So I Turned 30...Plus 3.

Recently I turned 30. And by thirty I mean 33. And people asked, “do you feel different?” Of course my generic answer is always “nope, same old shit, different year.” But actually, when I truly sat back and thought about it…yes, yes I feel different.

I feel older. More like the stereotype of “adult” I had in my twenties (you know, when I was supposed to start feeling like an adult…but that’s funny).

So let me explain a couple things I have noticed about me, Bethany, at age 33.

1. Whereas before I had absolutely no regard for my nails, I now covet them like a middle-aged woman with a new set of press-on nails. All my life I’ve had fifth grade boy hands. Sure, that sounds incredibly ridiculous but it’s actually true. Go ahead- find the nearest fifth grader of the male gender near you and take a look at their hands- bingo, that’s what I was born with and they haunted me into my adult years. Pair that with a rather disgusting habit of biting my nails once they grew even a little bit and you’ve got your self a Grade-A Bethany Scissorhands but replace the scissors with elementary school stuff-those-sausages-into-mittens-its-cold-out porkers.

So, sometime in the fall I decided to get my nails done for a wedding. I figured, hey, I like this person enough to spend the $40 and I have to be seen carrying things for her. And instantly, I was hooked. Suddenly my adolescent popcorn-bag hands were now presentable and dare I say it….pretty?

So at age 33, for the first time, I upped my nail game. It was like a rite of passage into adulthood. Big girl hands.

2. Second, there’s this NPR thing. Yes, NPR…as in National Public Radio. Go on, laugh. Let it out. You know you want to. For about a year now I have listened, pretty much 24/7 365 to NPR on 88.1 WYPR. I even contributed when they did their pledge drive. They even sent me a bumper sticker that I REALLY wanted to put on my car but Mondo objected. There’s really no need to explain why this is an “adult” thing. I’ll let it speak for itself.

3.  I get up early. Like even when I don’t have to. Now THAT…that is an adult thing. When I was younger I would crave sleeping in until noon. Now if that happens I am either deathly ill or hungover beyond reason. In fact, nowadays instead of craving the long sleep-in mornings I crave a cup of coffee, my couch and HGTV. And on this same note, while I have always been a bedtime bear who goes to sleep fairly early I am taking going to sleep early to a whole new level. Like when the clock strikes 7:45 I am like “whoa! It’s getting late!” Cue the prune juice, walkers and early bird specials at Denny’s.

4. My new found obsession with Acupuncture and all things “chi” or how do they spell it, “qi.” I started going on a recommendation from a friend after she reported feeling generally more laid back and relaxed. I was skeptical but was soon hooked. Like guys, it works. It like, really works. Take your WORST PMS day, your muscles after the hardest workout, your mind spinning after an stressful day of work…well…there’s a needle for that. So, yes, in my ripe old age of 33 I am now a needle junkie. But the good kind…

5. Tea. I’ve started drinking tea. I NEVER…used to drink tea. Where this tea drinking came from is still a mystery but one day I found myself making TEA. Like hot tea. Not like sweet tea or iced tea…like my-grandmother-drinks-tea kind of tea. Heat up the kettle and let your bag “steep” kind of tea. How this happened is beyond me but this is most definitely an adult thing. You don’t see rebellious teenagers or sexy twenty-something’s sippin’ on that hot tea shit.

And as I write all these things I am starting to realize I am a real-life bonafide ADULT. And while that previously would’ve scared me into the nearest spray-tan salon or impulsive itty-bitty bikini purchase…I’m pretty okay with it. Now if you’ll excuse me I have to get back to NPR…they’ve got a story on about social security. ;)

Bag Lady

Winter has set in and thus, so has my usual form of hibernation. You know the routine...any time the weather dips below 60 degrees I find any excuse in the book to stay inside...in sweats...or pajamas...and curl up next to whatever heat source I can find. I'm a Bunce and that's what we DO in winter. We hibernate. The part of me that likes...I dunno...doing stuff...shrivels up like a prune and crawls into the cracks in the radiator of the universe. And this is normal. I basically hide, like a hermit or the Unibomber, until April.

