So far, I think I’m more or less okay with this whole “being 30” thing. (It’s not like I have a choice in the matter, after all.)
I had a pretty low-key birthday this year, with festivities no more exciting than dinner out with my parents and a phone call afterwards from my sister. I’m still sort of winding down from Detroit, I think, having all but lost track of what day it is. (It is Monday, right?) I think the dog, who shares the same birthday as me and, as it happens, went to the vet for his shots this afternoon, had a more exciting day than me.
Still, the whole getting older, end-of-my-twenties thing? I’m okay with it.
I also thought thirty was no biggie. In fact, the special power you get at thirty of being able to choose not to go out sometimes, despite the hectoring of your peers, is kind of cool.
On the other hand, I don’t recommend that you start figuring out how old you were when this month’s Playmate was born. That way lies depression.
Aren’t you, like, 39? Hehe
Hey Happy Birthday!
Welcome to the ranks of the aged 🙂
I didn’t care about turning 30, but I pretended I did so that people would take me out and get me drunk. Worked beyond my wildest dreams…
Happy day of birth!
I’m a few months shy of 30 but I’ve actually already celebrated my 30th birthday, technically. I count the day of birth as a birthday. I’m anal.
So look at it that way. You just celebrated your 31st birthday. Whoopee.
Happy birthday! Many happy (if belated) returns to you.