Thirty

I turned 30 over the weekend. I feel like I'm supposed to pen some coming-of-age, commemorative post. Except that I don't have a lot to say.

I spent the last year preparing to turn 30. I made a list of everything I ever said I wanted to do and began crossing them off. I didn't finish the list—there were four items left—but I accomplished a lot nonetheless. I ran a 5k. I shot a shotgun. I went pole dancing. I went down a zip line. I did things.

This summer I plan on rock climbing and kayaking and hang gliding. And maybe even finish those paper cranes.

I've been listening to a lot of punk lately. It's got a peppy, upbeat tempo that makes me happy. It's been years since I've listened to it. I've gone through two punk phases before: once in 2000 and again in 2006. Both times I was trying to claim my independence. I have no idea what I'm stake my independence from this time.

Last week I was at the bar of my old dodgeball league catching up with friends. "Next time you see me, I'll be a grown-up!" I laughed as I twirled.

The boy gaped his mouth open in disbelief. "You're turning 30? 30? You?"

The boy in question was 32, so I knew it wasn't the chronological age of 30; it was me being 30.

"You cannot be that old," he stressed. "You're just too young. I mean, you twirl in bars for god's sake." He picked up my hand and spun me around again in demonstration.

He made three. He's the third person in the last couple of weeks who has commented on me being young at heart.

I'm back. S and Christopher did not ruin me.

Sleeping with the Enemy

We had sex. The dirty, selfish, 9-1/2 Weeks kind where both participants are focused on his and her own pleasure. The kind of sex you have when you don't know when your next opportunity will be. Things were done. And truth be told, I was the instigator of most of those things.

What have I done?

My stomach dropped. I just had dirty, selfish sex with someone that I am going to have to see again. And what about Clemson's feelings? What about Statham's ex? I'm pretty sure I already made her cry once this weekend. Oh god.

Statham came up behind me and sucked in air through his teeth. "You have scratch marks all the way down your back. I'm sorry."

Oh god.

Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.

I wanted to be friends with these people and what I ended up doing was creating the most volatile situation imaginable. I slept with a guy who broke up with his girlfriend 48 hours earlier, who is also in the same group. She's going to hate me and I don't blame her one bit. I feel like the other woman, a homewrecker. Word is going to get out and I'm going to be known as The Hussy.

But I'm not a hussy! The last time I slept with someone I wasn't dating was S in 2007, and even that turned into a two-year relationship. Before that was Nick in 2005, and he was a good friend from college. I don't do strange.

We got in the shower together. The conversation was awkward. "So, uh, how's your kickball season going?" he asked.

"We haven't won yet."

Ugggggghhhhhhhhh.

He left me alone to re-dress. The gravity of the situation hit me and I began to shake. Even though he's single, Statham's not available. Everyone had been joking all weekend that they were going to get back together within the week. He kept assuring me that's not the case, but let's be real here: I knew he was lying. He, at the very least, didn't know what was going to happen.

He reappeared in the hallway where our clothes had been strewn. He pressed me against the wall and began caressing my side.

"You okay?"

"I think... I think I need to sit down," I stammered. Instead of finding a piece of furniture to sit down upon, my back slid down the wall and I plopped on the carpet. I grabbed the towel I used minutes earlier and tried to use it as a security blanket, but Statham grabbed it out of my hands and tossed it aside.

"You think this was a mistake," he said slowly. "It's written all over your face."

Yes. "No." I paused, "Just promise me one thing: when you get back together with your ex, this never happened."

He tilted his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. "I know people have been joking all weekend, taking bets about when we're getting back together, but it's different this time. This wasn't one of our usual breakups. There was closure." He met my eyes and held them, "I don't regret what I did with you. Not one bit."

"It's just I'm new and I'm trying to make friends. I don't want gossip and I don't want a reputation."

He laughed. "It's an incestuous group. Everybody has slept with everybody—except for me of course because I've been in a relationship—and what you've done is nothing compared to the rest of them.

"I have a good time with you," he continued. "When we were hanging out at the team bar and we were all invited to the Mexican restaurant, I was excited to hang out with you more! I thought you were giving me a vibe."

