So, my 43rd birthday was November 9.
Yep. The big four three.
I wanted to make a big deal out of the fact that not only am I another year older, but that for the first time in a few years, I have a boyfriend.
Boom.
That's right, I'm not single anymore. That means birthday … hugs.
But, my birthday fell on the day Donald Trump swooped the presidency from underneath Hillary Clinton and all hell broke loose in America. I'm over here like, “Yo, it's my birthday, look at this sexy-ass picture of me and my new relationship status;” but the entire population of the United States (my FB friends) couldn't hear me over the sound of everyone getting ready to go Mortal Kombat Annihilation on each other.
I feel like either Trump, Clinton or all of social media owes me a big ass party or a trip to Vegas. Or both. But, I digress.
Two thousand sixteen was a year of transition for me: my daughter graduated high school and started college; I finally gave up apartment living and moved into my parents' old house; got my health back; and started seeing someone. I also gave in and finally bought readers so that I could see; which, for some reason made my mom laugh out loud longer and harder than I thought possible.
Are parents supposed to find that much humor in their children getting older?
Sure, the glasses could be a sexy librarian thing, but at my age they are less librarian, more Sophia from Golden Girls … as an old … er … librarian – just not a sexy one, unless you like that many wrinkles … all over.
Sigh.
My past birthdays left me in varying states of … distress: there was the mild anxiety attack at the loss of a tooth when I turned 40; my unsuccessful Google research into changing my official, legal birthday to put me in a younger demographic at 41; and then by 42, I tried to forget my birthday altogether. But social media likes to announce it to your friends who in turn want to make sure that you know that they know that you know that they haven’t forgotten that you're getting older. Just in case I did forget ... However, if I had to be honest – as I sit here and drink my bottle of wine – my birthday gets less and less traumatic as I get older.
Yes. An entire bottle of wine. By myself. The perks of being an adult – at least in age, if not mentality.
Turning 43 didn't bother me at all. Everyone leaving me birthday wishes joked about this being my 21st birthday or that this is the new 30 but that’s a lie. It's still 43. And most of the time I feel 43. Other times I feel 10. Sometimes I feel like I'm a very awkward 18. Occasionally I feel dead.
What I never feel – at any age though - is grown up.
Even my dad asked me when I was going to grow up during my yearly birthday phone call. I said never. Because why make promises I can't keep or pretend to be someone I’m not?
I ‘adult’ when I have to because I’m a mom. The rest of the time, I’m busy making things up as I go along.
Sometimes it turns out okay, other times … you read about it in my blog.
I’m not gonna lie: getting to 43 was not uneventful. I’ve been a lot of places, met a lot of people and done a lot of things. Some good, some not so much; others for experience points … and then there are the things that are reasons I can never be a public figure or a celebrity.
Which is a shame because I feel like I have celeb potential.
As I sit here and reflect on things I’ve decided I can no longer do or put up with, what I’ve learned and what I’d tell my younger self … I realized I actually have a lot to be thankful for in my life – besides being alive, because some of the decisions I’ve made could have easily gone a different way.
I’m thankful for … my daughter. I raised a pretty impressive kid, in spite of the fact that I was not an easy kid for my parents to raise. You might say she raised me. My parents are still not sure how I got so lucky. They were sure payback was coming my way after all the ish I put them through. Haha. Ha. Hm.
Yoga pants. If you wear them, you know why. If you don’t, you really should.
Wine & Champagne. Did you know you can mix Champagne with OJ and it’s acceptable to drink with your pancakes if you just call it brunch? – What? I was a late bloomer when it came to alcohol.
My parents for being right all the time. Seriously.
My brothers.
Smartphone and social media app camera filters for helping me look 10 years younger for way too long.
That in a world that’s become increasingly influenced by mainstream and social media, I still know how to think for myself (you know you read that in the movie trailer narrator voice).
Streaming television. Because without it, I would probably still be paying close to $200 for cable and the four shows I like to watch.
Netflix. It allows me to binge watch 1000 hours of a show no one remembers that aired in 2000 but which is also ending in a month.
CrossFit. Besides the obligatory mention of my workout program, it’s seriously kept me in the gym pretty consistently for six years now and has given me an audience for my sarcasm at 5:30am. Everyday. You’re welcome.
