Madame Sunday is a growed up.

So the Madame is on vacation this week.  Not a real one that involves sand and mixed drinks… well, there ARE mixed drinks on this one actually.  I’m spending a nice week at home because I’m turning 30 today!  Double squueeeee!  Normal people like to mark special occasions like this by doing exciting things like climbing a mountain or catching STDs in Mexico but Madames don’t climb mountain and if I’m going to have to take antibiotics after visiting a foreign country it better be some place a lot awesomer than a two-story Senor Frog’s in Cancun.   Also I’m buying myself a new kitchen for my birthday and that’s really the gift that keeps on giving without aching thighs, alcohol poisoning or intestinal parasites.

I'm only wearing a birfday hat because there's cake hiding underneath it.

I’m actually pretty excited about my *cringe* staycation – it’s cheap, I get to be lazy and mediocrity will no doubt ensue.  All of my favorite things!  Triple squee!!  I’m going to eat cake for breakfast, mashed potatoes for lunch and bacon for dinner.  Ahahahahaha just kidding!  I’m drinking my dinner. 

I have no plans other than sleeping late and shopping for shoes and backsplash tile.   I’ll spend my nights out enjoying the “nightlife” of Chattavegas, watching Talladega Nights for the thousandth time and waiting to see if Margaret Cho slips in a pussy joke on Dancing with the Stars.  Welcome to the rest of my life.  I like to live on the edge.  This all may seem quite lame but the good thing about growing up is that you don’t really give a shit anymore about what other people think.   Yippee!!  All the anxiety and worrying that happened at 29 22 are slowly loosening their vice grip on my life...  like my completely irrational fear of using the drive-up tellers at the bank because I can't handle the pressure of putting the correct information in that damn tube with a bunch of cars behind me while I fumble with that one red button and ancient technology that I know I will mess up thereby dropping the tube and with it my money, drivers license, high school transcripts, 5th grade class picture, passport, latest health report and 15 yogurt lids will go rolling into traffic only to be crushed by speeding cars while I have to watch in horror while people behind me honk and curse my very existence.  OR the imaginary underground pneumatic tube monster will somehow steal my deposit en route and then I’ll blame the teller for stealing my money and SAT scores and she’ll point her fake nail at me through that window, squint her Tammy Faye eyes and yell through the microphone that I messed up and to get the hell out of the lane because I’m blocking traffic and I’ll be forced to wait for her in the parking lot until the bank closes and throw down because nobody, I repeat NOBODY, makes a fool of me and steals my cereal box tops without expecting me to come at them like a spider monkey all while that damn underground tube monster giggles in delight at the mayhem he’s created and I don’t like to give him the satisfaction so I DON’T use the drive-thru tellers period.  That goes for pharmacies too.  Fuckers.

But now that I’m 30 all my fears have been wrestled to the ground like demon cobras.  That or I just don’t give a shit anymore about causing a traffic jam at the drive-thru lane (see above above not giving a shit).  I didn’t have a list of cute fun things to accomplish by this date because I would have procrastinated anyway and then I’d be forced to travel to 30 different states within a few days and I’m not fucking Santa Claus and then I’d just feel really shitty about all the things I DIDN’T accomplish rather than how many things I HAVE done.   And I’ve been lucky to have done a lot - I've traveled all over the world, met some amazing people in fabulosity, bought a home and finally figured out that I really should never EVER wear yellow.  Big things.  But, I would have preferred if I had some decent furniture by now.  And knew how to shoot a gun.  And figured out how to fix my hair.  Meh...  I've got time.  

But bigger than any bucket list of my youth, I get to say goodbye to my 20s.  Fare thee well old friend.  We had some good times.  We also had a lot of bad times.  I'll miss your playful abandon but I won't miss all the drama and crippling neuroses (see above) that came with it.   20s are for figuring out who you are so you can actually be that person in your 30s.  If somebody comments that they figured out who they were by like 24 I swear to gawd I'll scissor kick you in the back of the head.  But it's totally fine to tell me I won't know anything until I'm 40.  That kind of condescending attitude is exactly how I talk to people who are 19.  It's the circle of life.

Think I'm gonna put on my favorite Crystal Gayle tshirt, go deposit my grandmother’s $10 birfday check using the drive-thru teller and then go eat some more cake.  

I gonna make this decade my bitch.