30 Proper Funny Things That Sort Of Happened When I Hit The Big 3-OH…

There comes a time in life when we reach that dreaded age; that age that once-upon-a-decade ago seemed a million years away; that age that once seemed so insignificant and unintended for you, you never thought it would actually come around. It suddenly becomes a reality though, and doesn’t just creep up on you, but hits you smack-bang in the face, sometimes without you even realising. It’s the age at which we are “supposed” (and I used that term very, very loosely) to grow up. It’s the age where we are inclined to follow in the footpaths of our peers and leave the days of debauchery, stupidity, bad mistakes, terrible life choices, even worse relationship choices and countless drunken weekends (or weeks in my case) behind us, to adopt a lifestyle of maturity, focus, drive and determination; a time to settle down and think about the future; a time to shake all those insecurities of the last decade off and start a fresh, with new perspectives and a “who actually cares about this shit” attitude. It is, my friends, what we ‘over the hill-ers’ like to affectionately and adoringly call, “The Dirty Thirties”.

I became a fully fledged member of this club (after succeeding in not killing myself or mistakenly taking an ‘overdose’ three years previous which would’ve seen me joining the likes of Janis Joplin, Amy Winehouse and Jimi Hendrix in the much sought after 27-club…but I digress) on Friday 14th August (yes you can laugh, yes I was born in the 80’s…but boy was it a great time to be born – you youngsters will never know what it was like to grow up without a mobile phone; where knocking on someone’s door to see if they were allowed to ‘play out’ was actually a thing back then. And believe me…it was the ONLY thing), and what a celebration it was. From a surprise party organised for me by my wonderful family, to an hilarious 90’s fancy dress shindig spent with the best friends a girl could wish for, my induction into the 30’s hall of fame could not have been better.

Therefore, in order to give you an insight into just what you’re missing out on, or…just what you could possibly be in store for when you finally cross that threshold into the dark realms of ‘real adulthood’, I’ve compiled a list of 30 things that kinda, sorta, might’ve happened to me as soon as that clock struck midnight and I turned….gulp…30!! Better get the vodka out, it could get messy…

(Warning: some of these points may have been exaggerated ever so slightly; as I have always stated: can’t let the truth get in the way of a good blog post now, can we?)

