Thirty and Flirty and Thriving
Thirty is the best, I'm convinced of it. I understand the whole plot line of Jennifer Garner's crappy movie titled "13 Going on 30". Well, almost the entire plot line-magical wishing powder? huh??
That aside, let's be real-very few of us look back at our awkward teenage years with longing or with fondness. If you do, you were probably one of the popular kids and well..screw you. I'd sit down to a steaming platter of pig shit before I'd volunteer to be thirteen again. Mmmm..is that pig shit?...delish! Pass me a fork. Or a spoon. I'm not sure what utensil is best suited to manure. Thirteen was the age that it became undeniable to me, though probably not to my mother, that I didn't fit in. Anywhere. With anyone. When I did manage to wriggle into a group of girls, it felt false or temporary to me. Wanna hear a sad tale? Of course you do.
In eighth grade, a couple of girls from school invited me to go Christmas dress shopping with them at the local mall. Armed with money from our parents, we got dropped off to shop like actual teenagers. Well, these two gal pals handed me a dress and nudged me towards a fitting room. "Suzie, this is gonna look so great on you! Try it on!". I closed the door behind me, put on the crushed velvet tiered dress and jumped out of the stall, arms extended with an obnoxious "WELL?! Whatdya think?" I glanced around...dropped my scrawny arms to my sides...I was alone. The salesgirl, maybe in her early 20's, put her arm around my shoulder and said "They took off." she sighed "because they're bitches." I bit the inside of my lips to stop from crying, I dug out a quarter and schlepped to the nearest payphone. When I heard my dad's voice on the other end, I cried like my femur was broken and he picked me up in record breaking time. While I waited outside the drugstore for him, the bitches caught up with me. They were snickering and sucking back slushies, trying to convince me that they were just messing with me. Why was I such a baby? This little part of me, this part of me that still exists, knew the salesgirl was bang on. These girls were bitches. I'm not sure what I said to them, probably just that my dad was on his way and I wanted to go home. What I wish I'd said was "Fuck you." Even then, I knew that thirty year old's don't have to deal with this nonsense, they're too busy developing fascinating lives.
In my teenage years, and well beyond them too, I never had the confidence to believe that I could make the best decisions for me. I constantly looked to other people, my mom in particular, to guide my choices. I begged a college friend to help me decide if I should date a particular guy or not. We made a kick-ass pros and cons list. I'm glad I dated him, I ended up marrying him. Once married, we bought a tiny condo in Toronto and stood in the paint section at Home Depot. We were overwhelmed by the selection and my first instinct was to grab a handful of chips and drive 20 minutes to see my mother. "If I don't, I'll pick a bad colour. Everyone will hate it!" What I meant was 'she'll hate it'. Tim laughed at me and insisted that WE pick a colour for OUR own home. I manned up and picked a colour we both loved. Sure, we showed it to a friend of ours who was a graphic designer before committing to the gallon, but it was our decision in the end. I'll always love the colour "Rhino" by Benjamin Moore because I swear that making that choice was a definitive moment for me. It bolstered my confidence, helped me feel like a grown up.
Since turning thirty, I've come into my own. I'm living as unabashedly and honestly as I can, it's amazing how freeing it is to realize that you aren't required to give a damn about everyone's elses thoughts of you. I'm finally able to say "This is my house. My family. My life. I'm capable of making good calls for us." I know now that not everyone has to like me, I certainly don't like everyone. The world is full of asshats. I'll remind my kids of this when they're dragging themselves through the muck and mire of adolescence. I'll tell them to hang in there because, while it feels hopelessly long, they'll be thirty before they know it. I suspect there's something magical about this age, I don't know what clicked exactly but I'm finally just as I imagined I would be; thirty and flirty and thriving.
*I've linked this post up with the one, the only, YeahWrite. Get yourself a coffee and click on the link below for some good reads. Voting opens on Thursday, you can vote for a handful of your faves.
http://yeahwrite.me/55-open-challenge/
That aside, let's be real-very few of us look back at our awkward teenage years with longing or with fondness. If you do, you were probably one of the popular kids and well..screw you. I'd sit down to a steaming platter of pig shit before I'd volunteer to be thirteen again. Mmmm..is that pig shit?...delish! Pass me a fork. Or a spoon. I'm not sure what utensil is best suited to manure. Thirteen was the age that it became undeniable to me, though probably not to my mother, that I didn't fit in. Anywhere. With anyone. When I did manage to wriggle into a group of girls, it felt false or temporary to me. Wanna hear a sad tale? Of course you do.