And this year's no different...but I have noticed myself taking it to an all new level of...bag lady.

While I do normally don sweats and layers in winter, this winter I have started to resemble the lady who pushes the grocery cart near the Safeway and if you get hear her she tells you to "go on 'bout your biznusss."

Let me paint this little picture for you. I have always liked collecting old sweatshirts and pajama pants, washed so that they're super soft and easy to sleep in. I had just previously had standards as to where and when I would wear said sweats and pajama pants. This year, not so much.

This year I have stepped up my game.

You see, last year my grandmother, yes I said grandmother, received a pair of sweatpants for Christmas. They were of the type you usually see grandmothers wear- tapered at the ankle, elastic waist with "room to move," and kind of a stonewashed look to them (if that makes any sense). Any hoot, they didn't fit her. And somehow, I ended up with them. And I wear them. A lot. Like every night when I get home from work. They're warm, they're comfy, and they're straight out of an episode of Full House.

So there's that.

Then there's my "slippers." You see, I use this term loosely. If by slippers you mean slip on fake ankle uggs that are on their fourth year, then yes, I wear slippers. Mind you, those slippers are often (always) paired with the fluffy socks that come in many different colors and styles that you can get in a bunch at WalMart for three for a dollar.

Are you starting to get a mental picture yet? Let me elaborate. In an effort to wear a perfect hybrid of warmth, comfort and UGLY, I also have found myself wearing the top to Mondo's long john's from when he was in high school that he used to go snowboarding in. How I stumbled upon this article of clothing is beyond me but somehow, as if some stroke of fate, it found it's way onto my body and thus, in my lounge-wear repertoire.

So, so far we have my grandmother's sweats, four-year old "slippers" paired with fluffy multi-colored striped socks and a drab grey top to an old pair of mens long johns. Got it? Because I am about to blow your mind.

Now for the grand finale of Bag Lady. The Robe.

My Mom has always worn a long fleece robe for as long as I can remember. And you know that saying, "girls always turn into their Mothers?" Well gosh darn it, it's true!

I too, have a long fleece robe. In fact, my Mom bought it for me. It's baby pink. PINK. I don't even like pink. But this robe? It was MADE to be the icing to my lounge-wear cake. It's long, it's fluffy, it's not flattering (especially when I'm bra-less...hello mosquito bites!) and it's UGLY. But it wraps my butterfly up in a perfect little ugly cocoon of glory.

And yes, all of this is embarrassing. And it is evidence that I have reached an all-time low. I also realize I am playing with fire in a marriage where I expect my other half to still think I'm "pretty." Because there is NOTHING pretty about this outfit. Add to it the fact that I recently cut off my hair and sometimes resemble a Hanson brother if it's not styled properly, I am truly risking wife abandonment, and it'd be warranted.

But the real risk is TRULY being mistaken for a Bag Lady. Because I realized one morning, very early, while I was walking Snoop, that I had somehow ended up OUTSIDE...in PUBLIC...in this outfit. I must've REALLY needed coffee because I hadn't even put on a coat or real shoes. Instead I was parading around my block in the outfit. All I needed was a shopping cart filled with miscellaneous items, a rolled up blanket and hunched shoulders.

Upon re-entry into the "safe zone" ( also known as my house) I sat down and had a Come to Jesus moment.

"Bethany...look at yourself. Look what you're wearing. The only thing missing is hair rollers and a cigarette. You've been wearing this outfit at home for three days. How have we sunk this low?"

There's really no explanation. No excuse. It's cold dammit. And my ugly lounge-wear is comfortable. Soft as a baby's bottom. It may have soy sauce stains and Benjamin hair all over it but it's COLD. And I am getting OLD. I mean for God's sake, there's a POLAR VORTEX out there, people! Right? Oh that was a while ago? Even so! It happened!

I digress. And submit myself to bag lady status for at least another 2 or 3 months. So if you'll excuse me, I need to go change. Into my lounge wear. And walk the dog.

Life Was My Writer's Block

You’ve probably noticed I’ve been….gone. I haven’t been writing. The blame is all mine for this crumbling of the texture of The Pecking Hen. I went through some shit. Some real shit. And when I was finally able to pull my head out of my ass long enough, I started to live again. It was a relief.

