My Vagina Shriveled Up and Died Yesterday. You Know, Probably.

You know that saying about things "getting better with age"? You know, like wine and cheese and Angus fucking beef? In case you are in your early 20s and you actually believe that shit, let me assure you that it is a lie.

I turned 30 yesterday. Remember when birthdays were something you looked forward to? Your special day. Let's break down birthdays, shall we?

Ages 1-4:  You had very little say in these birthdays, and you probably don't even remember them, but let me assure you that they were awesome. Your parents went overboard. There were maybe a dozen people you actually gave a shit about, and the novelty of your birthday had not yet worn off for them, so they always showed up. With awesome presents (because, really, what ISN'T awesome when you are 3? Nothing. There is nothing you wouldn't play with. Your guests could show up with 2 pens in a cardboard box and you would have thought that was the greatest gift ever and spent hours playing with your 2 pens). And there were balloons. And cake. Yeah. These birthdays were pretty fucking sweet.

Ages 5-9: At this point, you probably had a favorite something. TV show, cartoon character, whatever. And so your parents would buy paper plates and cups featuring your favorite thing and bags of shitty little plastic toys because it is easy as fuck to make a 7 year old happy. You would have a little party in your house or backyard and everyone would sing Happy Birthday. Then you would eat your body weight in cake and ice cream and drink a gallon of soda. Because you were the birthday girl and no one was going to tell you that you couldn't. And that was just the weekend celebration. A few days before or a few days after, your mom would bring cupcakes and Capri Sun to your school so EVERYONE would know it was your birthday. Cupcakes and Capri Sun are the shit.

Ages 10-13: You probably didn't get cupcakes and Capri Sun days at school anymore, but you still got a party of your choosing. Instead of cake and balloons with family and friends, you invited a few of your school friends over for a "cool" party. It was probably a slumber party. And even though you had that one friend with the overbearing mom who wouldn't let her sleep over your house even though you knew her for half her life, it was still fun. You would play games and dance and do each other's makeup. Slumber parties were awesome.

Ages 14-17: You officially thought you were "too cool/old" for birthday parties. You insisted that no one throw a party for you, even though you secretly hoped they would. And really, you knew they would never actually not throw a party for you. Even if it was just your immediate family with cake and presents, they still made a big enough deal to make you feel special. Even the "too cool" years were fun!

Age 18: You could now buy porn and cigarettes. Which is okay, I guess, but you probably waxed aloud at least once about the fact that your friends should have taken you on a road trip to Canada where you could now legally drink. Since no one was actually going to take you to Canada, you instead took your first trip to the "porn store", where they surprisingly never asked for your ID even after you and your friends spent way too much time giggling. This is also the day that you learned that fisting is actually a thing that people want to happen to them. Enough people that the porn store has a giant fist dildo that must have been in great enough demand that they actually carry such a thing. Fisting. Your 18th birthday is primarily about Canada and fisting.

Ages 19-20: You wish you were 21 already. Maybe you go to an 18-and-over club because you are not yet old enough to realize how utterly awful they are. 18-and-over clubs are like the fisting of your 19th and 20th birthdays. If you learned your lesson at 19, maybe you got your friend's boyfriend with the beard to make a run to the shady liquor store that everyone (except the cops, apparently) knew would sell to you even if you were underage for your 20th birthday. Ill-gotten booze makes your 20th birthday a triumph. A drunken, maybe-someone-will-puke-in-your-house TRIUMPH.

Age 21: YOU ARE OLD ENOUGH TO DRINK NOW. GO TO A BAR. Oh, by the way, bars are expensive. And more than likely, only about half your friends are actually old enough to go with you. The other half are too broke to go. Remember how your 20th birthday was a triumph? Try to recreate that with a house party. Except now YOU can make the liquor run. 21st birthday? SUCCESS. Maybe not what you expected, but a success none the less.

Age 22-24: Keep trying to plan that bar birthday you were hoping for when you turned 21. All your friends are old enough now, but they are all still too broke to pay $8 a pop for drinks. House party? HOUSE PARTY. Several drinks in, every year, without fail, you will realize you do not have any more fun birthdays on the horizon. You are slowly coasting towards 30, aka, the end of your youth. You will cry about this at least one of these years. The other 2 will be awesome.

Age 25: You realize you are now closer to 30 than 20. Fuck. Your friends could probably afford to go out drinking now, but you don't even want to. You remember the 18-and-over club from your 19th birthday and how shitty it was and how much younger everyone was then. You definitely will not be going to a club. Maybe a bar? I don't know... doesn't it seem like clubs are something young people do and bars are something old people do? I guess you are old now. You will probably end up at Applebees with your best friend, drinking watered down sugary drinks and eating half-priced appetizers. This is the absolute LAST year that this is acceptable.

Ages 26-29: You no longer want to celebrate your birthday at all. You still want presents though. You realize that your mom is the only person who has even thought to give you a present in the last 8 years or so, because everyone else was just pooling their money for alcohol. Now you would like some presents, thank you very much. But maybe give them to me some other day? For some other occasion? You know what? Just forget the presents. No need to mark how close I'm getting to 30.

Age 30: Plan something fun/awesome. You have money to do things now and everyone you know insists on commemorating the slaughter of your youth. Eagerly anticipate fun/awesome, right up until a week or so before your birthday. The thoughts of fun/awesome are then clouded over by the thoughts of what am I doing with my life/IS THAT A FUCKING WRINKLE???? Cry daily. Make major life changes/have third-life crisis (yes. Third. I refuse to call it a mid-life crisis. Fuck that. Mid NOTHING).

I can't say my actual birthday was terribly shitty. I mean, I had to work. Because that's another thing about those 18-25 birthdays (especially summer birthdays like mine): You and your friends will ditch work to do fun shit. But I'm fucking 30 now, and so are most of my friends. Bitch got bills to pay and a kid to diaper. No one was ditching work to dick around all afternoon. But after work, Rodolfo took me to dinner and got me a cake (yeah... it IS kinda weird to have a birthday dinner with my estranged husband. I know.). He also got me a really nice present (because only being nice to your wife after she decides to leave you is not weird at all, apparently). And I guess I only cried a little bit. Next weekend, Nadine is taking me out drinking. To a bar. Like proper adults/old people. Because sometimes you have to push your birthday weekend back a bit because of conflicting plans. That is just what grown-ups do.

Anyway. So here I am. 30. Ick. But I survived it.