Wednesday, March 3, 2010

Things That Suck: Turning 30


I watched the remnants of my youth fade into the distance as the driver pedaled away from the past, the cacophonous cackling of the harpies of old age echoing all around me.


Hold on, I need to clarify that last statement: when I say “remnants of my youth” I actually mean “contents of my stomach”, and the aforementioned harpies of infirmity are actually just my degenerate friends.


Dammit, I can’t lie to you guys like this.


I was hoping to paint a picture in your mind that would feature me turning around for one last introspective gaze into my past, but the truth is that I was intoxicated beyond words on the back of a pedal-cab looking at the streaks my vomit made on the asphalt.


I had just turned 30, tried to drink like I was 20, and was now throwing up like a sorority girl that needed to lose 10 pounds in 0 minutes. Although fine wines improve with age, my ability to drink them apparently did not.


I’d love to blame my friends for this, but none of them were throwing up off of what amounted to the white-trash version of a homecoming float, and what a float it would have been: The rickshaw driver waving his Guns ‘n’ Roses bandanna from his needle-tracked arm, my friends pointing at me and drawing anyone’s attention within earshot, and then me in the middle, pale as a ghost wearing my crown of jack-assery, showering the crowd with what I think were bits of California roll and whole French-fries.


This wouldn’t have happened if I were 20. Hell, this wouldn’t have happened if I was even still in my 20’s. It seems like a few things just completely leave you when you turn 30, and the ability to drink for hours on end is one of them. I felt like a Hyundai that had just reached the end of its mileage warranty and, the instant the odometer read 10,000 miles, decided to take the vehicular equivalent of a shit on the road and die. Death would’ve been far less painful and far more noble than what was happening to me on that damned bike-cart.


As the edges of the night began to close in around me and my vision dimmed, I had a slim hope that my next birthday would be less painful, and a grim pleasure in knowing that all the laughing bastards around me had a 30th birthday coming for them soon, and when it did, I would be piloting their rickshaw as they were yakking off the back, singing my siren song of satisfaction the whole time.

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