So this is 30

A few months into my 30s -- a mere toe dip into the collective pool of what 10 years ago I would have told you was "scary old" -- I'd like to say I've done some grand philosophical thinking and have come to you today rich with life lessons for all. Like one of those internet memes that crop up on Facebook like the Ebola in the news. "20 Things to Stop Doing in Your 30s," "30 Things Only 30-Somethings Will Understand," "10 Ways to Love Yourself More in Your 30s." All of which I think essentially boil down to one single life lesson for us all: Give less fucks. And stop posting those stupid internet memes on Facebook.

1. Give less fucks: For about a week in the beginning of this new period of my 30s, I somehow got it into my head that I was probably a highly functioning alcoholic. I'd like to tell you that I've since figured out when to say enough is enough (this can also be applied to cookies, burritos, and stopping strangers on the street to pet their puppies) but that would be a lie. I have, however, figured out that hangovers in your 30s fucking suck. C'est la vie.



2. Give less fucks: Did your friend hurt your feelings? Give me a break and give less fucks. Friends are really important and if you've held on to them for this long, you should put in the effort into keeping it that way. Friends are the bomb. I'd be nowhere without my friends. Be a good friend yourself and put a lid on the drama. Be someone others can trust. Know when to keep your damn mouth shut. If you haven't figured out what it means to be a good friend at this age, then you're an asshole. If you're holding on to grudges, you're an asshole. If you're selfish, you're a selfish asshole. Spazz less, love more.



3. Give less fucks: Same goes to your boyfriend/girlfriend/lover/spouse/F buddy. Compromise often. Communicate clearly. Think of them first. Love the shit out of them. Sometimes it's hard. But it's almost always worth it. Some things just aren't worth giving the fucks over. Also you should give them sweet, sweet loving as often as possible because if you are reading this you're probably my mom really bored skewed towards crazy and they might love you anyway.



4. Give less fucks: And for those people who don't fit the above criteria? Give less fucks. Don't waste your energy. You're 30 now, you don't have any energy to spare. You need it for nursing your monstrous hangovers.



5. Give less fucks: Don't worry about the past. Your 20s are tough. They're a time of transition and emotional upheaval and mistakes and years of trying to figure out what the fuck you're supposed to be doing because you're pretty sure it's not THIS but what is this anyway and who are you really and what is your greater calling and why aren't you making any money and where are you supposed to be and how come suddenly your Facebook newsfeed is filled with weddings and babies and houses and dogs? Whatever, dude. You survived that shit. Pat yourself on the back because 30s are here and now you can relax and give less fucks. I experienced more near-death experiences, bodily trauma, and heartbreak in my 20s than many people do in all the decades that follow. But you know what? I learned so much about myself and other people from all that. And I really like the me that was borne from it all. But you better believe that every day I wake up thankful that that shit is behind me. I'm sitting here in my 30s overflowing with so much goddamn love for the people that are surrounding me now because these people rock.


6. Give less fucks: I'm pretty sure I had more super sage advice to give here but I'm so chill right now and giving so few fucks I can't even remember what I was going to say.



7. Oh yeah: Do good by your body. This can mean different things for different people. For me, it usually means getting a lot of exercise. Running, yoga, spinning, anything I can throw myself into fully and work up an awesome sweat. Why? Because it feels awesome when I'm done. I'm able to love myself a little more and give less fucks about all other things. It keeps me sane. It helps me make friends in a city that has become my home. You don't need to be a health nut or exercise freak. I'm just saying you're 30, do something every day that makes you proud of yourself or helps you blow off steam. Keep your body healthy so you can keep that heart ticking for another 60 years or so. I promise you will give so many less fucks. And then you can have the cheeseburger.



8. Give less fucks: That said, your body is your body. If you haven't made peace with it yet, you better pull out the ole' peace pipe and just accept to give less fucks. And if the peace pipe gives you the munchies, have the fucking nachos. Be kind to yourself.



9. Give less fucks: You don't want to go out to the club? Me neither! Having a hard time motivating yourself to leave the house because it's currently 7 degrees with a real feel of -14? Me too! Want to go to bed at 9 p.m.? I'm way ahead of you, sistah! We can give less fucks now. If you want to spend a Saturday night at home journaling about all of your 30-year-old feelings, that's a totally cool thing to do. This time of my life has brought a lot of new self awareness because of the time I've taken for myself. And I think that helps me be a better person to everyone else around me. So go ahead and nap.



