this was where the music came from. I met Bobby a few months later, and married him five summers ago on the hottest day of the year. Five birthdays ago, he and I traveled to Sweden together for the first time. If I refuse the number, what happens to these experiences?
In my quest to get the most out of my last days as a directionless twenty-something, I've been committing minor rebellions against maturity. I had Tara dye the underside of my hair bright purple. It subsequently turned my neck purple so I looked like a mad Smurf and had to wear black for an entire week, but it looks awesome. I've picked up a bunch of new shows to cover for Music Savage in the upcoming season. However, the crowning achievement of my youthful silliness happened yesterday morning, when Bobby and I stood in line for more than an hour to meet Lil Bub, a famous cat from the internet. Bub was so tiny and adorable, not to mention tolerant of being scratched by and photographed with hundreds of strangers. It was well worth the early hour.
She seemed less impressed with us, but I was happy to donate money to the Oregon Humane Society in exchange for meeting the tiny celebrity who so often brightens my days.
We've been up to other things, of course, in the two months since I last posted. Most notably a weekend trip to Palm Springs for my mother's birthday. You can't tell by the hazy sky, but it was about 80 degrees when this photo was taken:
Bobby and I weren't able to visit at Christmas, so my parents were extra happy to do parent things like give financial advice and rearrange my hair:
Though it was my mom's birthday and I baked the red velvet cake at her request, she decided to turn the party into an early 30th celebration because she hasn't seen me on my actual birthday since I turned 18. I had more than a month to go, but who am I to turn down some candles?
Later in our visit, like responsible adults, Bobby and I got tetanus shots because ours had both expired. On the way to the airport, like irresponsible adults, we stopped at In N Out with no time to spare. After inhaling our food and getting lost in endless construction en route to the rental car return, we became the jerks who run down the jetway yelling, "Don't shut the door!" This is a new experience for Bobby, but one with which I am all too familiar after a few late connections and misplaced phone retrievals. Whoops. We made it home to Portland nonetheless. Fortunately I'm good at maneuvering through a crowd.
So here I am, staring down the barrel of an unwanted age, with no choice but to keep pushing forward. Alright 30, show me what you got.
