|Your author in her 'yute'.|
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?