I realized last night that I’m almost always the one moving away and never the one moved away one and, frankly, there’s a way in which being moved away on really sucks.
So, Brittney’s moving. To San Francisco. And turning thirty.
It’s fun to watch her pout and piss and moan about turning thirty, just because she obviously doesn’t know. I mean, shoot, the Butcher and I were watching some show yesterday that was all about how “You’ll never be healthier or feel better than you do in your 20s” so I know the cultural narrative is that you peek (peak… pique… shoot, you guys have me all paranoid now that I know I don’t know one peek from another) in your 20s and after that, the boobs head south, the chin sprouts hair, and your life is basically over.
But, clearly, those shows are not written by people who have actually been women in their thirties, because, dear Brittney, let me just warn you, you are about to hit it. I don’t know if there’s a name for it but now’s the time (well, you know, after you get to San Francisco. No need in buying this stuff just to pack it) to load up on the KY, the condoms, the sex toys, and the BenGay to keep the boyfriend limber.
It doesn’t happen right away, but sometime very soon in your early thirties, you’re going to learn what it was like for boys to be in high school. Everyone seems plausibly fuckable and you’ll spend a great deal of time distracted by wondering how soon it will be until you can get laid again. You’ll wonder if it would be rude to go into the bathroom at work and masturbate. You’ll start looking around the grocery store like vegetarian isn’t just a food preference.
Everyone I’ve had the balls to ask about it agrees that it happens (I hear rumors that you get another go-round at feeling like a total out of control sex fiend closer to menopause, too. I look forward to that.), but it’s not something anyone tells you about ahead of time.
But I’m telling you.
As for the moving, well, I don’t like it. But I know it’s the right thing and I’m excited to hear all about it.
I just wanted to say publicly thanks for everything. When you asked me to be the first weekend blogger at NiT, I was so excited I called everyone I knew and bragged about how I was going to be writing on a real live TV station’s website. And I do think that writing on NiT gave me a level of respectibility and plausibility as a liberal voice that would have taken me a lot of time to develop otherwise, if at all.
The other thing I love about you, and it must have sucked, but I really appreciate your willingness to be human online–to be snarky when called for, to get pissed, to make mistakes, and to be willing to acknowledge them and live with the consequences. There’s a really ferocious bravery in that, especially as a woman, especially as a person others were constantly gunning for, and I find it truly inspiring.
I will miss you, but I’m so proud and honored that I know you and that I’ll get to see you do this thing and the next and the next.
Your friend,
b.
p.s. Someone may have been spreading the rumor that JAG is having TV on the Fritz’s gay baby, just to liven up the Nashville blogosphere. I’m pretty sure, that it’s not true.
Tiny Cat Pants 
It’s a weird trade, losing some vitality for the peacefulness than accompanies middle age. I can’t run as fast, or lift as much, and i grow tired more quickly, but I am also not plagued by indecision and insecurity at the same level of intensity at this age.
Nashville’s loss in the bay Area’s gain. BTW, she really isn’t moving to San Francisco, she is moving to Berkeley. I wish her well.
Yes, but don’t you think that, in a fair world, women my age would be encouraged to hook up with each other and/or take twenty year old male lovers?
Let’s not get distracted from the important points by all this talk of how old you are.
Ha. Sorry. I’m feeling a little sassy today.
First, I found 30 to be incredibly empowering.
Second, B is right about IT
And her description of IT is spot on.
Oh B, I’m running on little sleep, and I’m hungover, and that made me cry. Even weep a little. Thank you so much for being so awesome. I’m really, really going to miss you, but there is a guest room with your name on it. I will be pissed if you don’t fly out soon. (Tickets are reasonable if you look far enough in advance!)
Also, yay for all the doin’ it!
I’ve been thirty for six months and you ain’t kidding.
I concur with everything in this post. Yes. Well, except I’ve never looked at my vegetables with desire. But definitely some 20-something-year-old boys. Yes.
Yes.
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Oh dear me… my 30s… [sigh]. The boys… all the beautiful, young, college boys… [heavy sigh]. What can I say…?
Yes, boy howdy! to the thirties. And yes, yes, GOD-OOOOOOHHHHHH YES! to the forties too. My mother reports that the fifties and sixties are only as good as your partners (which stands to reason, as she’s of a generation for whom “toys” were what you gave kids and dogs and “lube” was what you did to a Chevrolet), but that the seventies are a revelation.
I can’t wait.
As a 29-year-old, let me just say, freakin’ sweet. Can I start counting down the days, or would that be too presumptuous?
I must chime in and say how, um, IT has also taken on a whole new, um, urgency and won-der-ful-ness since the Ednaectomy…it’s liberating, and I think the hormones made my boobies grow (added bonus).
Viva la 40s!
… you mean it gets worse?! Life is distracting enough as it is. =p
*ahem*
Anyway, we should visit sometime, Brittney! I’m about 6 hours south of your new locale. :)
I’m 39. Not sure why anyone’s been keeping “it” a secret from people, but glad Aunt B. is blowing the lid off it. My thirties have been my favorite so far.
And is it considered un-do-able (no pun intended) for women in their 30’s to do more than just look at younger dudes? I can’t tell if people are just being wistful on here or what… And I’m talking of-legal-age younger, not freshly minted 17 year olds.
Joan, I’ve got to tell you, I don’t think it’s un-doable if you can get over the hurdle of fucking someone almost young enough to be your son if you were a precocious high schooler (as is the problem with 18 year olds once you get to be 33–34–35 or so). If you can look at an 18 or 20 year old and see a man and not a baby and if he’s game, I say go for it.
Yes, my 30s are simply amazing. So yes Rachel, start counting down the days! If your lucky (like me), you may even get an early birthday present.
Actually, my 40’s are my favorite thus far.
My 30’s were cool too.
What a lovely post!
I remember when IT happened to my wife in her early 30’s.
Such good memories…
As for getting older, I was in crappy shape in my 20’s. I’m in the best shape of my life NOW, so, except for a few nagging aches and pains, it isn’t a given you’ll go downhill.
Remembered this post again when I went to check the mail and noted four young men (20s, I think) unloading furniture for the house across the street. Please, God let them be moving in! And yes, I’m sure I’m the only neighbor wishing that.
I’m going to be seriously let down if this doesn’t happen to me.
I can personally vouch for the 30s part of it.
We must get together when I return to Nashville and make cooter origami again and talk about vaginas loudly in vegetarian restaurants. I have a boyfriend now, but we both celebrate the vagina regularly as gay feminists…just not in our mouths.
Here’s another vote in favor of not keeping the IT a secret — it’s too much fun. Damn, the dreams alone are worth it, let alone the fun you can awake.
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I’ll have to remember all this info for when I turn 30.