Incredulously, it’s been almost two weeks since I last saw you (for reals?). But (twist!) it has been almost two months since my last post. Reconciling these two facts might be confusing. On one hand, you’ve just experienced a week of unimaginatively fulfilling me time and not much has changed since our last meeting (except I’m about 6lbs up, due to a hearty consumption of soju, hot donuts, rice wine and sequel dinners). On the other, not being in touch with my virtual existence must have left an unimaginable void. Luckily, there was plenty of information swimming around my wee brain during our recent holiday that I forgot to tell you in person and now get to expunge via the interwebs.
As you know, I’ve been 30 years old for approximately 48 days now (depending on what time zone you read this in and when I actually get around to posting), so I am now officially an expert (on being 30). In an ongoing effort to build this expertise, I occasionally scour the webs to make sure I’m the best in my, er, field. So, you can only guess how excited I was when I came across a HuffPo article during a bout of extreme procrastination research: an article praising a book devised by some clever and clearly unbiased expert (read: celebrities) detailing a handy list of lady-specific things I should have physically or psychologically attained by 30. As we’ve discussed, I LOVE a good list – yes please.
Disappointingly, this list is not awesome. My takeaway is thus: life simultaneously begins at 30 and spirals into banal abstraction occasionally punctuated by a euphoria brought on by tidiness, responsibility and calculated emotional restraint applicable to all relationships (including the nurturing of one’s soul) as one is surrendered to boredom. In other words, once the clock strikes midnight sassy Cinderella prematurely becomes the fifth wheel on Sex and the City (the friend with a reasonable bedtime, eye cream and whole grains for breakfast). I suppose the list is intended to partially counter the culturally-perpetuated stereotypical depression found in 29-year-old women by alluding to the hope found in old age. It includes all the things we should have figured out, plus the outstanding one-time allusion to fun tips on sexytimes DIY (see no. 11: A set of screwdrivers, a cordless drill, and a black lace bra). Though I wonder instead if the bra is intended to lure in a man (who has not subjected himself to this list, thus does not possess the required tools) to, say, construct recently-aquired Ikea furniture or build a handy shelf? (Although, the former should really include a hex key, talk about handy!)
As an aside: what kind of crazy shame-inducing umbrellas are women buying these days that necessitates number four on the list? Let me reiterate: number FOUR.
In vein, I searched for a more interesting list via a quick and dirty Google search for 30 things men should do before 30, to no avail; I was then led to pages of things to do before I die and decided to move on.
Mourning a lack of easily digestible (and palatable) list-based guidance on aging, I wondered about the consequences of not achieving each goal on said list. I can only hope for a follow-up self-help article for those of us rendered inconsolable after realizing we’ll never be able to measure up to a contrived standard of womanhood. Although, having not passionately ascribed to any of the items mentioned on the list, except, smugly, (Knowing) – Number 4: knowing when to try harder and when to walk away, I decided I’d reached a sufficient threshold of knowledge. Moving along!
So, you ask, what did I do on my first day of being an expert?
Ate cheesecake on a bus to Malaysia, obvs.
Birthday Weekend was marked by eating Malaysian cuisine during earth hour in a candlelit restaurant complete with impromptu jazz trio, whizzing up the elevator to the Sky Bridge at the Petronas Towers and exploring the Batu Caves outside Kuala Lumpur.
Decidedly, this was more fun than evaluating a skin-care regimen, deciding which old boyfriend I’d tolerate on facebook, or setting up my own voicemail.