I clasped my hands to my face and groaned, "I'm not supposed to be giving out the vibe!" And if I remember correctly, I didn't. At least not intentionally. Don't get me wrong, I've given Statham the vibe before, but at the team bar he was the one who approached me.

He popped up behind my barstool, "Listen, we have to talk about your shorts."

I looked down. I was wearing little red running shorts with my alma mater stamped on the leg. I looked at Statham's shorts. He was wearing the basketball shorts of the enemy. My rival school.

"My shorts are more socially adept than your shorts," I teased.

"My shorts are smarter than your your shorts."

"My shorts can outdrink your shorts."

"My shorts make more money than your shorts."

"My shorts have hot girls!" I shouted.

"Touche," he smiled.

So, no, it wasn't me. Or at least it didn't start with me.

"And then I get to the Mexican restaurant and the ex was there..." he trailed off. "She wasn't supposed to be there."

"I didn't know it was her."

"I was trying to get you to go home with me last night, but Clemson wouldn't leave," he snarled. I stayed silent. "And today at the pub you ignored me," he playfully slapped my leg. "Now it's Sunday night and we both have to be at work in the morning. So what now?" he asked.

"I don't know," I shrugged. My mind was blank. I kept thinking about when Valdosta dumped me. I invited him up to my apartment and he said no, that we needed to separate and let things marinate. That's what I wanted in this moment. I wanted to leave, let the dust settle and have time to sort out my feelings.

He tilted his head to the side and tisked. "You still think this was a mistake, don't you?"

Yes. "No."

But I already know this was a mistake, because I just put myself in a prime situation to get hurt. Your twenties are for making mistakes though. Thank god I got one week left.

"At least you can cross 'sleeping with the enemy' off your list of things to do before you're 30," he chuckled.

The tension broke and I laughed. I shook my head, "You know, I think you are my first."

I just don't know yet if this was a good mistake or a bad mistake.

Beginnings

The story should start with the fact that I went skeet shooting Saturday morning with Harvey and Katie. Shooting a gun was on my list of things to do before I turn 30 and time is rapidly running out. I was happy the girls offered to go with me; I had already pre-purchased two sessions back when Valdosta and I were together and he wanted to take me.

We piled in a car and headed down to the South side of the city by the airport. We walked into the gun shop. I put down my two certificates and I am handed two shotguns and two boxes of shells. Just like that. We received zero instruction on how to handle, load or shoot the guns. Just peace be with you, and go with God.

This explains the size of the bruise I currently have on my right shoulder. The recoil bruise is larger than the palm of my hand; I literally look like I took a punch. Both of my arms feel like they are broken because I didn't know how to load the shotgun and I exerted way more effort than was necessary.

Ruining your shoulder is probably the worst thing to do before your weekly kickball game. This season I decided not to play softball with my friends, but instead play kickball with the people I met over the fall kickball and winter dodgeball seasons. The team I joined was the team that we always looked forward to playing because they were so friendly and fun. Besides, with Schmoozer and Katie, Government Mule and Jenna, Harvey and her husband, and Vince and his girlfriend, my group is all coupled up. Great for them and blah, blah, blah, I don't want to be dependent on them anymore for my social life. They've all been hibernating doing couple-y stuff and I feel like an asshole when I hear about their dinners, etc. that I wasn't invited to. So maybe the story should start here: I branched out on my own in an effort to make new friends.

I walked out onto the kickball field. Everyone has been accepting of me, but I've been struggling with feeling like an outsider. Like my own group of friends, their group has a lot of history and they do a lot of activities together. For instance, no one showed up to the game on Saturday because they took a booze bus to the stadium to watch the season opener of baseball. I wasn't invited, therefore I wasn't hung over, so I was present at the game with a handful of other people. We didn't have enough female players according to coed rules. We should have forfeited the game. Instead we got to play, but got an automatic out whenever we reached the end of our lineup and a fourth female player wasn't present to kick.