In eighth grade, a couple of girls from school invited me to go Christmas dress shopping with them at the local mall. Armed with money from our parents, we got dropped off to shop like actual teenagers. Well, these two gal pals handed me a dress and nudged me towards a fitting room. "Suzie, this is gonna look so great on you! Try it on!". I closed the door behind me, put on the crushed velvet tiered dress and jumped out of the stall, arms extended with an obnoxious "WELL?! Whatdya think?" I glanced around...dropped my scrawny arms to my sides...I was alone. The salesgirl, maybe in her early 20's, put her arm around my shoulder and said "They took off." she sighed "because they're bitches." I bit the inside of my lips to stop from crying, I dug out a quarter and schlepped to the nearest payphone. When I heard my dad's voice on the other end, I cried like my femur was broken and he picked me up in record breaking time. While I waited outside the drugstore for him, the bitches caught up with me. They were snickering and sucking back slushies, trying to convince me that they were just messing with me. Why was I such a baby? This little part of me, this part of me that still exists, knew the salesgirl was bang on. These girls were bitches. I'm not sure what I said to them, probably just that my dad was on his way and I wanted to go home. What I wish I'd said was "Fuck you." Even then, I knew that thirty year old's don't have to deal with this nonsense, they're too busy developing fascinating lives.
In my teenage years, and well beyond them too, I never had the confidence to believe that I could make the best decisions for me. I constantly looked to other people, my mom in particular, to guide my choices. I begged a college friend to help me decide if I should date a particular guy or not. We made a kick-ass pros and cons list. I'm glad I dated him, I ended up marrying him. Once married, we bought a tiny condo in Toronto and stood in the paint section at Home Depot. We were overwhelmed by the selection and my first instinct was to grab a handful of chips and drive 20 minutes to see my mother. "If I don't, I'll pick a bad colour. Everyone will hate it!" What I meant was 'she'll hate it'. Tim laughed at me and insisted that WE pick a colour for OUR own home. I manned up and picked a colour we both loved. Sure, we showed it to a friend of ours who was a graphic designer before committing to the gallon, but it was our decision in the end. I'll always love the colour "Rhino" by Benjamin Moore because I swear that making that choice was a definitive moment for me. It bolstered my confidence, helped me feel like a grown up.
Since turning thirty, I've come into my own. I'm living as unabashedly and honestly as I can, it's amazing how freeing it is to realize that you aren't required to give a damn about everyone's elses thoughts of you. I'm finally able to say "This is my house. My family. My life. I'm capable of making good calls for us." I know now that not everyone has to like me, I certainly don't like everyone. The world is full of asshats. I'll remind my kids of this when they're dragging themselves through the muck and mire of adolescence. I'll tell them to hang in there because, while it feels hopelessly long, they'll be thirty before they know it. I suspect there's something magical about this age, I don't know what clicked exactly but I'm finally just as I imagined I would be; thirty and flirty and thriving.
*I've linked this post up with the one, the only, YeahWrite. Get yourself a coffee and click on the link below for some good reads. Voting opens on Thursday, you can vote for a handful of your faves.
http://yeahwrite.me/55-open-challenge/
I totally relate to this post. I came across quite a few bitches in school, needed my mothers affirmation for everything, and now, at 30 finally kinda feel like a grown up.
ReplyDeleteAnd you eat manure with a spork.
Thanks!
ReplyDeleteI can relate to this post so much! I remember buying a photo album once and being really unsure of myself because it had this batik cover and it wasn't like anything else I owned, but I loved it. And yet, I had to ask myself if I even *could* love it since it wasn't remotely flowery or pastel. Then I realized I don't even like flowery pastels...that was just something someone told me about myself once in high school. I probably sound insane right now, but it was a big moment!
ReplyDeleteI'm so glad you're embracing thirty!
No, you don't sound insane. I completely understand! It's amazing how the labels that other people paste on you can affect how you think about yourself. Turns out you're a batik-loving girl! Thanks for reading.
ReplyDeleteThose bitches!! Oh, it makes me cringe thinking back on my own run-ins with their Australia counterparts...
ReplyDeleteHooray for 30 and wisdom and decisiveness.
yes the world is full of asshats! I hope those mean bitches are fat and unhappy now!
ReplyDelete"If you do, you were probably one of the popular kids and well..screw you." Ha!
ReplyDeleteawesome post. my 30's (almost over- OMG!) have been the best years of my life. some of the darkest times, too, but overall, the absolute best years of my life.
ReplyDeletei'm so glad that salesgirl was there for you- and sorry that happened. stupid bitches.
