Let's be completely honest here. Being almost thirty fucking sucks. Thirty is mocking me like Regina George telling me she likes my bracelet and I really just want to punch her in the vagina.
What's mind fucking me is that ten years ago, when I imagined being thirty, I thought my life would be awesome. Like Justin Beiber getting shipwrecked on an island full of horny monkeys kind of awesome. Instead, it's not. My life is typical and normal. And that makes me want to take a Whitney Houston bath.
The worst part is the desperation I feel. I'm so desperate for a job that I don't hate that I sit at work and fantasize about sticking my hand down the garbage disposal at work and then making those cunts pay for me to go back to school to learn a trade that only requires one hand. But the jokes on them because of course I'd pocket the money and go into fetish porn. I'm almost thirty, not a moron.
Also dating has seriously caused me to up my meds. It seems irresponsible to troll on the 25 year olds with hopes and dreams because I left mine at a bar somewhere in 2008 and no one bothered to return them. But the 40 somethings wanting someone to procreate with or at the very least adopt a puppy with aren't going to appreciate pulling me out of a gutter at 6:30 pm on a Sunday. Also that ain't puppy vomit in your bed...my bad.
The worst part is that I feel like I have to try. Actually brush my hair and wear my bra that nails it and get the cat and dog hair off my clothes before I meet disappointment number 87. Also in the middle of writing this I discovered a water bug in the bathroom, completely list my shit, sprayed Raid everywhere and screamed until my roommate disposed of the body. Proof that I am completely undateable. But I digress.
So now that I've accepted I have to put some effort into it, I've also discovered that I am an acquired taste. It's been rough to accept but I am not everyone's jam. My first huge bitch slap of reality came on a date with singularly the most attractive male I've ever shared a close space with. He works on a boat, has sailor tattoos, drives a Harley he custom built, and did not want to penetrate me. That mother fucker. His disinterest was infuriating and also made me want to super ugly cry in front of strangers so everyone felt as bad as I did. But because I'm classy, I pretended I didn't give a shit and flirted with a guy at the bar who smelled like milk. WINNING.
It's also weird when I'm not into the date but Mr. Enthusiastic has already named the golden retriever Dave and is trying to hold my hand under the table. Jesus take the wheel and drive this god damn thing off a cliff. The 25 year old me would've laughed and walked out. But now I get all weird and try to give people a chance and kumbayah and all of that bullshit.
The truth is I'm a hot mess. I have a horrible temper, I say whatever pops into my head, I'm withholding but I need a lot of attention and I don't trust anyone. But once you get past all that, you should probably know that I make some life changing chicken and shrimp tacos, I know how to pour a beer correctly and open a bottle of wine while walking , and I like to solve arguments while naked.
Tell all your friends.
