I'm not a basket case due to my 30th birthday. Weird?

My mother-in-law was the first to be weird about it. “Ya doing anything on your birthday? Of course, I’m sure you don’t want anyone to know that it’s your THIRTIETH BIRTHDAY!!!”

Huh? I’m supposed to forgo cake and, what, hide in my basement because our species happens to have ten fingers?

Then one of my male friends got into this huge discussion with me about how the Biological Clock must really be ticking now, har har. This despite the fact that he knows damn well that my opinion on spawning is that children are Time Consuming and Expensive and I Do Not Want Any.

Then my sister made a huge production out of the “Big Three-Oh” birthday card, and got me a gift certificate to Bath and Bodyworks because “They have a new line of skin care products that reduce the look of fine lines and wrinkles,” ha ha ha.

Ooooookay . . .

[list=a][li]This is my younger sister. Whatever she sows today, she reaps in three years. :dubious: [/li]
[li]This is a total side issue, but I’m wondering if people are trying to tell me that I smell, because my other friend got me some Crabtree and Evelyn soap and matching scented lotion. But maybe this is the kind of gift you give to a woman in HER THIRTIES or something . . .[/li][/list]

I am as completely un-freaked-out about my age as I could possibly be. I think thirty is a pretty excellent age. I am no longer a clueless punk kid, but by no stetch of the imagination am I old. This summer, I hope to escape the eternal hell that is graduate school. I’m finally making grown-up money and have stuff like a decent car and something resembling a professional wardrobe.

Due to losing some weight and getting into a great exercise program I’m also in the best shape I’ve been since I was fourteen. Yes, things are sagging a bit. But I’m still continually astounded by how great my bod looks. I’m concave in places that have been convex for the past fifteen years and I have a level of buffness I haven’t seen since that summer of swim camp 16 years ago.

Yes, I have a few gray hairs here and there. Yes, I have a few “fine lines and wrinkles.” They are a sign of my worldiness and experience, I figger. And the more of those I get, the less often I’ll be mistaken for a student. :smiley:

So hey, I’m thirty and I don’t care who knows about it! I love it! It’s a great age to be! Who’s with me?

I got some cuticle moistuizer and lime-and-coconut scented shower gel with the gift certificate, by the way.

My thirtieth birthday didn’t faze me a bit. Now, my fortieth . . . That was a nasty piece of work.

Egzactly. Why on earth is everbody making a big deal about 30? You ain’t really old till forty, at least.

Apologies, Eve. :slight_smile: You must know that you are more fabulous and glamorous and drop dead gorgeous now than I’ve looked in my entire life, rest assured.

Decimal birthdays are interesting.

Ten is a big deal, but not more of a big deal than any other birthday at that point.

Twenty was a big deal because it meant leaving my teens behind.

Thirty was no big deal. Thirty-three was when I realised I was “in my thirties!” which was a little disconcerting. I felt rather like it had snuck up on me.

I had the realization at my last birthday (thirty-eight) that I am now approaching forty. I suspect it will matter to me far more than thirty ever did.

I turned 30 last September. No big deal. I remember 25 vaguely freaking me, but not too bad.
I don’t expect 31 to be a tough birthday either. We get older. The alternative to that is not attractive to me at this point in time, so I’ll deal with it.

Age is mind over matter…if you don’t mind it doesn’t matter. :slight_smile:

I felt the same way when I turned thirty. I had started my career, I had a shiny new apartment…

If you are feeling good about where your life is then there is no reason to be concerned.

My boyfriend started to complain and worry about how he was “getting old” when he turned 20. Then again when he turned 21. I’m expecting much wailing and gnashing of teeth in about nine years. :rolleyes:

I didn’t notice my 30th birthday (I was busy :wink: ) that much, and in the years since, I’ve kind of lost track of how old I am. I mean, I know what year I was born, but if someone asks me how old I am, I have to run the numbers in my head for a few seconds to come up with my age.

My youngest sister was cool when she turned 30. She said she saw me not caring a bit about turning 40 and took her cue from there. Her friend whose 30th birthday was the day after hers was a whole other frightening story. That girl stayed drunk the entire week, and she’s not a happy drunk.

Happy Birthday!

I don’t even remember what I did for my 30th birthday. What kind of neurotic idiot is upset about birthdays? You get presents. And since the alternative is being dead, birthdays are a positive.

I don’t really like being thirty. I make a much better twenty-somthing guy.

That’s insane - if your location didn’t say Chicago (and you hadn’t mentioned turning 40 - my oldest sib is 35), I’d wonder if you were one of my older siblings. One of my friends turned 30 the day after I did and I think she was drunk for a week.

