The 30th year

The 30th year of my life has begun. I'm not actually 30 - i just turned 29, but, as a friend kindly reminded me in a card she sent from B.C. (along with a really nice hand-blown glass pipe), i am in fact, in the 30th year of my existance. Weird. I'm okay with it, mostly. I don't feel any older, of course (i used to hate it when i was a kid and had a birthday, and adults would invaribly demand if being 9 felt any differnt than being 10. "Of course not!" i'd think "Why am i surrounded by morons??"...okay, okay, i probably didn't think that exactly, but it drove me 'round the twist.

I'm not sure what to do with 29. I was really thinking that i'd start practicing for 30, as i have decided that once i hit 30, i'm going to suscribe to the "my body is a temple" theory. Y'know, microbiotic foods, yoga, no booze (well, how about organic wine only?), no bad sex just for the sake of getting laid, and other such pure, pristine, practices. Although, i'm not off to a good start, as the night after my actual birthday, i got ridiculously drunk with friends on a silly variety of drinks (a decade of legal drinking and i forgot what i learned as an under-ager: "no mixing!"), including sake, beer and shots of something sweet and creamy. I spent the next day vomiting - and not just at home. Oh no, dear readers, i decided to punish myself by convincing my houseguests, who so kindly came by on their way across the country to spend my birthday with me, that i was just fine, and we all walked to the farmer's market together. If you happened to notice someone puking in a somewhat projectile way into the flower planters across from the Four Points Sheridan hotel - yup, you guessed it! Yours Truly. On the walk to pick up my car from where i left it the night before, i had to dump out the chai tea i was attempting to drink, so i could use the cup to barf into....as i walked up Blowers Hill....in the middle of a busy Saturday afternoon. For REAL!!! Talk about immature....