I assumed I’d go a little bit nuts about turning 35, since I have gone nuts on every single birthday since, well, maybe 22.
Every year, I end up listing out goals that I never really accomplish. And then I look around and realize how far I am from where I want to be.
Mind you, I never have an *actual* definition of where I should be (i.e., I’d like to be married, but I’m also fine on my own right now; maybe I should have a kid before the egg farm explodes, but I don’t really like kids all that much anyway). But, you know, there’s always that “oh, look, another year gone by and what do you have to show for it” business.
Not this year.
I’ll leave everyone in their illusion that I’m overjoyed to be alive and that everything is perfect. Really. I’d rather everyone be happy for me than sorry. I mean, life has its high points. The only real difference between now and “the life before” is that I get a little more sun. And sun makes me happy and healthy. And at times like this, you take what you can get.
I did get away for the weekend — well, one night, really — at the Vero Beach Hotel & Spa. I needed to deposit a check and the closest branch of my bank is up there. And then I saw a great deal on Travelzoo for Memorial Day, and voila! A plan was hatched.
The town itself was crap. People were just rude. I went into four different restaurants before someone greeted and seated me. Seriously. And I’m no shrinking violet — I was ready to go into the kitchen and make my own goddamned salad.
There’s this beach shop that I tried to go into before I checked into the hotel on Sunday. The saleswoman purposely ignored me for five solid minutes as I tried to buy a cute hat that was, admittedly, only $15 while she tried to sell someone a $100 pair of jeans. I left that stupid hat on the desk and flounced out.
I did go back Monday to buy my damn hat. It was too cute to pass up and it *was* my birthday souvenir. The same old bag must have taken her Valium — either that or she recognized me — and announced how she’s here to help and can’t wait to help me.
Then she followed me around and tried to sell me on buying Not Your Daughter’s Jeans. Ugh. All right, remind me that I’m 35 AND child-free AND insinuate that I should be wearing “mommy jeans.” Cunt!
All I need to do is drop one size to weigh what I did at my lowest point in college. So nyah, whore. *thbbbpppttt*
I finally ditched her, found the hat and bought it from someone else.
So anyway, the stay at the hotel was exquisite. I probably worked for five or six out of the 20 hours that I was there. (*mumble*) But I did play on the beach and hang out at the pool and get as tan as I could in the short amount of time that the sun was out during this wacky-weather weekend. And the fact that men actually look at me now (in a bathing suit. Gah, the horror) does not escape me, either. Weird, but wonderful.
Speaking of cute boys, while I was working in my gorgeous room on Sunday night, the concierge came to the door with a big fat bottle of Pinot Noir (my favorite), a hunk of dark chocolate (to eat; no, not a man) and a birthday card, courtesy of the hotel. That was so awesome — I will DEFINITELY recommend the Vero resort to anyone celebrating a special occasion … or just simply if you’re trying to escape the ordinary mediocrity that you get everywhere else.
I won’t go into the work hijinx when all the systems borked at once, a half-hour before I went live with a project yesterday. And how I MADE the deadline, not without bothering seven different people in three different time zones. And how DRUNK I GOT while freebasing wine during the hell-sent hootenanny. Wine for breakfast, yum!
Anyway, I guess it helped to be so busy on my birthday that I had no time to wallow, reflect or worry. I’m where I am supposed to be. I’m as happy as I can be for never really having known what happiness is.
I have a few bucks in my pocket to travel and treat myself once in a while. I am an hour or two’s drive away from some of the prettiest beaches in the world … and a five minute’s drive away from one that (I think) is even nicer than the private resort where I just stayed.
So, if happiness is defined as being “not totally miserable,” then I’m happy.
And as for “where I’m not and where I hope to be,” I’ll tell ya, 34 was such a good year that if it continues on the path it’s on, I’ll be OK. That’s the real reason why I want to turn 34 again … not that I’m afraid of 35, but when you’re on a winning streak, there’s no sense starting to bet on red when black has worked for you all along!