Strongly Worded

Turning 28

So on Saturday I will be 28. Meaning: two years shy of the big 3-0. I am OK with this. I was definitely not OK with turning 27, because somehow it marked a transition from "mid twenties" to "late twenties" and I was not down with that. Especially since my life really sucked at that time, and everyone was getting married, and I felt despairing, single, and bitter. Right around my last birthday, my friend R. predicted that 27 would be "my year."

And I have to say that maybe it was a self-fulfilling prophecy of some kind (she doesn't even remember saying this), because it has been a pretty good year. Soon after I turned 27 I met a great guy, and we were blissfully happy together for several months, and then decreasingly happy after that, but it was ultimately OK, and we broke up with absolutely no drama. I finished my master's at age 27, and that was pretty great (even more great in retrospect). I moved into a lovely, lovely apartment. I started a new job that has thus far been a very mixed experience, but overall a good opportunity, and a source of financial security. Also this year I spent many happy weekends in Vermont with the aforementioned boyfriend, and 10 days in Italy. And tonight I am being whisked away on a mystery-date by the Guy I am Dating currently. And on my actual birthday, my parents are coming to town and we are (hopefully) having brunch at this very amazing French restaurant.

I am very, very pleased about this (and of course in a cautious way because I'm crazy and always worrying that I will screw things up by looking forward to them). Thus I have been reminiscing about birthdays past ...

Last year's celebration was lovely (brunch at one of my favorite restaurants, followed by bookstore browsing and a romp through the Gap). It did, however, include a dead mouse. During brunch, my friend Stef tried to discreetly get the mouse removed without my noticing, but there was no ignoring a revolted waiter and a quick intervention with a dustpan. All we got was an apology from the manager: "many restaurants struggle with this problem." This is a hilarious memory.

In college, I had one of the saddest birthdays ever, when none of my friends rallied, and the only plan was dinner and a rented video in the dorm, which was standard weekend order of business. I had brunch (notice the theme?) with my mom, and we went shopping for a graduation dress, but we didn't find anything and the whole encounter was depressing. This was an improvement over my birthday during my junior year abroad. It fell right around the Easter holidays and nobody remembered, not even the program staff, who celebrated everyone else's birthday with banners and gifts (OK, souvenir trinkets, but still). I vividly remember spending the evening at a lame bar drinking warm beer and feeling miffed. Senior year of high school I had a lovely birthday plan that included ballet and strawberry dessert, but I had a horrible migraine and almost threw up.

I'm finding that I cannot write about birthdays without including my best birthday ever thus far. When I turned 25, A.P. whisked me away to New York City to see Rent and eat at this amazing romantic restaurant. We stayed in a hip boutique hotel (with a four-poster bed) in Greenwich Village. We also ate at Cafeteria, the hippest restaurant I had ever been to, at 2:00 a.m. after the show. And in addition to all this goodness, I got a present: a collection of every single one of Dar William's CDs, and the Rent soundtrack.

So I feel very good because I think this current celebration plan might approach that magnitude of greatness (between my family visiting and the surprise sponsored by the Guy I am Dating, and an upcoming outing with primary friends).

I feel very lucky (touch wood).

Posted by Dori at 3:03 PM