And, while I really never stopped following her on social media throughout the years, I started to become inspired by someone of an unexpected origin. 

Ali Arnone is an…acquaintance?...from college. We ran in the same circle but probably said two words to each other over those crazy years- most likely while vying to get the attention of the bartender at CVP (Justinian!) to order another drink. We knew OF each other. And frankly, it was a damn shame. Because as adults, we have both seen, through our blogs, that we are very similar in a lot of ways. And while I don’t claim to be a blogger of Ali’s echelon, (she’s gotten shout outs and posts on some big blog sites and has a huge reader base), we started to realize we had a kind of blogger/reader/woman kinship kind of thing going on as we would correspond about each other’s writing, etc. We could’ve been fast buddies if we could’ve just stepped out of that convoluted crowd we ran in for one minute to see each other for the similar beings we were! Now, as a real bonafide "adult" (please stifle your laughter), I have grown to consider Ali a friend and someone who I admire for her wit, wisdom and not to mention she's downright stunning. 

As you’ve probably guessed, Ali has a blog. A pretty amazing, honest, funny and frankly, damn good blog. And as the years have progressed and we both entered our…[insert whisper here]… ahem… thirties, she wrote more and more. As opposed to letting life get in the way of her writing, she did the opposite. She wrote more. And I have been hooked.

And when the haze of confusion and grief and soul-searching was lifted, I started to wonder where my writing voice had gone? Why had I allowed myself to stop writing?

So I reached out to Ali. I knew she would have the right words for me, and I was right. Below, you will find her brilliant words that struck my heart and gave me my gumption back.

So, thank you, Ali, for making the Hen get her “peck,” back;)

Q. Dear AA,

Life has kicked me in the ass and I have lost my blog voice! What can a blog-girl do to get her swag back on the keyboard?

Sincerely,

Life Was My Writer’s Block

A. 

Dear Life Was My Writer’s Block,

I’m so glad you wrote.  Our friendship is an interesting one; as we went to college together and frequented the same bars and parties but never really ‘hung out,’ if that makes sense.  But alas, social media has been used for good and the very thing you’re having trouble getting back into – BLOGGING – is the very reason we still stay in touch and have a bond ten years later.  We both have blogs and for the past year or so we've been following each other’s musings and exchanging emails to discuss posts, books we've read and just talkin’ shop.  If that doesn't show you the power of writing, I don’t know what will.

That said, I understand you’re in a writing rut.  This happens.  But I’m here to give a jump-start to that dead battery of yours, in an effort to give you just the right amount of juice you need to get going again.  Why?  Because writing is therapeutic.  And who doesn't need a little therapy?

For lack of a better term, you've had some shit luck.  You've gone through a terrible ordeal; one that no person and woman should have to endure in their lifetime.  As a result, you did what most people in your shoes would do and probably SHOULD do, which is vanish a bit.  You said peace out to Facebook, a move I admire and quite frankly do not have the gumption to pull off, and you stopped writing on Pecking Hen.  You mentioned to me that your blog and your writing had become “morose” and I don’t think that’s the kind of person you are or want to be.  I know you as a fun, free-spirited, kind and positive person.  But as I said…the shit luck.  It’ll certainly change a person and their demeanor.

But here’s why I think you need to start writing again.  I think you need to write because it will help.  Help others who have been in your shoes, help those who HAVEN’T been in your shoes to understand you better, and most importantly… help YOU.  Help you to move on and start fresh and crawl out of the rut.  Write because we need real women who deal with real-life experiences and don’t claim to shoot glitter out of their pores and live their lives in this gross and unattainable perfection.  Write for a support system.  Write because life – even the dirty, nasty, crappy parts – can be funny.   Write because you have a great job and husband and friends and family and dogs and a myriad of other things that inspire you.  DON’T write because you’re trying to forget and ignore the trials and tribulations of the past few years, but because you want to heal and grow from them.

Write because you’re good at it.

Write because I said so. J

Best of luck,

Your friend & fellow writer AA

You can read Ali’s musings on her blog at http://alia15.tumblr.com