Ahhh yes, people. I’m 29 today. I’m not super thrilled about this birthday only because I am actually looking forward to turning 30.
Now, pick up your jaws. I’m serious.
Were you witness to my twenties? No? Let my summarize:
Knocked up at 20 — unwed, on drugs, baby daddy wrote me a check for $350 with “abortion” on the memo line. I’m pro-choice, but I didn’t want to abort my son, so I bailed.
Pregnant at 21 — my baby daddy (we had reconciled for the second time, lol) bought a case of beer and proceeded to drink it front of me and grope my full-pregnant breasts and pass out on me with his beer breath. Happy 21st birthday to me.
Married at 21 — courthouse wedding. Our first attempt at a wedding was something traditional — white dress, invitations, outdoor ceremony, etc. He got cold feet and bailed. My parents got stuck with a half-way invested-in wedding. At our courthouse wedding, I wore a little black dress and my grandmother warned, “Married in blue, always be true… Married in black, you’re going to look back.” Heh. Wise old bird.
Separated at 22 — baby daddy was having an affair with his boss. CLASS ACT that he was, he left on Valentine’s Day, a Saturday, to go in for some “overtime” which really mean some “undertime” on his back. He really slept his way to the top at that job. Spent the next eight months with little to no support from him and little to no involvement from him with regard to his son.
Divorced at 23 — we were only married, before the separation, for ten months. The divorce took a year and a half. We spent the majority of that year fighting about MONEY. He never once attempted to fight me regarding custody, but wanted to nickel and dime me on health insurance and child support. I was victorious in this battle and got everything I wanted when, per my lawyer’s prompting, we put a recording of baby daddy on the phone with me (forcing fake tears) outlining the details of his affair. He signed everything within minutes of hearing that tape. (I play hardball, kids)
Living at home, working three jobs at 24 — I was also drinking a lot at this point in my life. Lots of cheap white wine — the big bottles, all by myself some nights. I chopped all my hair off and dyed it red, trying to find myself? Who knows. I had a fucking bowl cut at the end of the day. Lesson learned: pixies don’t work on me. Especially when they start to grow out.
Met the sociopath at 24, also. Things were “good” with him for a while… And by “good” I think I mean to say that my gauge was broken. He was a mean, spiteful bastard.
At 25, the baby daddy sued me for custody. As in, *ding, dong*, there’s a sheriff. And here are the papers. I was rattled to my core. Living with a roommate that was a douche and a half and a bit racist (towards me) for having a black boyfriend. To quote her, “All the good black men are fucking white bitches.” *nods* Mmhmm.
At 26, went back to college. And by college, I mean a two year school. And I took out student loans like a stupid motherfucker because I really couldn’t afford it. Debt begins to accrue. I’m also ponying up money to my lawyer for the custody case which seems to be drrrragging. Went to Jamaica with the sociopath’s family for Christmas this year — his mother threw a god damned tantrum that actually, seriously had me fearful for my life. The puzzle pieces of his dysfunction start to come together to create a clear picture.
Later, at 26, I busted the sociopath’s bubble… Broke into his email and found evidence of his sexual exploits with men and transsexuals that he was meeting on Craigslist (when he was supposed to be going to Anger Management Therapy). Also found out that the woman that was his “friend” that I had always been suspicious of, was his girlfriend three weeks before I became his girlfriend. He was leading a fantastic (and by fantastic, I mean epic) triple life. JUST finished with the custody hearing and got everything I wanted and more — the judge really bent my baby daddy over and put it to him. Dropped out of college due to the stress.
At 27, I get a house with a friend. Our kids are close in age and bunk together. We have a great, incredible house-mate relationship… for a while. Then she lost her job. Then quit paying bills. Her boyfriend moved in, then he lost his job. Lather, rinse, repeat until I’m asking them to move out and in debt up to my eyeballs. They still owe me money and avoid me like the plague now, I assume so that they don’t have to pay me back. Sucks because I really felt like we were family. I haven’t seen her since I asked her to move out.
At 27, I start the dating roller coaster. Datingdatingdating. A lot, lot, lot. Met a lot of great guys and spent most of my time being a heartbreaker. Got attached to douchebags and spent the rest of my time getting my heart broken. End up having to break my lease at the house because I can’t find a house-mate.
At 28, rent an apartment from a “friend.” Turns out, I should quit trusting people when it comes to having house-mates. After a few months, I’m told by this “friend” that if the City Schools office comes around asking about her kids, that I should tell them I’m the nanny. She’s using the house for residency and I’m supposed to carry on this lie. Ugh.
More dating through this year, more crashing and burning. The bright side is that I am really starting to figure out what it is that I want — what is really important to me. This is great news, because when I was 27, it was mostly like… “He should have hot abs.” Which… makes for a gorgeous bedmate, but not a great partner.
And now, 29. TWENTY NINE!
At this point, I feel like I’m on the last leg of a long roadtrip. You know what I’m saying… You’re down to the last 100 miles and you’ve been riding in the car with a bunch of loud, annoying people or screaming babies or something and you’ve got to pee and you’re a little hungry but you just KNOW you are not stopping because you can almost hear your keys turning in the lock on your front door, you can almost see yourself dropping your luggage inside the front door, kicking off your shoes and you can FEEL your couch under your road-tired ass.
That’s how I feel. One more year… Gonna plug away and keep working on my stuff. Going to keep writing. Going to keep working on my designing and printing business. Going to keep working on myself and my happiness. And when I turn thirty, THAT year is going to be the beginning of a new life. My thirties will be exponentially better than my twenties. They’ve just gotta be.