Whereas I usually play catcher, a useless position for a kickball game, I had to play second base instead. It was this fact—I had to play second base because everyone else was hungover from the booze bus—that I became a full-fledged member of the group. When the runner headed to second base (coincidentally enough, it was Clemson, the guy who asked for my number a couple of days ago), the first baseman shouted my name and threw me the ball. I saw the ball heading towards me and I screamed, "Noooo!" I didn't want the ball; I can't catch the ball. But unlucky in guns, lucky in kickball. I caught the ball, tapped my foot on the base and got out the guy who had been trying to score on me in more ways than one. I earned my spot on the team. Maybe this is where the story should start.

We lost the game. Of course we did: we were outnumbered and getting outs every inning just because we didn't have enough people. But the score was 6 to 4 and I was proud. We headed to the team bar. Two boys sandwiched me at the bar while the rest of the team sat at a booth. The three of us ordered pitchers of beer and swapped stories .

"So what are you doing tonight?" asked First Baseman.

"I was supposed to be painting, but my shoulder is killing me." I lifted up the sleeve of my t-shirt and exposed my bruise from the shotgun. He recoiled and I explained about the lack of direction.

"You should have told me! I would have taken you shooting!" he exclaimed.

"Well, where were you?" I shot back.

"Here, let me get your number. I'll take you tomorrow and show you how it is properly done."

The guy on the other side of me spoke up. "Wait! I want to go shooting too!" It was Statham. Statham was the first guy I met playing dodgeball in December. It was his team we played against and won that day. While the rest of his team was celebrating their win, he was telling me about his awful night on the booze bus and how it ended with him breaking up with his girlfriend.

As First Baseman was trying to get me to go to a club with him that night, some girls appeared behind me. They were going to a drag show and meeting up for dinner beforehand. They invited me out to girl's night with them.

First Baseman looked at me, "We'll do the club in a couple of weeks," he said. "Go with the girls."

The girl turned towards him, "Come with us! Meet us for dinner!"

First Baseman accepted. So did Statham. And so did Clemson when I invited him as I was leaving.

I was showing up to girl's night with three guys. This is where the story starts.

5k Results

Final Time: 39 minutes

Rank: 125 of 360

Adrenaline Junkie

I feel down today, a bit depressed. I had a great weekend. Friday night was spent at another painting class with bottle of sangria. The purpose of this class was to take me outside of my comfort zone; we were incorporating broken glass and joint compound into the canvases. Mine did not turn out very well and I'm blaming the joint compound. The piece was too busy and incorporated too many elements without a cohesive theme, which made it basically look like a 5 year-old's work.

Saturday I met up with Katie and her sister to go zip-lining. We drove up to the base of the Appalachian Trail and far, far away from civilization. We had to pass a ground course in zip-lining before we entered the course. My main fear was not being able to hold my own body weight while you pull yourself up the cable, but this turned out to be a non-issue because the harnesses hold 90% of your body weight. I was surprised at how safe zip-lining is. We went out with two guides: one who went ahead and waited to catch you at the other end of the line and one who hooked you up to the steel cable. You break yourself by—get this—taking your (gloved) hand and applying pressure and creating friction on the cable. For the faster runs, one of the guides would set out a rope some distance from the end that you would just crash into to slow you down. It's all very high tech.

Everyone was a bit nervous, but after the ground course, I wasn't. Up in the tree tops, we were always connected to something. Even when we were climbing up ladders and walking across rope bridges. If you did slip, you weren't going to go very far. It got to the point where I didn't break as hard as I should have, which made the guide have to catch me on more than one occasion, but that was okay because he was kind of yummy. I assume he was also several years younger because he told me he just graduated from my alma mater, and I can't believe I am now old enough to find this inappropriate.

Apparently I didn't read the brochure all the way through because there was also a 30-foot rappel in the middle of the course, and we were all shocked as we got to it. One older lady in our group threw a panic attack and refused to rappel down the rope. Only everyone else had gone but me, so I was stuck in a tree with the guide trying to calm the crying lady down. Awkward. By the time it was my turn, I was tired of standing out on the platform, so after the guide told me how to hold the rope, I swung out on my own and dropped in record time, once again having to be steadied by the yummy guide.

