I was pretty adamant about having a low key Birthday this year. I mean, I’m 26 now, which is closer to 30 than it is to 20 and I figure by 30 I’m supposed to have my act together and whatever, so the last thing I wanted was to blow into 26 like the hot mess I was at 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25….
So, I didn’t. I didn’t make plans and I didn’t set expectations. I simply put on a costume, got kind of pre-drunk with my Mom, and then went downtown to do god knows what and not give two hoots.
It wasn’t until I woke up the next morning that I spotted the differences. In my mind, my birthday was great! I didn’t get arrested, my falsies stayed on, I didn’t cry and I remembered the entire thing. It’s a sad day when those are the things you base a good birthday on, but there you have it. I woke up 26 and one day and I was impressed with myself (if you remember my 25th birthday post, you’ll remember that I woke up the morning after my birthday to a cell phone that had been cut off because I hadn’t paid my bill for four months and a half eaten Big Mac beside me on my pillow – progress).
Then I got onto the Greyhound bus and thought about my night through the entire ride. Turns out, that without doing so on purpose, I did a lot of things on my 26th birthday that indicated I was actually getting older.
I wore Spanx for the first time. Granted, I borrowed them from my Mom and mostly because the sequins on my dress were really scratchy, but I’m not making excuses. I totally looked like I had Beyonce curves for a night so I don’t even care. I’ll spanx it any day.
I went to a bar alone. Kind of. I had a friend working there. But for the first 15 minutes before he joined me I was just standing there awkwardly in my costume by myself, chugging wine in the corner, feeling strangely smug of the independant progress I’d made over the last year.
I text my high school boyfriend and told him for the tenth birthday in a row that I was SO
done. (But I totally meant it this time, which indicates maturity or something of the like, right?)
I didn’t eat McDonalds. In fact, I left the house at 8:30pm and didn’t eat anything until brunch the next day. This is huge. What was huge-r though was my not-so-acute dissapointment in not finding half a cheeseburger in my Marc Jacobs purse. I like to tweet morning-after-McDonald’s pics so that was a bit of a social media let-down.
I Tinder-ed. All over the place. Like I’m pretty sure my finger was swiping left in my sleep last night. This is way more mature than drunk texting because first of all, you don’t know the person and second of all, because you can just block them if you’re so embarassed and never have to face the dreaded no response.
I took my make-up off before I passed out. This…. is the day that pigs fly, my friends.
So that was my 26th birthday. The first birthday in 7 years I haven’t woken up with a wish to start all over. The only thing I regret was not asking for Spanx as a present.
xo & yw