I suffered from a three day hangover. Yep, that’s THREE GOD DAMN DAYS! How does that shit even happen? I’ll tell you how it happens: you start drinking on a Friday, don’t go to bed till 4am.; you then get up on a Saturday (hungover day 1) and attempt to eat your own body weight in scrambled eggs on toast and then begin drinking AGAIN at 4pm and don’t go to bed till around 4am. You THEN wake on a Sunday (hungover day 2) and attempt to go about normal life, have a glass of wine around 3pm and go to bed at midnight. What ensues is an almighty bad-fricking mood for the whole of Monday (hungover day 3), which results in…
…sleeping for around two and a half hours as soon as you come home from work and feeling like your world might just cave in; experiencing paranoid thoughts about how you might have pneumonia or meningitis or some other horrific disease that you think could be attributed to the weekend’s celebrations; which resulted in…
…arguing BADLY (and when I say badly, I mean, VERY badly – think catty, bitchy, name-calling, raised-voices, kind of badly) with my mum. Not cool.
I realised how many special people I have in my life and just how lucky I am to be surrounded by people who genuinely care for me. I might not always show it, but appreciation rocks!
Immaturity reared it’s mischievous little head again and I acted sillier than I did when I was 21. Turning 30 is great!
I realised and came to the conclusion that a lot of things I worry about don’t really matter and I should try and let them pass over me like water off a duck’s back.
I’d rather have good health, a decent lifestyle (and by this I of course mean, TRAVEL), and spend my money on more worthwhile activities than frittering it away and bothering myself with having 28 different outfits to choose from to wear to the office, or 79 shades of the same nail varnish. Like, what does it even matter if I wear the same skirt for a week? I do shower, you know.
I am more determined to eat sensibly (note that I haven’t used the word ‘healthy’ here, as I already strive to do this) and exercise regularly than I ever have been before. As previous blogs have mentioned, exercise and diet are part of my DNA; they’re ingrained into my lifestyle. As I begin to get older I have found that I’m more concerned about my muscle tone and the state of my insides, rather than my aesthetic appearance and whether or not my ribs jut out further than those of a Paris Fashion Week model who’s been living off Diet Coke and fags for the last 16 weeks. If I want cake, I will bloody well eat cake. And lots of it (I just have to make sure I kick ass in the gym the following day).
I became more focused on my dreams and finally had that lightbulb moment; the one I’d been waiting for for a long time. I now know what it is I want to pursue in life and I am determined to achieve it, at all costs!
Echoing the sentiments in el pointo numero fivo: I am still getting drunk and still acting like a youngster. I don’t think much will change in the next few years to be honest.
Unfortunately (and this may be down to the fact I’ve experienced a lot of upheaval and had some obstacles to conquer in the last two months), I realised that I am still pretty selfish and self-involved. I’ve only ever had myself to look out for, so the prospect of potentially having to look out for other people and consider other people in the future, ie, when I have kids and a family, frightens and worries the life out of me. I don’t know how I’d ever cope, I mean, I can’t even find time to brush my hair or make a decent meal for myself, let alone change a shitty nappy or run a household. Good job point number 10 still stands then, eh?
Sacrificing exercise, giving-up blogging, refusing overtime at work and neglecting to promote and further my writing career is JUST. NOT. AN. OPTION. at the moment. If I have to see my friends a little less often than I’d like and spend less time relaxing, then so be it.
Growing-up (is 30 REALLY a grown-up age? Like, reeeeaaally???) doesn’t have to be an option straight away. I mean, plenty of 30 yesr-olds, shit, plenty of 40 year-olds haven’t mastered the ‘growing-up’ thing, and so what? Does it matter? It’s not something that miraculously happened to me once I left my 20’s behind. I still have no clue on how to do life properly but I’m doing what I think is right for me…at this moment in time…and it’s kind of working. I think.
I now truly and utterly believe that “Life is nothing but a game – it’s all about how much fun you can have playing it that counts” (Quote by me, cos I ain’t found anything on Google Search that tells me this has been said by anyone else before, so I own it, bitch).
I started sprouting hairs in really weird places – my chin, my belly, coming out of my nose…it’s a fucking travesty.
I became insanely proud of my Northern roots (always was, but hitting 30 seemed to heighten that sense of Northern Pride). I honesty believe than an accent is one of the most endearing things a person can possess. Am stickin’ wi mine like glue, me, I tell thee.
I still haven’t mastered the art of downloading films or TV series. I cannot bring myself to search for torrents, or sites that bring up loads of pop-ups, or crash just as Man City are about to score a goal and you end up missing the rest of the match (one: it’s illegal, and two: it’s morally and ethically wrong…erm…sooooo…yeah, that’s the main reason…ahem). Nor can I subject my already decaying laptop to a lifetime’s worth of viruses for the sake of watching and hoping (more like praying to all the Gods) that Jon Snow will properly get his kit off in Season 5 of Game of Thrones (and don’t tell me what happens ‘cos I still haven’t watched it yet…I’m scared of technology…waaaa).
Believe it or not, the wrinkles didn’t appear overnight like I assumed they would. Nope, they have in fact been there for years already, along with the crows feet and what everyone likes to call my, ‘frown lines’. I prefer to think of them as ‘laughter lines’ though, chortle, chortle.
Certain song lyrics took on a whole new meaning, like, a REALLY, REALLY new meaning. I found deep and meaningful sentiments in some verses when I really listened and tuned into the lyrics and tried to put myself in the artists frame of mind. For example, Ask by The Smiths…nah, I already know what that’s about, bloody love The Smiths, me, don’t I?! But seriously, even just re-listening to my old Take That albums and playing Everything Changes and hearing the lyrics: ” The rumour’s true, you know that there’ve been others”, resulted in that dawning that every person experiences at some point or other; that moment when you go: “Oh my god, so that’s what that song was about…bloody hell…how have I only just got that…?” This actually happened to me a few years back while re-playing Whatever People Say I Am That’s What I’m Not. How did I NOT grasp the fact that Alex Turner was referring to prostitution in the song, When The Sun Goes Down…? I mean, COME ON. Highly embarrassing and certainly got a few laughs from my mates.
I finally cottoned-on to some of the anecdotes my parents told when I was younger, and was finally able to grasp the comedy and concept behind many a family gathering or ‘in-joke’ that only ‘adults’ are capable of digesting. And you know what? There’s pretty much nothing to grasp, apart from the fact that no adult really has a clue what they’re doing, they’re all just winging it and hoping for the best.
My friends are turning into their parents; they’re buying houses and talking about politics and childcare, and discussing DIY and….AND…they’re enjoying talking about DIY: “Oooh, Claire, look at this new cabinet I saw in that cute little pop-up shop in town the other day; it’d look reet nice in the back bedroom.” And you know what, I’m even starting to enjoy talking about all that stuff too. Me…the great independent, the traveller, the soul searcher! Can you blame me though? It’s much more interesting than what’s happening on TOWIE or Keeping up With The God awful Kardashians. We are all slowly morphing into mini versions of our elders. It’s fucking scary.
I properly learned how to multi-task. Like, properly. I can now Facebook, Tweet, Instagram and check my emails at the same time as getting ready for work, making my breakfast, driving…I mean…travelling to work, making my dinner, watching TV and…even in my sleep sometimes too. Impressive.
I actually think I became more flirty overnight. Do not ask me how or why as I really have no clue…but it definitely happened.
I took a liking to Olives. Yep, you heard me, Olives. Apparently that’s what happens when you get old.
I still cannot take a Gin shot without screwing my face into something that looks like it might have popped out of a scene from one of Ridley Scott’s Alien Films; Sigourny Weaver ain’t seen shit till she’s seen me necking straight Gin.
I became ‘slightly’ more tolerant of the younger generation’s conversations and ramblings. In a sentimental kind of way, I can remember being that age and can see a lot of myself in some of the youngsters of today – naive, stupid, gobby, opinionated, thinking they know it all…I could go on…teehee…
Turning on Radio 1 makes me cringe. Seriously, give me Ken Bruce or Jeremy Vine, Jo Whiley or Shaun Keaveny any day of the week. And to think, I used to swear by Radio 1. Sad times.
Hiking, trekking and going for proper long walks actually appeal to me. No, really, they do. Getting up at 5:30am to go for a run though…hmmm…not so much.
I’d rather spend£25 on a bottle of really, really decent wine than £10 on three bottles that taste and smell like cat piss.
I became aware of just how much I tend to swear in everyday conversations. And even though I ‘try’ to make a conscious effort not to eff and blind in every other sentence I utter, I still, to this day, love a good fucking expletive.