Officially Grown-Up (???)

Today, somewhere in the wee-sma's of the morning, I turned thirty-one.

Since last year this time, I have finished my undergraduate degree, split up with ManCandy and moved in to a little house with my brother, THB. I successfully dodged a bullet in Portland shaped like my friend LB (the last time I let that bullet hit me, it hurt. After 7 years, she can be taught, ladies and gentlemen!). I decided that grad school and teacherhood were not for the nebulous Future, but for Today! And that Portland Shannon-igans are for Tomorrow (which is much closer than the nebulous Future). I moved from a three-bedroom apartment full of 4 years of accumulated stuff to a 9'x9' room, and somewhere along the way I got rid of an entire dumpster-load of stuff. I started going to the gym for real - I know because I'm looking forward to going there tomorrow. I changed my cut-off age for men from THB's birthday (June '84) to MY birthday.

I feel like a grown-up.

And how did I spend the moments between 30 and 31, you ask? Well, at the Sugar Hill Gang concert I went to with friends in Folsom on Saturday night - wait, what? Let me start over. Last night we - THB, his girlfriend K, and some other friends went out to see the Sugar Hill Gang and stick around for 80's night. This is particularly amusing to me because the LAST time I saw SHG was at the Colorado State University Homecoming Week in 1997, also known as my freshman year in college. This is my first year as an undergrad; my life is chock-full of interesting little cycles like that. Anyway, there was an attractive man there whom K said I should go talk to. In keeping with the recently-resurrected Whim Game, I did so, earning myself 3 points. And starting at midnight I earned another 3 by spending the rest of the evening kissing a stranger. Life, my friends, is too short to pass up opportunities to feel that special chill down your spine in the instant before you kiss someone for the first time. Someone who tells you that you have a perfect face and lady's hands. Who doesn't get weird about the goodbyes that mean he's obviously not getting any - even when you frack it up by sending him on his way with no way to get in touch with you, only to see him looking for you moments later as you pull out of the parking lot. The spine-shivers may fade, but the elegant compliments will be treasured for some time to come.

And really, it wasn't bad for a trial run on my (very rusty) charm. I am under strict command by my brother Kai to demand phone numbers and the names of various family-approved punk bands from the next Whim Game Victim I meet.

Someone told me recently that the 30's are when I will really start to understand myself. I think that's already beginning to be the case, and I'm proud of the choices I've been making - even the silly ones.

In the next year, I plan to actually complete the 12-Mile Quest, possibly change my name (don't get all excited, it's not as momentous as it sounds!), work on my 101 in 1001 goals, and most importantly, find my groove, dust it off, and apply it daily.

Happy birthday to me!