I awoke this morning to hear Shredd and Ragan (local morning show guys) talking about strip clubs. Something about Kid Rock going all wussy and saying something to the effect of “You shouldn’t go to strip clubs when you have a girlfriend.”

There was a time when I would have agreed…because erin-go-blog naively believed that “it’s not like anything happens at a strip club. They’re just looking at the naked chicks. There’s no harm in looking…”

I still believe this (rationally, of course…however, I become completely irrational when my jealous streak sets in), but my attitude changed a little bit when assboy made that infamous confession.

A girlfriend’s worst fear. There IS more than looking going on in those skeevy little private rooms.

Isn’t this prostitution?

Maybe, as my good friend makes the case for, if prostitution were legal, there wouldn’t be a need for the skeevy back rooms.

On the other hand, maybe my lovely ex would have just straight out gone to a hooker instead…

There are some, I know, who don’t believe this is a true betrayal. Maybe not…I don’t think it has quite the same significance as, oh, sneaking around behind my back and sleeping with a “friend” (ew. maybe that’s why I find those Molson ads so obnoxious…) and then lying about it for months and THEN coming clean about everything. But still. I felt betrayed. My trust was broken…I hope not for good.

Some days, I approach this whole turning 30 thing with a kind of detached indifference. Other days, it’s almost approaching panic…as if 30 were some sort of mysterious deadline. For what, exactly, I’m not sure. What is the big IT I was supposed to have accomplished?

I was having a conversation (via email) on this topic yesterday, which began with the comment that some women have a sort of “mid-life crisis” at 30:

hmmm…a LOT of women (and even some men…) have a difficult time with turning 30. One friend was so down that we didn’t even go out on her birthday. She wanted to pretend that it didn’t exist.

It has a lot to do, I think, with the expectations we set for ourselves…and making peace with the fact that we aren’t where we thought we’d be. I, for example, was “supposed” to be a whole lot more settled. Married. House. Maybe a baby or two. And I was supposed to be well-established in my chosen career at this point, without a doubt.

But instead, I’m single, scraping by on meager salaries from two part-time jobs, sharing an apartment with my best friend, and just beginning my “real” career. What’s up with that? 🙂

I did some futher pondering on this yesterday, after a lunchtime conversation with coworkers started to go the direction of marriage and children and how it’s more difficult to concieve the longer you wait…yada yada.

I have a tough time with this one, not because the tick of my biological clock has reached a thunderous level, and not because I’m filled with longing for a baby now.

No, what bothers me is the idea that women “should” or “shouldn’t” have babies at a particular age…or the idea that it’s always a choice. I am (almost) 30, and I am single. I’m okay with this. But did I choose it? No, not really. I was with a guy in college for three years, and I believed I was going to marry him. That didn’t work out. I dated for four years after that, but didn’t find anyone I could see myself spending the rest of my life with. I spent two and a half years with assboy, believing (again) that I was going to marry him. That didn’t work out either. So here I am. It’s not what I would have chosen, and it’s not how I thought it would be, but it is what IS. In those 4 years after K, should I have, what, tried harder to find a husband? Uh oh, I need to be married and have babies. You, you’ll do.

I don’t think so…

In 15 minutes, I will be exactly two months from my 30th birthday.

Here is a movie quote to commemorate this momentous occasion:

Sally: No, no, no, I drove him away. AND, I’m gonna be forty.
Harry: When?
Sally: Someday.
Harry: In eight years.
Sally: But it’s out there. It’s just sitting there, like some big dead end. And it’s not the same for men. Charlie Chaplin had babies when he was 73.
Harry: Yeah, but he was too old to pick them up.

(When Harry Met Sally)

I survived, just in case anyone was wondering… 🙂

I had a very surreal moment at around 4 am, getting on the eastbound thruway. See, I haven’t driven this route since the breakup w/assboy. So here I am, driving down the highway in the wee hours of the morning, only my thoughts and the headlights of opposing traffic to keep me awake.

The thoughts just appear. I do nothing to summon them. They’re not sad, not wistful, not even angry. They’re just there.

Now, in the light of day, I’m not even sure what they were…the drive seems a faint memory, much like the relationship itself. Did I really spend 2 1/2 years of my life with him? Did I really think I was going to marry him?

It’s amazing to me, still, how much less I cry now. I wonder why I didn’t realize, all those times he asked me why I cried so much, that the reason was him.

I wrote a short story a while back that, while it had nothing to do with assboy or our relationship, has some moments in it that now seem strangely prophetic.

But here, in the dark of my room, I only know the pain of loving someone who can’t love me back.

Or maybe he does love me. Sometimes I think that he does. It just isn’t the way I
need to be loved, my narrator thought.

Maybe it had more to do with him than I believed when I was writing it…maybe it was my subconscious trying to tell me that I needed to move on.

My horoscope in the Buffalo News:

You will be bigger than life today. Take on a new look or attitude, and your love life could be a lot of fun and certainly very exciting.

hmmm…interesting. 😉

I am still alive, just in case anyone was wondering. My stupidity and cowardice concerning a certain situation got me into some trouble (email me if you want more information, I really don’t want to get into it), and I was a little bit sad about that. But there’s nothing I can do about it, so I’m done worrying.

For much of my life, I’ve been concerned, probably too much, about what others think of me. I don’t want people to dislike me. I avoid confrontation as much as humanly possible. I’m getting better about this, little by little, and recent events have just solidified that. This is me. Better or worse, like me or not, I am who I am. And I think that a big part of getting older is coming to terms with that…most of us (I think women, especially. Correct me if I’m wrong?) spend a lot of time struggling with who we are, from the time we swim in the shark tank of middle school (anyone see Mean Girls? Exaggerated, yes, but really not so far off), throughout adolescence, college, career, etc. I hear that this improves greatly in the 30s. I do hope that’s true!

If you remember my quandary about whether or not to participate in my graduation ceremony…well, I decided not to. After a lot of wavering, contacting the school (very late) and finding out that I still could, it just seemed like too much of a hassle. It was all anticlimactic…my degree was officially conferred in December, I have my diploma, I didn’t really have the money for the garb, and I was going to have to try to arrange my work schedule to go to rehearsals and such.

I was fine with this decision…and then I heard that my good friend Mary (congrats, Mary!) was participating in her graduation ceremony today. Made me a little wistful, wondering if maybe I should have done it.

So, happy graduation day to me!