Well, it’s upon me. 29. Twiz-niz.

People make a really big deal about (dirty) 30 and 40, but I think 29 and 39 are scarier b-days. All of a sudden there is so much PRESSURE. The inner monologue starts getting buck…

Sara, what are you going to do this year?

Self, are you prepared for the big 3-0?

Sara, do you feel satisfied with you life?

That’s kinda’ dumb, I know. But it’s truuuuueeeeee. Everyone keeps saying stuff like,

Oh, it’s your last year in your 20’s! What are you gonna’ do?!

And,

Really? You’re 29? When people say they’re 29 they really mean they’re 30.

Huh?! Yup, someone actually said that to me. As if! I’d love to be 30. Then maybe I’d finally get some damn respect up in here.

But beyond the pressure I’m putting on myself to

          a) Have my career totally figured out this year

          b) Pay off all of my credit card debt this year

          c) Start investing for real this year

          d) Actually have a real path in life this year…

Here is the worst possible way you can pressure a woman who just turned 29,

Oh, girl, enjoy it while it lasts, because when you turn 30, your metabolism is going to slow way down. It’s horrible.

Oh, Jesus!!! I guess that means if I’m going to go ahead and get really skinny, I better do it now. Because after this year I’m fucked. Is that what you mean?

Well, it’s my birthday and I’ll say FUCK YOU if I want to.

I’m gonna’ TEAR UP 29, people. That’s the plan. Jager shots on this Jew tomorrow night. Beyatch.

All that other shit can wait.