"You've obviously blazed before," he said, impressed.

"Nope. First time."

And once again, rappelling isn't that big of a deal because the harnesses are supporting 90% of your body weight. The top hand at your head is just to hold the rope for steadiness and the bottom hand under your butt is just to release so you can drop. Easy stuff. And once again it felt safe because there is a person at the bottom holding the rope in case anything happens; he is just there to spot you.

So I learned two new skill sets this weekend. I am thinking about finding a rappelling blaze and trying doing more of that.

Saturday night the girls came over to my mother's house where I was staying and we brought our own canvases to paint to make up for the disasters we created Friday night. I am much happier with Saturday's result.

Sunday I slept.

And now it's Monday and I don't have any whirlwind activities planned. I mean, I have craft night Tuesday and Saturday I'm going to the shooting range and Sunday to a baseball game. But it's not anything adrenaline pumping, and I really feel like I'm crashing after this weekend. It's known as Adrenal Fatigue and it has real, physical symptoms, which I guess explains why people get addicted to this kind of stuff. I seriously feel a bit depressed today.

I wonder if before, boys were my adrenaline: getting high when they called and crashing if they didn't.

My name is Sarah and I am an adrenaline junkie.

Update on Me

I received an e-mail the other day, asking how I was doing. Usually my silences indicate that something is wrong, but in this case, it is exactly the opposite.

I have been working on my birthday list pretty fanatically. So far, I have seven items down with an eighth one to be completed this weekend. For my dance class, Harvey and I did indeed go pole dancing. It was awesome. It was in an all-girls dance studio in one of the industrial districts in town. Girls of all races, shapes and sizes were there, minimizing body judgments. We learned to walk with confidence, accentuating our favorite body parts, we learned to dance around the pole and we learned the basic swing down the pole. Best $15 I spent all summer. The class taught confidence and self love and the greatest lesson of all: no matter how you fall down, get up sexy.

For my art class, Katie, her sister and I went to a studio where you bring your own alcoholic beverage and follow the instructor paint stroke by paint stroke and leave with your very own acrylic canvas painting. There are variations of this concept all over the country. As a disclaimer, I am a terrible drawer, but I am good with use of color. It was thoroughly freeing to paint a canvas and it was satisfying to leave with my creation in hand. We had such a good time that we signed up three more times in the month of July.

I made my spaghetti sauce from scratch (thanks, Dawn) and it actually tasted like spaghetti sauce, so I am now inspired to do more real cooking at home. I am currently learning to tackle fresh vegetables.

I spent a weekend in Dallas, visiting my brother and his wife. It was hot, but I still think the South is worse. Texas doesn't have the humidity punch in the chest as you walk outside like home does. It does have flies though. I road down the street where JFK was shot and watched the cattle run down the street into the stockyards of historic Fort Worth. I think I might try Texas again when the State Fair comes in the fall.

I ended therapy. I missed an appointment because I simply forgot and my therapist told me she is delighted when a patient goes from being early every visit to not showing up because it is a sign of improvement. I told her I felt like I am okay and she said she had to let me come to that conclusion. She handed me a basket of stones and told me to pick one. I fingered through the basket and immediately snatched a smooth blood-red stone polished in the shape of a heart.

"Why did you choose that one?" she asked.

"Because it is shaped like a heart."

"Any other reason?"

I rubbed the stone. "It's red. I actually decided a couple of days ago that red is my power color. Red usually symbolizes love and romance (and communism, but I didn't say that out loud). These things indicate another person, a we. But I decided to take red back and make it a me.

"A friend of mine sent me breakup kit after Christopher. In the kit was a pair of red cuffs. She said her friend had them in black and wore only one cuff when she wanted to feel powerful. My friend didn't know this, but black is too dark for me. I don't like black. I love color, and I think red makes a greater impact than black." I looked at my therapist and decided that she may not have followed the story. "Anyway this was a couple of days ago," I trailed off.

