I’m 29 years old. It’s the last year of the seemingly longest decade of my entire life. I feel like I’ve been in my damn 20s for-f*cking-ever. Like, holy sh*t, my sweet kittens, this decade has been a deliriously long, massively crazy, gloriously f*cked up ride, hasn’t it?
I don’t know about you, but my 20s have been nothing short of a beautiful mess. I can confidently say I had a good damn run.
I’ve fallen in love, had my heart smashed into a trillion shards of shattered glass, done the drugs, stopped doing the drugs, kissed the boy, kissed the girl (which I’ve come to find I much prefer), drank the booze, torn the tights, smoked the cigarettes, quit the cigarettes, lived in the city, lived out of the city (aka parent’s house), made friends, lost friends, traveled the world, lived on pennies, wore the crop top, screwed up, f*cked up, lied, told the truth and suffered through endless meltdowns and life crises — all while looking fierce in my faux fur and mega platforms.
One would think 29 is the year you calm down and prepare for 30. You slowly start to eat organic, get yourself into the habit of going to yoga (yawn) and digitally punch your plans into the “notes” section of your iPhone.
I say screw that. I want to make the absolute most of the last year of the most tempestuous decade of my life. I’m not letting go of my 20s without a fight.
Look, it’s not like I plan on having the fun come to a screeching halt when I turn 30. I’m not going to wake up the morning of my thirtieth birthday ready to trade in my sexy cut-out dresses and lace stockings for basic flats and Chico’s linen kaftans (vom).
I’m not going to suddenly quit drinking liquor and stop writing about sex on the Internet. Nah, I plan on doing all of that for f*cking life, kittens (truth be told, I plan on getting even better at it with age).
However, there are a few things I do want to get checked off my proverbial checklist before I enter this fresh, fierce new decade.
I want to relish in the horribleness, the ratchet-ness and the sinfulness of my 20s for the rest of my twenty-ninth year.
Because while the good times don’t end in your 30s (nor should they ever), a certain maturity takes place, a sense of calm and self-confidence thatpermeates throughout the decade of your 30s that is vastly missing from your 20s.
And I must confess: I’m excited for the newness of 30. I can’t wait to be that sexy, pilates-bodied, 30-year-old woman who has her sh*t (more or less) together. I’m kind of looking forward to shopping at Whole Foods and having fresh flowers in my apartment. It’s fun to play grown-up.
Which is why, before I kiss this era goodbye, I want to make sure I bask in all the crazy 20-year-old f*ck-ups and bullsh*t ONE LAST TIME:
1. Have a toxic, passionate love affair that consists of passionate fights and glorious bouts of make-up sex.
2. Live paycheck to f*cking paycheck.
3. Not feel an ounce of worry about living paycheck to f*cking paycheck.
4. Get at least one bad sunburn without stressing about the advent of wrinkles.
5. Miss a day of work because I’m throwing my guts up after a wild, salacious night out on the town.
6. Write as many melodramatic Facebook statuses as possible.
7. Buy as manycheap clothes from Forever 21 as my budget will allow.
8. Guiltlessly use Splenda.
9. Guiltlessly drink sugar-free Red Bull.
10. Guiltlessly live off cheap champagne and protein bars.
11. Get in a plethora of big, dramatic Facebook fights with my conservative, republican family members.
12. Interact with sh*tty club promoters.
13. Spend every Sunday for the next year having massive Sunday meltdowns that involve Netflix, tears and an existential crisis.
14. Get a facial piercing.
15. Dye my hair a non-natural color (like old school Kylie Jenner electric green perhaps?).
16. Escort all of my panicked girlfriends to Walgreens for fresh packs of “Plan B” after a hazy Friday night.
17. Wear as many torn tights as humanly possible.
18. Wear as many crop tops as humanly possible.
19. Show my goddamn bra strap as much as possible.
20. Stupidly mix all the wrong drinks on a night out: I will take a vodka soda, a beer, a glass of wine and a lemon drop shot — thankyouverymuch.
21. BURN THE CANDLE TOO BRIGHTLY AT BOTH ENDS.
22. Get that obnoxious Hello Kitty iPhone 6 case.
23. Shatter the glass of my iPhone and not replace the glass for at least six to 12 weeks.
24. Lose a really expensive designer purse at the club and ruin the night by making all of my friends look for it (only to find it’s draped behind a chair).
25. Ask my dad to make a doctor’s appointment for me.
26. Ask my dad for a “small business loan” (AKA new clothes from Topshop).
27. Take out a “small business loan” from the bank (AKA consciously overdraft my bank account).
28. Rock a really ratchet makeup trend like over-lining my lips or overly precise drag queen brows.
29. Shamelessly sleep in my makeup.
30. Shamelessly rock my makeup from the night before to work the next day.
31. Sport chipped nails.
32. Sport split ends.
33. Sport roots.
34. Buy a fake designer bag (before I treat myself to that yummy YSL clutch for my thirtieth).
35. Share a drunken cigarette outside a club with a stranger (even though I don’t smoke).
36. NOT worry about going to the dentist.
37. NOT worry about working out.
38. NOT worry about GMOs.
39. NOT worry about f*cking “yoga.”
40. Drink as much “well” liquor as I can stomach.
41. Read every sh*t tabloid possible.
42. Spend endless smug hours social media stalking girls I loathed from high school.
43. Spill red wine all over the white couch at a prissy little bitch’s “gathering.”
44. Invite a ton of people to a dinner party at my house and accidentally burn dinner, so we all end up ordering Chinese instead.
45. Starve myself for the entire day, and then eat an entire box of Lucky Charms at 3 am.
46. Break a stiletto and hobble around the city on a broken heel all night.
47. Have a pregnancy scare (almost impossible as I’m a lesbian, but I want to experience it).
48. I know I’m reaching high here, BUT I would love to be involved in a big Lindsay Lohan-esque media scandal.
49. Adorn my body in those glittery, trashy “flash” tattoos when it’s not even festival season.
50. Wear as much PacSun (especially the “Kendall and Kylie for PacSun ” line) as I possibly f*cking can.
51. Have a spray tan disaster.
52. Use old gloppy mascara way after the expiration date.
53. Get a questionable tattoo.
54. Befriend (and foster in my apartment) a questionable person.
55. Partake in questionable behavior after a questionable amount of shots.
56. Traipse around the city with a big stain on a pretty dress.
57. Cry my eyes out on public transportation.
58. Confess all of my stupid, mundane problems to my uber driver at 2 am.
59. Cancel as many plans as I possibly can at the very last minute.
60. Constantly question WHAT THE F*CK I’M DOING WITH MY LIFE.
61. And most of all: blame it at all on being “in my 20s.”