I hate my 30’s.

For those of you who didn’t know because I never bothered to tell you, I turned 30 last week, which means I’m only 60 years and 7 houses away from becoming John McCain. Which is depressing. So, as you can probably imagine, I’ve spent the morning doing what any person facing their own mortality square in the face would do – trying to catch my breath in between sobbing.

But otherwise, how am I doing? I’m glad you asked. Here’s how things are going for me lately:

  • Prostate appears to be three times larger than I remember.
  • Drove to work with my left turn signal on the entire time.
  • Feelin’ crochety.
  • Sudden boost in admiration for Pat Boone.
  • Eating at Denny’s a lot more lately.
  • When asked what food I wanted for my company birthday party, picked pie.
  • Wearing comfortable shoes.
  • All of my joints ache.
  • Sudden craving for prune juice.
  • DVRing Monk.
  • Suddenly know how to crochet.
  • Wish my neighbor would turn that damn music down.
  • Growing hair out of my ears.
  • Thinking about getting an Escalade.
  • Decalcifying.
  • Making a strange creaking noise whenever I move.
  • Starting to fondly reminisce on how much better things used to be.
  • Becoming a frequent commenter on the Bismarck Tribune website.
  • Brought a bag of prunes to work, for snacking.
  • Spending more time staring helplessly at the TV remote, trying to figure out how to make it work.
  • Stopping at yellow lights.
  • Shaking my boney fist at more things lately.
  • Wheel of Fortune suddenly more entertaining.

I think you get the idea. All I can say to my friends and family is that I’m terribly sorry that I went and got old like I have. It was a mistake and I regret it. But rest assurred, this is the very last time I intend to ever turn thirty. Scout’s honor.

But when I turn thirty-one next year, holy crap am I ever gonna bitch about it.

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