She grabbed the stone from me and ran it through her fingers. "I think it's interesting that you were drawn to the heart stone. When you came to me a year ago, it was your heart that was broken. If you look here, there is a vein of white that cuts the stone in half, just like your heart. But the edges are smooth and the heart is whole. Now it just looks like a scar."

I liked that. My heart has a scar.

She continued, "Next to the vein of white, is a dark vein that follows it. When you came to me, you were in a really dark place, but once again the edges have been smoothed."

She handed the rock back to me. She told me to keep it in case I wanted to reflect back on it and my journey with her. She told me to view the rock as an accomplishment. And then she promptly told me she would be available if I ever needed her services in the future.

So that's how my summer has been going. This weekend, I am going zip-lining through the mountains with Katie and her sister. We are all slightly worried that we are not going to be strong enough, but then again, maybe I'll just wear red.

My heart, scarred and with a dark place

The Non-Date Recap

For the record, I wore the stone-washed Old Navy's.

I just couldn't wear the jeans with the hole in them. If this had been a second or a third meeting, I probably would have, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it the very first time.

We met in neutral territory, a parking garage not far from my building. 5k Guy had brought his dog and was walking her in a grassy patch behind the place where I get my morning coffee. She was wearing a pink snap-on collar and I kind of melted that he was secure enough to stand among a collar rack and purchase a pink one for her.

He pointed out where his car was parked at the far end of the garage and I drove over to the spot. He had taped to the cement wall a large paper sign that read "Tire changing lessons $5 $1 Free!" I wondered if he just happened to have a printed sign like that because the paper was too large to fit in a personal printer.

We got right to business, mainly because I was nervous and didn't know how to act around this guy I had only met once in a group setting. I busied myself with getting the tire and jack out of my trunk. He walked over with colored instructions printed off the Internet on how to change a tire. I thought Wow, he did some preparation for this and maybe I wasn't imposing on him like I had half-convinced myself. He got under my car and showed me where to place my jack, and then it was up to me.

He unfolded a camping chair and took a seat, "I'm sorry I can't help you, but you really need to know how to do this on your own." He made small talk as I panted while I jacked up the car. Because I was wearing a tank top, I had stupidly decided that hair down was the way to go and cover up the skin on my shoulders. Only it's the South in the beginning of summer, so it's humid and muggy and once again my ironed hair is frizzing and my face is turning maroon cause it's hard to breathe with this much humidity. The summer storms aren't far away.

He taught me the importance of loosening the bolts before jacking up the car, even though it's not really applicable because my car is front-wheel drive. He gave me pointers like standing on the lug-nut wrench to break them free. He applauded my intelligence because I knew enough physics to stand on the very end of the wrench when a few didn't budge.

He handed me latex gloves to handle the tires with to keep my hands clean. "I'm sorry they are so big for you, but they are the only ones I have at home," he explained. I started to think he really did put some forethought into this.

I thought I would be done after I drove around the garage on my spare, but he made me jack up the car again to put the full-size tire back on. "Just because you did it once, doesn't make you an expert," he laughed after I goofed in the order of breaking free the lug nuts and begin taking them off before I jacked the car up again.

I handed him my camera and told him he had to take a picture of me changing the tire so I could document completing my list. A took a few but my batteries died and then he grabbed his own from his car and continued to click away. After I got the full-sized tire back on, he finally came over and did the final tightening of the lug nuts. "Yeah, I have to drive on that," I laughed.

I looked at my phone. It took me 40 minutes, meaning we only had about 20 minutes until he had to dash off to his next destination. He tried helping me put everything back in my car, but by this point I was so used to doing everything by myself that I didn't really let him.

"Do you still have time for lunch?" I asked.

"Hold on, we're not done yet." He went into the back of his car and fumbled through a folder. He pulled out a certificate he made me.

I jumped up and down and clapped at the sight of it. A certificate! It had my name on it and it certified my achievement of learning to change a tire and it had the date on it. He really put a lot of thought into this. He took something so simple and mundane and turned it into something special. He made me a certificate and my name was spelled right on it. I don't think I have ever had someone in my life who put so much thought into something. Then he put his camera on self-timer mode and we stood in front of my car while he shook my hand and handed me my certificate like I was getting the keys to the city.

