Won't You Please, Please Help Me?

June 14, 2008--Nearly 30 days after turning 30, I've come to realize that I'm not necessarily the bucket of beautiful sunshine I've considered myself all these years. Maybe inside the dreamworld I've created I really am the carefree vixen I've cooked up---somewhat a cross between the Kate Hudsen character 'Penny Lane, Meg Ryan in When Harry Met Sally, Some Big Chill Glenn Close for good measure, Wonder Woman of course for when I need to activate, and a splash of Audrey Tatou in Amelie for those days I'm just not feeling normal. Throw some of Van Morrison's or Donovan's greatest hits in the background for my personal soundtrack and I'm ready to hit the streets like a Doublemint Twin.
I heard the tell-tale record scratch at 10pm on May 24, 2008. I rang in my 30th year at 1pm. At 9pm I had just finished shoving some pizza in my face at Mellow Mushroom, and by 10pm I was sitting in my rented living room surrounded by new friends about to cut into a cookie cake, complete with a pink, icing-encrusted, stick figure portrait of myself (My friend Darren is quite the artist). I sat there looking at the cake , pondering my two gigantic, sprinkle-covered breasts and pony tail. I got up to get plates, and did a quick drive-by my full length mirror. Ponytail--check. Really big boobs--check check. I'm not who I thought I was. In my dream world, I was flat chested.
That very moment, the pretend world swung open it's jowles and spit me out into dirty reality, not unlike the Jersey Turnpike portal in Being John Malkovich. There I sat, helpless like an oversized infant. At least I remembered the plates for the cake, or else I might have blown my newborn cover. I sat the rest of the night in a corner wondering who the hell I was and where these big ass ta-tas came from and more importantly, how had I squeezed them in that tiny Michael Stars tank I was sporting. Not a good look, my infant eyes told me. Babies don't lie, so I must be telling the truth. I'm not sure since I was in total shock, but I think I left my own party with the excuse I needed sleep, but really I think I was hoping my dreamworld would come back looking for me and snatch me up so I wouldn't have to face this very ugly truth. It didn't. And Donovan didn't even show up to serenade me. I was totally out of my element.
So here I sit, dedicated to my new mission of facing reality as myself going forward. I'm leaving the vixens and heroines behind, but I'm keeping Van Morrison. And Donovan. Sister can indulge a little.
Before I set sail on the mission of discovering the new world, I think it's important to recognize my God-given talents. I've always been a natural writer and I've never really done anything with it. I mean, I'm a corporate journalism major, and I've also dabbled with a fiction manuscript that I'll probably never do anything with. In fact, I'm so sick of looking and thinking about it that I've probably ruined any hope for having it published. I've never done anything with my words other than a few lackluster travel articles that landed only in my hometown paper. So now that I'm thirty and have no idea who I am, I'm going to write. Every day. Also, I make really good guacamole, and even better black beans and rice.
It's also important I feel, for me to document all of the flights of fancy on which I've embarked over the years and never done anything with, although, had I been more focused, I'm convinced I could have been successful at any of these endeavors:
1. Child Entrepreneur: When I was in the third grade, I devised these little art project critters that were adorable, albeit useless. I would cram a bit of a blue maribou feather boa into half of a walnut shell, glue on some googley eyes and complete the look with some gold puffy paint accents, and then try to sell for 50 cents on the playground. I still don't know why those never caught on.
2. Mermaid: Growing up, we had a pool. And I loved Splash. I used to tie my ankles together with ribbon and jump in the pool to see if I could swim like the rest of the mermaids. But this was shortlived, as my dad caught me doing this one day, and probably thought I was trying to commit suicide so he made me stop.
3. Famous Ballerina: This obviously didn't work as evidenced by these ginormous boobs.
4. Mod statement maker: In college, I tried to only wear black shift dresses and look serious in the rain. But the thing with Auburn, Alabama is no one knows what mod is, and it's way too hot in the summers to go around in black all the time. Sorry Twiggy.
5. Cracker Jack Journalist: I threw in the towel after nine months, because really.. who wants to give up national holidays to sit in a flourescent atmosphere editing a free rag that no one even bothers to read? Not this one, I have shift dresses to shop for.
6. Nationally Acclaimed Photographer: I still haven't given up on this dream. In fact, it will happen. I think this is still on the table because pictures can describe any mood or moment, and having big boobs won't get in the way of my success.
7. Supermodel: I used to starve myself for years until I realized how foolish it was. At that point, I discovered a passion for dining, good beer, and general social enjoyment. Now I have a belly to go with my boobs, and I don't think Tyra would let me remain in the running to become America's Next Top Model. That's ok, because now I'm thirty and my belly is beautiful and womanly.
8. Go-Go Dancer. This is also one that's not over yet. I'm never going to let go of this dream.
9. Disc Jockey: I went through Auburn University's DJ class and everything. I even know the eleven words you can't say on-air. I'm not sure what happened. I think they wanted me to raise money for the station, and I just wanted to twirl and dedicate songs to all my friends. It's ok, I still DJ at my apartment. Any requests?
There are others, but I'm not going to bore you or myself with them right now. It's 5:30 p.m. and I need to go out for my born-again, ritualistic 3 mile jog. This is the year I learn to love myself and my shortcomings. I'll even embrace these 36C red headed step children. I'm pretty sure that I'll try on whimsies (like I do shoes on good days at DSW) for the rest of my life, but from here on it will be without Meg Ryan. Sorry Meg. I have an awesome support system right now so I don't really need you anymore. I'm speaking of course about my terrific husband (Whoo Robby!) who tries hard to understand me on a daily basis. He's got a head full of hair right now, but we'll see how long it lasts with me at his side. My best girlfriends and sister are scattered across the country, and I miss you all terribly. It gets lonely being one of the only true weirdos in Raleigh. Karen, you're more than my sister--you're part of my dysfunction. Mel, we are truly from the same stardust little wondertwin. I think one more visit and our dance moves will be perfected. Kellie, we have the same aura--and a photograph to prove it. Sara, no one else could make dolla-wine so enjoyable. Robin and Ash--we are the white trash bitches of the float-n-tote. Lorinda, I'm so glad we've reconnected and quite honestly, there needs to be a therapist among us. Thank you all for being good teachers and for helping me get my feet back on the ground.....

Today's Playlist:

1. Help--The Beatles
2. Runaway--Del Shannon
3. 36D--The Beautiful South
4. Yellow--Donovan
5. Gypsy Queen--Van Morrison
6. Situation--YAZ
7. Lyin Eyes--The Eagles
8. Gone Gone Gone--Alison Krauss and Robert Plant