Twenty-ten

Yesterday, I celebrated my 30th birthday. My friend S likes to call thirty, twenty-ten, the magical number that follows twenty-nine. Frankly, when she first mentioned this term, I did not understand what she was saying. I thought it was like an option "do you want to be twenty or ten?"

Because I am pretty focused on my marathon training, I thought it be best to hold off on any rated R (okay really PG13) partying. That is not to say that I did not revel in my special day.

I started off my birthday extravaganza by reminding everyone that is was going to be my birthday through a mass e-mail. I, also, called my father to remind him. Normally, that was my mother's job, but the past few years she has given up the nagging. I think she is vying for the "favorite parent award." So on Friday, I said,"Hey Dad, don't forget my birthday is on Sunday. I am going to turn 30." To which he replied, " I didn't forget. I saw your mother going to the post office yesterday, and I asked her if I could go too, and she said no. I couldn't figure out why and then I remembered your birthday was coming. Did I tell you your mom is sneaky?"

On the actual day itself, as I was coming back from my run, I ran into A in front of my house. She had come over to deliver my birthday tree as promised. It was hand-crafted; twigs bundled together with wire and ribbon with gold bows at the ends. I put it in a terra cotta pot and added some egg shaped ornaments.

I had a few errands to run, so I showered and dressed in denim capris, a t-shirt and a hooded sweatshirt. Although the sun was shining, the cool breeze made the hairs rise on my semi-exposed mid drift. Perhaps I should have gone back to get a jacket, but I did not feel like it.

As I was walking up Harvard Ave, I came upon Rubin's deli. I had already eaten lunch, but the smell of cured meats intrigued me. I went in and to buy a hot dog for an afternoon snack. After some witty banter, the nice deliman said "The dog's on us, sweetheart."

Later that day, I was in a day spa, getting years of aged skin exfoliated off my body. When the attendant, turned on the vichy shower, I giggled because one of the jets was directly pointed at my right butt cheek. The giggling continued when she put the high pressure hose on me. The water tickled as scrubbed off the mud from my belly.

Refreshed from my day spa experience, I stayed in Harvard Square and walked into the new stationery store on Mass Ave. Called Bob Slate. I was a little overwhelmed by the amount of cute things they had. With sensory overload, I walked out having only bought a blue glittery gelly roll pen. Maybe I would spice up my lab notebook.

I wolfed down my Korean take-out while watching "Hanna Montana" the newest Disney channel original series. W and L took me out for ice cream at Cold Stone Creamery that night. I had strawberries mixed in with a banana base, delicious. I, also, made W tip the scoopers. For those of you not in the know, if you tip someone at Cold Stone, the workers are required to sing you a song. Unfortunately, we got a very unenthusiastic round of "thank you for your tip" to the tune of "row row row your boat." I enjoyed it anyway.

Back at home, my roommates (plus one boyfriend) baked me a cake, and got me a pretty bouquet of flowers. They even gave me the end piece and did not adulterate its vanilla goodness with frosting.

So lets recap:
acted like a twenty year old

• dressed inappropriately
• flirted with deli man
• giggled at day spa
• ate cake with roommates

acted like a ten year old:

• announced birthday to the world
• received arts and craft gift
• bought glittery pen
• watched Disney channel
• amused by workers singing

Hmmmm..... twenty or ten? Just can't choose. Wonder when I'll start acting thirty?