I'm older than you, and so I find your post refreshing in that you are happy to reach your 30's. I've been getting a bit tired of hearing 30 somethings talk about how old they feel. Wait another decade and suddenly you won't feel so old. Enjoy your 30's, savor them. Don't bemoan your age. I like your post for that.
ReplyDeleteI'm 37 and can honestly say that, while not always "easy," my thirties have definitely been the most emotionally stable decade of my life (not counting birth to 10, that is). My twenties were a mixed back of fun, heartbreak, and emotional upheaval, and my teens were... well, my teens. In my thirties, I've gotten married, become a mother, and learned to feel comfortable in my own skin. Given that, I'm actually looking forward to what my forties might bring. :)
ReplyDeleteAw, I'm sorry! Those girls ARE bitches. I hope the 30s are good - I'm looking forward to mine!
ReplyDeleteAwesome, awesome post. I hate those girls that did that to you. I knew girls like that. And I swear one day they'll feel exactly like you did that day, and they'll regret doing that to you. Or maybe they won't because they're probably still bitches.
ReplyDeleteI can't wait until thirty! I made a vow at 29 to start living life for ME and not everyone else. Nearly a month in to my 29th year and my vow has not yet been broken. I'm pretty proud of that.
Ugh. Evil. Pure evil. I hope karma was a biotch to those girls. You certainly got what you deserved-- a life lived on your terms with joy and love. Way to show them, Erin
ReplyDeleteI don't look forward to the teenage years with my daughter. The boys took it in stride. My oldest never had a care to be popular and my middle guy is going to struggle. I try to tell them that :
ReplyDelete1. We aren't rich
2. They aren't terribly athletic and certainly too small for football or basketball.
3. They aren't the most beautiful kids in the eyes of others.
4. They are smart
Basically unless you are in the top 5 for rich, athletic, or pretty... There is always going to be someone trying to climb over you to the popular crowd. So be smart and be happy in your skin.
WG
http://itsmynd.com
Glad you found your comfort level. I believe that what goes around comes around - those bitches probably haven't changed much and still act like teenagers now.
ReplyDeleteI'm happy for you, embracing 30 with satisfaction. Probably schooling was different here in Malaysia. There are occasional bullies, but no big bullies. As we grow older, we addressed our childish behaviours and became friend...
ReplyDeleteI can absolutely relate to this post. I remember in grade 8 my *friends* coming up with an elaborate plan so they could "take me down a peg or two." I'm so glad you are embracing your 30s :) They're great!
ReplyDeleteI'd also rather eat pig shit for breakfast, lunch and dinner than be thirteen again for five minutes. Enjoy your thirties; forties are even better!
ReplyDelete8th grade, bitches, malls... Yup, sounds about right. That was a shitty thing for them to do. 13 was horrible because even though you know you shouldn't care, even though every grown up says for you NOT to care, you DO care what people think of you. That's why it hurts so damn much. Good for you for getting comfortable. I'm about to turn 36 - seriously, this is the best decade yet. I figure 40s will be amazing.
ReplyDeleteI had many a run in with those types of girls when I was younger. It killed my self esteem for so many years. I so hope that karma truly is a bitch and those girls are now fat and bald. Wait, give me a second...I'm picturing that in my mind......ahhhhhh :)
ReplyDeleteSo there are a few good things that come with age I guess...not that I don't fondly look back on my 20s, completely lack of self-confidence and all...great story. I'm curious about the color "Rhino"; is it a gray?
ReplyDeleteThat experience was what I always dreaded - and part of my loner personality. That said, I think a lot of us have been the bitch sometimes without knowing it. (Sound like those girls knew it!)
ReplyDeleteI hope you eventually found an awesome dress!
I can relate to almost all of this. Since I am a few years from thirty, I can now look forward to that year because of this new perspective. I agree that I wouldn't go back to thirteen. Or fifteen. Or eighteen. There aren't many good memories about those years, and I'm not sure if I'd be the same person today if I changed even one mistake back then.
ReplyDeleteAww, well good for you. Kids can be so mean! I'm glad you're happy now and sound to be doing wonderfully. :)
ReplyDeleteGreat post. You were obviously mature beyond your years. Much like Jenna Rink.
ReplyDeleteSuzie..I think you are pretty blessed to have discovered yourself at thirty...for some of us it has taken a lot longer!!
ReplyDeleteHaha! Fun reading, Suzie!
ReplyDeleteThirty is when it's coming together, eh? I'm just turning 46 and I can barely remember turning 30! But considering how much I screwed up my 20s, I do recall kinda getting my shit together in the next decade - otherwise, I wouldn't be where I am today! (she says with confidence ;-)
Cheers to any age where we get to choose, live and love.
Jo xo
http://www.jobennett.com