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Department of Motor Vehicles

16 May

I got a notice that, for the first time since I got my driver’s license at 17, I need to renew in person, not via snail mail.

At first, there was disbelief.

What?  Why can’t I renew by mail?  It hasn’t been THAT long, has it?  Why, yes… yes it has been.  That 2013 expiration date on my license has been this abstract, far away thing—that is now right here.

Then it was just the inconvenience that got to me.

I’ve got to make the appointment and they’ll never take me on time and I have to tell work that I’ll be out/late, blah blah blah.

Then I read the notice carefully and realized this was going to be one of those “Oh, shit, I’m actually getting older” moments.

I need to get a new photo and take a vision test (and likely update any other pertinent information).  They also list the current info so you can compare your stats.  Age?  Older, of course.  Vision?  Worse.  Height?  Same.  Weight?  I’m going to just crawl into a hole now, thankyouverymuch…


Baby Fever?

26 Mar

I have such mixed feelings about babies and their older counterparts, children.  Some of my friends (ok, most) would argue that I don’t, and say that I have one feeling: baby fever.  While I concede that I do look at babies and little children when they pass by, as well as point them out to other people (like, “Hey, look at the baby!” “That baby is so small!”), I really feel a great deal of terror when I think about having one of my own.

As a younger lady, I was mostly afraid of the actual birth.  I mean, child… through… bathing suit area… oww.  Then I really got panicky at the thought of being pregnant. No caffeine, for one, and this thing grows inside of you!  What if it’s a boy, then it’s a little wiener growing inside of you!  Gross!

A few years ago the thought of having a kid by myself (sans fella, except for the first part, winkwink) crossed my mind.  The scary part was… it wasn’t that scary.  (Of course, it’s really hard to snag a fella when you’re a single mom and it’d be nice to have a fella around for, y’know, love and companionship.)  But since I’ve had that not-so-terrifying thought, I’ve re-terrified myself thinking about all of the things that go with actually raising the tiny human into a big human…

How much do you feed it?  How many pairs of pants do you have to buy it?  How do you know if it needs glasses?  How do you explain God?  What if it gets hurt?  What if you get hurt and leave it all alone?

The Countdown

2 Jan

In about 6 months, at the end of June 2013, I will turn 30.  Thirty.  3-0.  Suffice it to say, I am having a bit of an emotional reaction to this chronological inevitability.  Not “crying in the fetal position” type of reaction, but there have been some sleepless nights and some tears.  As I drag my heels because I don’t feel in the least bit ready for this milestone, I am reminded of what my grandma (who lived to be 98 and a half years old) used to say when people complained about getting older… “Consider the alternative.”  Aging is the point of life, or else you’re dead, and I get that.  But me?  30?  Something doesn’t make sense there.

We’ll explore that in the future, but right now, let’s discuss the plan…

My plan is to throw a huge party for my 30th.  Since I don’t exactly see wedding bells in my near-ish future (also more on that later), and I didn’t do the Bat Mitzvah thing (singing? in another language? in front of people? no thank you, says 12-year-old Danielle), I haven’t had a giant and mildly ridiculous party in my honor.  And I want to celebrate this momentous occasion with something more than just dinner/drinks.  When I explain why I’m so fixated on doing it up big, I give the example from Sex and the City (yeah, yeah, hear me out).  There’s an episode when Carrie “marries herself” to get back her Manolos.  While that’s a sitcom plot about lost shoes and a rude party hostess, what sticks out is that she’s getting married to herself.  Other people have the conventional milestones—engagement, marriage, kids—in the expected amount of time, and others don’t.  I’m definitely a don’t.

I’m not doing it for the presents, but for the presence of people I enjoy to hopefully make me forget , at least for a little while, that this is something that really scares me.