Spanx and its ability to be used as a shoehorn to get my phat ass into my jeans – for the days I can’t wear yoga pants.
Or sometimes, I wear spanx with yoga pants. I call those my skinny days.
I still believe in happy endings ... even though I've experienced a lot of unhappy endings.
Menopause – or at least pre-menopause. I’m no longer mortified that my uterus and ovaries are drying up because now I don’t have to deal with hemorrhaging for five days straight, cramps, bloating and having to close the gates to my lady garden until it’s safe to pass.
And also, it will never be my fault when someone stops the toilet at work with flushing any amount of tampons because I don’t need them.
Books. Not e-books, but actual paperback and hardcover ones. Those books – or rather, the stories – fueled my imagination as a kid and now as an adult … which is probably why I will never grow up.
My boyfriend. For all the obvious reasons, but also for being patient with my crazy, eating whatever I cook regardless of its state of edibility and … hugs.
Being a Scorpio and all the people who understand what that means.
That my daughter still likes to cuddle with me even though she’s pretty much an adult.
My adopted dog, Lady. She’s the only one who greets me with such excitement every time I walk into the room like she didn’t just see me five minutes ago.
Bacon.
Facebook and Instagram for giving me an outlet for my creativity as a writer, photographer, model and comedian. Yes, I’m funny.
My job. I’ve been blessed with a great job and awesome co-workers. They bring me food.
The Internet. It satisfies my curiosity about things, people and mysterious illnesses.
Tinder. For the entertainment, blog opps and introducing me to my boyfriend. I might be kidding, I might not ... whichever is funnier.
My friends. I don’t have many, but I’m grateful that my friends and I can be honest with each other. They also make sure I don’t do anything so stupid I can’t blog about it because it would only sound crazy instead of funny and why waste a blog opportunity, right?
Caller ID and call block. For obvious reasons …
FaceTime so I can see my little brothers. And by little, I mean 42 and 32.
Chick Fil A – so I can eat fast food but feel good about it because it’s chicken.
Comic book conventions and cosplay - two things I can enjoy with my daughter and blame it all on her.
When my parents text or call me. Actually, anytime I get to talk to my parents.
Good hair days. They are few and far between, but I appreciate every single one of them.
That time everyone loved my cinnamon roll apple pie.
Hashtags.
Online shopping. I can do it in my pajamas while drinking wine and binge watching 1000 hours of a show on Netflix.
Social media because otherwise I’d never know what’s going on in everyone else’s lives.
Fifty Shades of Grey. Because Jamie Dornan. I would like to personally thank his wife for sharing him with the world.
Karaoke. Without it, people would never know I could sing great songs really badly.
That my mirror doesn’t talk because I’m sure it would not stop laughing at me. Literally.
iTunes. Without it, I would have to buy entire albums just to listen to one or two songs. But it is depressing to see my iTunes library and see just how many songs I spent $1.29 on over the years … I could have bought a boob job with that money …
When the guys that dumped me or didn’t date me when they had the chance come at me thirsty in my DMs asking for a drank and I can tell them I’m in a relationship.
Not ever contracting an STD.
Being myself.
That perfect outfit.
Bras that not only fit, but make my boobs look ah-mazingly perky.
Turning off my phone.
Compliments from random strangers of the, “MMM mmm,” “Daaayum,” and the rubbernecking variety. They’re not obligated so I feel it’s sincere.
Recently single Gerard Butler.
Holiday Spice Flat White latte from Starbucks. So now I can also join in the basicness that is spending $5 on a cup of fancy coffee like all the other basics in yoga pants, boots, North Face jackets and beanies.
The big booty movement for keeping my body relevant to the times.
Being a smart, nerdy chick that drinks and knows things.
Astrology for helping me cope with people by defining them by their star signs. Yes, I know all your crazy and now you know mine.
Finally, being able to write and have a blog that maybe only a handful of people might read, but it gives me an outlet for my creativity.
I’m thankful for other more practical and traditional things, too; but I’m down to the bottom of this bottle of wine and to be honest, I’m having a difficult time keeping my train of thought. All the things I’m thankful for is about to take a turn for the inappropriate and blunt, non-filtered truths about things best saved for another blog post.
Or better - my as of yet, partly-written scandalous memoirs.