30 didn’t bother me at all, but 35 does a little. Time running out, abandoned dreams, lowered expectations, all that. I was surprised to see several posts expressing a similar experience.

Thirty bothered m a little bit. I decided I was dressing like a soccer mom and no longer “cool”. So I bought a lot of new trendy clothes and got another tattoo. I fondly remember my 30th birthday because I didn’t go out but stayed home. Around 9pm, I walked up to the corner market and was hooted at by a carful of college kids. It sounds stupid but getting whistled at on my thirtieth birthday made my year.

Of course, now that I’m rapidly approaching forty, I’m gonna have to get an even bigger tattoo and find more college boys to hoot at me…:slight_smile:

I was actually kinda happy to turn 30. I hated being 29. I felt like every time I told someone how old I was they were going to think I was lying and just saying “29”. I also kinda started feeling a bit more like a grown-up. Mind you I didn’t act like one, but sometimes I felt like one.

As a matter of fact 30-34 were some of the very best years of my life. Not saying that 35 is bad, but being in my “mid-thirties” and “heading toward 40” just doesn’t have the same ring as “early thirties”.

I got carded at the liquor store on my thirtieth birthday. I said, “Oh you sweet man, you’ve made my day.” He got a kick out of it too when he saw the date on my ID. I know he was just flirting and he probably did that to every attractive woman but it was still nice.

I was fine with it until about a week before. Then I cancelled my birthday.

I thought I’d be in a different place in my life by the time I hit thirty. I thought I would be a little smarter and would feel more like a grown up. I was disappointed in myself.

There have been so many changes for us in the last 3 years I think the frustration I couldn’t take out on the rest of my life I focused on my birthday instead.

I’m happier now but I still don’t feel like dealing with my birthday. Birthdays are for the kidlets :slight_smile: I feel kinda silly when people want to fuss.

Thirty never worried me. Forty did, slightly, if only because I was expecting my life to be in slightly better shape at forty than it actually was … but I think you can say that for any birthday, really. (Well, I can, anyway.)

I was “almost 30” for a very long time before I turned 30. When it actually happened it was a bit anti-climatic. Let me explain:

For a short time, when I was 26 (four months shy of my 27th birthday) and he was 22, my Kid Brother and I lived together. It’s been rare, since I left home at 18, that we’ve even lived in so much as the same town. But for 6 or so months we shared an apartment, and we also worked at the same place, so we often carpooled.

One day, on the way home from work, we stopped at the Gas`n Sip. We always kept finances separate and as I needed smokes and he needed donuts (we all have our vices), we both went into the store. We were standing in line, waiting behind several people. Kid Brother had been quiet for several minutes. Then he looked at me with the most horrified look I’ve ever seen on his face. It was something between amazement and horror and confusion.

The following conversation then took place:

KB: Oh my God, Sami!

Me: What? (I assumed I was doing something ‘wrong.’ I was a constant source of embarassment for him at the time, so I thought I was again being un-cool, just by being his big sister in public.)

KB: You’re almost 30!

Me: I’m 26.

KB: But you’re closer to 27 than 26, and 27 is closer to 30 than anything else. You’re almost 30.

Me: 27 is closer to 25 than it is to 30.

KB: You round up. That’s the rule.

Me: What rule?

KB: The rule. You’re almost 30.

Me: (not willing to argue): You’re right KB.

KB: (in true form, which by the way, I love about him) Of course I’m right.

So, I was ‘almost 30’ from 26 on, and it became a bit of a joke between Kid Brother and I.

I saw him last in April–4 months shy of his 27th birthday–and I thought I’d turn it around. I mentioned to him that he’s now ‘almost 30’ by his definition. I was succinctly informed that I am now “Well past” 30 (I was 31 years and 3 months at the time). His theory? I’ve been 30+ longer than he’s been ‘almost 30’, therefore I’m ‘well past’ 30.

I’m far too old to argue with a young punk like him, so I took my walker and went home. :wink:

Back to the OP, and sorry for the slight hi-jack, I was none too worried about my actual 30th birthday, but the kids (mostly 22-26 yo) who work for me took it as a chance to get me incredibly drunk. I think they thought 30 was quite a milestone (read: party op).

My 31st birthday was not as big of a deal, to me or anyone else. It was really just another day (that the kids could get me drunk). It’s a damn good thing birthdays only happen once a year.

Happy Birthday! Remember, your only as old as my Kid Brother says you are.

I loved turning 30! Had a huge party. Actually, had three or four parties. :cool:

Turning 29, on the other hand, was tough. I’ve no idea why.