For lunch, he chose a pizza place that was in the same area. Actually it was a place Christopher always talked about how good it was and how he wanted to go, but we never went because I didn't want to pay for the both of us. So I'm here with another guy. He asked if I had any preferences and I said no. He asked if I like leftovers and I said yes, so he ordered a medium pesto pizza with chicken and I inwardly smiled because I didn't have to do all the work. He took charge.

The conversation was easy for two people who didn't know each other very well. We talked mainly about our dogs and shared stories about them. We talked a bit about college and our respective experiences. Then he brought up my list and asked me what my inspiration was. He said it was such a great idea and he really applauds people for being proactive and doing what they always said they were going to do. I wondered if my list got me this non-date thing. He continued with all the ones he would love to help me out with and expressed disappointment that I didn't meet up with him at the 5k. I had posted on Facebook a link to a discounted zipline tour for the summer and he said he was interested, but never committed if he was going to go or not. "Katie is going," he said. I thought it was weird because first of all, I didn't know he knew Katie and secondly he couldn't go because she was going? Like because it would be a group thing? Or maybe he doesn't like her? Or?

We were the only people in the restaurant and we had blown by his timeline by a half an hour and he was definitely going to be late to meet his friend. He called out to the waitress to split the check and I was disappointed. I'm perfectly okay with carrying my own weight, but I was emotionally disappointed because the non-date thing was officially a non-date thing. We walked out to our cars and he immediately got his dog out of the car. I didn't want to follow him, so I just headed to mine and he waved goodbye as he walked his dog to the grass for one last potty-break before their next adventure. No wink, no hug, no awkward shoulder touching. That was it.

I sat in the car blankly. What the hell was that? Who would put so much effort into something if he just wanted to establish a friendship? My best friends in the world wouldn't do that much. He said during lunch we wanted to do more list things with me. We didn't talk about anything controversial, so if I said anything to turn it sour, it would either have to be revealing that my parents are divorced or that I don't have a thyroid. I can't imagine it really being either one of those.

I guess I will just have to wait a couple of weeks and see if he contacts me again. He has most of the pictures in his camera, so I hope he does so I can at least get copies.

The worst part is now that I spent some time with him and he's made me a sign and a certificate, I like him. I think he's really great for making things so special for me. My heart is kind of torn because I know I'm just going to spend this summer pining for him and it's just going to break when I get drunk and profess my feelings for him and he tells me I'm a nice girl. Ugh, nothing has changed.

The final countdown

On the twenty-fourth day of April in the year of our Lord 2011, I will be turning 30. 3-0. A new decade that is supposed to be filled with responsibility and knowing thyself. As the anonymous commenters love to note, I am neither of those things.

I have spent the last week compiling my list of 30 things I want to do before I turn 30:

30. Paint a piece of pottery
29. Not kill a house plant
28. Knit a sweater
27. Go an entire day of work without surfing the Internet
26. Bet on a winning horse
25. Take a dance class
24. Shoot a gun
23. Send a message in a bottle
22. Stop biting my nails
21. Visit Texas
20. Learn to change a tire
19. Stop therapy
18. Make 1,000 paper cranes
17. Have a professional picture taken of me and my dog
16. Make an indulgent purchase
15. Run a 5k (for real)
14. Go down a zip line
13. Put 10% of paycheck into savings
12. Swim with dolphins
11. Learn to spin yarn
10. Try a new cocktail every month
9. Find a fitness activity I enjoy (obviously not running)
8. Raft down the Oconee river
7. Drop 2 pants sizes
6. Perform a favor for a stanger
5. Make spaghetti sauce from scratch
4. Do a successful cartwheel
3. Buy a new dress
2. Attend a craft show and sell a piece of knitting
1. Meet Kristin

Some of these will make me a better/more interesting person. Some I've always wanted to do. Some I stole off of the Internet. All of them, I believe, are realistically obtainable—even that damn 5k attempt #2. Can you help me with any of these? Do you have a list of your own?