Within My Means

My birthday weekend gluttony.

What's exactly does 'living within one's means' entail?  This is a concept I surely must learn, as money seems to be flying out of my bank account like expletives from Roseanne's mouth (if you haven't watched her new reality show "Roseanne's Nuts", set on a nut farm in Hawaii, you are truly missing a fine piece of mind-numbing television.)  I suppose in simplest terms it means you must only spend what you can afford with your mind always toward savings and the future.  I'm sure Suzy Orman has the phrase tattooed in a tramp-stamp. 

How is it that I can be 30 and still living above my means?  Who do I think I am?  Do I really need a closet of clothes I've only worn a handful of times a piece?  Do I really to pay for a month of tanning to get this terrible farmers tan off my back in time for my beach vacation?  Do I really need a beach vacation after being gone for three months on the Camino?  Do I really need to pay $2300 to fix the dent in my car I got pulling out of the parking lot after watching "Harry Potter" (isn't a dent like a cool scar but for your car)?  Did I really need a birthday facial and pedicure on top of my hotel weekend with the girls?  Do I really need to spend a bit more on the studio apartment in the towers when I can get a one bedroom for less in the villas?  Did I really need that sushi last week?  Or the Jamba Juice today?  Do I really need to buy new trail runners (aren't there people somewhere who just run barefoot)?  Do I really need to fill my life with fun experiences and beautiful things I can't afford? 

The answer is quite frankly, ye--- NO!  I don't need them.  But I really really really really want them!!!

I Deem Thee The Decade of the Bizarro!

Your author in her 'yute'.

Thursday, July 14th, 2011.  The day that will stand in infamy as the day Blackheart turned 10 x 3.  (If you're intoxicated reading this, that's 30.)  As Dylan Thomas wrote, "Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light." Amen, brother.  Why should it be that when we women (and I say "women" because studies show that men don't consider themselves old until 58, while woman consider themselves old at 30... gross) are supposed to suddenly feel that our youth is past us when we click over to this fine decade?  Youth is relative.  Working in elderly facilities, I have overheard 90-year-olds call 60-year-olds "kids."  If I live to be 109 like my great grandmother, that means I will be a kid until I turn 80! 

Now, I'm not saying to hell with maturity.  Maturity is a fine institution.  I'm simply expressing a simple truth - that turning 30 is not, and never will be, "old."  "Old" is wearing adult diapers and watching "Wheel of Fortune" with the volume turned to full blast, while your dinner gets fed to you with a straw.  30 is simply a bench marker.  It says, "I can now afford to have fun"... and "I am good in bed" (practice makes perfect)... and "I can discuss books and theater and politics without sounding like a naive, pretentious ass."  30 is a badge of honor, not a cry for help.  My uterus isn't going to suddenly shrivel up and die nor will crows feet attack my face as I lay sleeping, having nightmares about not having yet set up an IRA.

So, what will the 30s hold for Blackheart?  Well, I've decided to deem this "The Decade of the Bizarro."  By that, I mean, I want things to get weird.  Really weird.  I want to try new and wild stuff.  Stuff that seems like a really bad idea at first.  I want to befriend people on the fringe with names like Ursula and Blaze and Dirty Mike.  I want to taste food that freaks me out.  I want to travel to places where crazy sh** goes down.  I want to watch movies that make my eyes pop and my mouth gape open (starting with Trash Film Orgy's midnight film "Humanoids of the Deep".)  I want to say out loud all the weird stuff that pops into my head.  I want to write without censorship.  I want my mind to be blown over and over and over again.  I want magic and fireworks and whimsy.  Your 30s shouldn't be a "slowing down period" or "a time to grow up."  They should be a circus with you in the spotlight wearing a glorious sateen top hat while gripping a lion tamer's whip.

On that note, anyone know where I can by a sateen top hat?