10. Give less fucks: Turns out your parents were right all along. Time to give mad props.



I'm not saying I've perfected all of the above points of giving less fucks. Some days I wake up and I'm a real asshole anyway. Sometimes I'm selfish. Sometimes I send myself on a downward emotional spiral that often ends with me panicked over dying alone and childless with no real accomplishments to my name save for the fact that it seems like people love it when I write about my #vaginaproblems on the internet. Less vagina talk. That shit was for my 20s. I've matured and moved on to butt jokes.

So yeah, I guess I have done some thinking. I do that sometimes.

This decade is going to fucking rock. Party on, Wayne!

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True life: I used to be your mailman

I think it's kind of obvious that it doesn't take much to get my all uppity. This is a blessing and a curse. When I'm excited for something, it's like I have on those little horse blinders and all I can see is that really exciting thing that's about to happen and gah almighty this is gonna be the best thing ever and excuse me were you talking to me because I was just daydreaming about how this is going to blow my mind.

And whereas most people would often tell themselves not to hype it up -- whatever it may be -- too much, because then you'll be disappointed if it doesn't live up to the expectations of face-melting awesomeoness, I say poo poo to that. I'm usually so stoked by the time said event occurs that I'm high from the excitement and absolutely nothing can bring me down.

Like the first time I went to Bonnaroo. I looked forward to that festival for a good six months. I was obsessed. So when we got there and it rained for three days and flooded our tent and we had no dry clothes and nowhere to sleep and we all smelled like soggy mold and horse shit, I thought it was one of the most incredible, authentic experiences of my life and I couldn't wait to see what happened the next year. Maybe someone would get trampled to death. Or eat a batch of bad mushrooms. Or get lost and wake up in a bathtub of ice in a Nashville motel room. The possibilities are endless.

The danger of this extreme uppity-ness however, is that the opposite is usually true. If things even have a smidgen of potential to be bad, in my mind, they have the potential to be earth-shatteringly cataclysmic. Car crash bad. House fire bad. Fupa bad.

Like right now. I'm sipping on the most insane milkshake of emotions that I can barely remember how to spell my name. Yesterday marked exactly one month to the wedding. HOLYFECKINGSHEETTIMSOEXCITED.

But following the wedding comes the eventual move. And as you know, the mere idea of moving to a different city is turning me into a loon. The closer we get, the more I see myself morphing into Britney Spears circa 2007. I am THIS CLOSE to shaving my head and letting a small child ride in my car without a seat belt.

I am becoming obsessed. How often will I see my family? I'm going to miss my mommy. What if I can't make friends? What if the Massachusetts winter makes me want to stab myself in the eyeballs with a screwdriver? And the current flip-out flavor of the week: What if I can't find a job?

Let's be honest. Things are a bit dismal out there. That's strike one against me. When it comes to job hunting, I'm emotionally charged and manically indecisive and I have no idea what my next career step should be. Strike two. Conclusion: I am frighteningly close to being stuck in the dugout (in a straightjacket).

Things were so much simpler when I was a mailman. I'm sorry, mail WOman. Postal carrier. Whatever. The summers in between college I worked for the United States Post Office and it was the best job I've ever had. I was outside all day. When my route was done, it was done; there's no taking work home when you work at the post office. There was no stress. Zero. And I had a kickass tan and was in great shape.


Everyone's happy to see the mailman. We come bearing gifts. Postcards and birthday cards and packages from the Home Shopping Network. The senior citizens wait all day for the mailman. I would hang around and chat with them just because they wanted someone to talk to. Every day I hoped I had something good for them. A "Thinking of You" Hallmark card or a letter from an old friend. They'd invite me in for lemonade. They were the best.

Now, I do butt clenches at my desk to try to keep the circulation going. People in PR don't have the best reputation. But I DO get to write. I love writing. Maybe someone will hire me to write letters to senior citizens all day so they always have something good to get in the mail. I'd slip in pictures of big-eyed puppies and rolly kittens and we'd eventually have world peace.

World peace. I would do it. You're welcome, people.

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