30 days of 30

So it is, 30 days of being 30 years old. So far, I’m still standing. My hair does look a little shabby, but that’s probably a result of me not brushing it this morning and not because of me aging. Who knows, though. Maybe I’m not brushing it because I’m aging. Oh, the conundrums!!

In any event, crazy hair or no hair, I’m still 30. I’m still OK with it. I admit, I don’t like to yell out my age to strangers. But, my patellas haven’t popped; I have all my teeth (thanks, Dr. Schlapkohl!); I can manage to get through an hour-long spin class and walk out; my driving isn’t horrible (well, any more horrible than usual); and I’m not totally out of the loop on pop culture. Yes, I know who Justin Bieber is and I kind of like Lady Gaga. 😦 To ensure balance, I also know that Josh Ritter, Matt PondPA and The New Pornographers are coming out with new albums. 🙂 (Last week I listened to the entire Josh Ritter album on NPR … and, uh, I. Can’t. Wait.)

And, to celebrate this decade of my life, I think I’m going to jump out of a plane tomorrow.

Hopefully, I’ll live to tell you about it 😉

Blessed be thy hipster

I love fads.  They’re fad-ulous.  Fad-tastic.  They’re funny, and eventually classic (but still a little funny).

The Hustle.  Friendship bracelets.  TV dinners.  Break dancing.  And, the fashion fads – beehive hair, feathered bangs, denim jackets, platform shoes … the rebels, the grunge, emo kids.  Alas, now it’s the hipsters taking their place (back) in history.

You know, the one that’s too-cool-for-school, wearing 80s sunglasses and sporting a probably-paid-for-but-don’t-want-you-to-think-it’s-paid-for haircut.  Oh yeah, and don’t forget the PBR in hand and what-the-f*@k-right?-but-I-kind-of-pull-it-off fashion statement.  Yeah, that person.  There’s nothing more I can say about this, eh, style that hasn’t already been said.  I just wanted a reason to post hipster-related stuff that made me laugh.  Because I can’t sleep right now …

Q: How many hipsters does it take to flush a toilet?

A: You can’t touch that toilet – it’s art.

—

Q: How many hipsters does it take to change a light bulb?

A: It’s such a cool number, you’ve probably never heard of it.

Have you hugged a hipster today??

Magic 8 Ball, When can I retire?

Could you retire at 38? After I read this blog post, I grabbed my Magic 8 Ball.  And the answer is, Reply hazy, try again. 😦 But, Yes, in my imaginary world. Sadly, that world hasn’t become a reality. The Powerball isn’t rolling my way, my bank account hasn’t afforded me a private island yet and I sit in a cube five days a week. I’m knee/hip/chest?-deep in a mortgage, car payment, credit card bills and two felines. It’s sooooo American of me, right?

But, then I hear a story like Billy and Akaisha’s. Or Amy Vanderhoof’s. Or Shayne and Shannon McIntyre’s. I admit, Jealous Jackie comes out. But, Inspired Irene triumphs. I ‘m amazed, hopeful. I mean, for real, Shayne and Shannon travel the world with a bag of surfboards and two kids.

Although it doesn’t look like I’ll be retiring at 38, the dream is alive and kicking me in the ass. If it were just the thought that counted – and not the money – then it’d be possible. Because I think about it everyday. Am I the only 30-year-old (whoa, I just typed 30!) that does research on island life, sailing, raising my 2 cats and a kid (maybe on that kid part; haven’t really figured that life aspect out yet) sans Facebook, iPhone and a 24/7 media barrage? I can’t wait to get out of debt, but it’s not in hopes of buying a Range Rover or upgrading to a platinum wedding ring. (Don’t get me wrong, I would looooove a platinum upgrade!) Instead, I’m opting for a way to retire … get out of the rat race … stop climbing stuff … I mean, what’s not to love about wanting a life that includes making margaritas at 2pm (WARNING: This activity can be dangerous!) and playing eye-spy the clouds at the beach. It’s all I’m asking for … is that too much? Come on, who’s coming with me!!??

Maybe there are more people my age that can imagine life without social media and smart phones? Maybe there aren’t. Maybe I’m loco. Maybe I love rice and beans, the smell of coconuts and the sight of a solid tan line against clear blue waters too much. Now, if I could just learn to like seafood …

Until then, though, I’m content with my debt and semi-private, 30-year financed CBS island with a hammock and a hottie 🙂

Reggae, rum runners and one love

L-Dub held its annual Reggae Festival this weekend at Bryant Park.  If there’s a chance I can catch live music and see JP dance, I’m all over it.  So, we hopped on our bikes and checked it out on Saturday.  Some quick pics of the event:

No reggae festival is complete without the man — Bob Marley.

Jamaican artist Red Rat.

A little drum-on-drum action.

Jamaica’s Anthony B. had the crowd going crazy!