dirty thirty

Joan Crawford’s Wikipedia page lists her birthday as March 23, 190?. The question mark isn’t a typo, it’s her middle finger to the passage of time. Crawford guarded her age like the nuclear codes, taking that mystery to her grave. Was she 69 or 73 when she died? We’ll never know, but you can bet she’s still lying about it in the afterlife.

She’s been pushing up daisies longer than I’ve been breathing, but I can still feel the weight of her suffocating shame. Because that shame doesn’t just linger, it thrives today. It’s like we’re stuck in a time warp where women are expected to Benjamin Button their way through life.

It doesn’t just sadden me. It pisses me off. The idea that any woman would feel compelled to hide a part of herself — especially something as natural and powerful as her age — makes my blood boil. Our years are hard-earned badges of honor, not flaws to be airbrushed away.

Don’t get me wrong, I love Joan. But living like that? Hard pass. I’d rather go full-throttle like George Burns, chain-smoking cigars through my 100th birthday, leaving a trail of ash and zero fucks in my wake.

the chonkiest chonk to ever live!!!

As this hits your inbox, I’ll be lounging in my childhood room, nestled in a white wrought iron bed with toile bedding and monograms galore. Southern.

I’m back in Louisiana to ring in a new decade with family and friends, possibly drinking sweet tea like it’s the fountain of youth.

But honestly? There’s no better place to kick off my dirty thirties. This is where all the chaos began, and you better believe it’s where it’ll keep rolling.

So yeah, let’s just say laissez les bons temps rouler — because if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that the good times always come with a little bit of mess.

I know, shocking for those of you who had me pegged closer to 95… but you’re not wrong. I’ve been elderly since I could shuffle around in a diaper, and trust me, the soul mileage shows. Just ask my hand-crank record player.

But here I am, one hand holding excitement and the other clutching the inevitable existential dread that creeps in at every milestone. Cue the cake, the violins, and the annoyingly predictable reflections.

Stumbling through life, I’ve picked up a few musings and random truths. Some might even be useful, most are probably nonsense, and the rest? Well, I’ve just decided to call them “wisdom” to make myself feel better.

And now, as I teeter into my 30s, no grand Norma Desmond entrance is planned...though give me a few years and we’ll see—

1. I didn’t get better at shaving. I got worse. My ankles look like they’ve survived a Hitchcock thriller.

2. People are like cocktails — sometimes, they’re your favorite, and other times, you wonder why you ever ordered them in the first place. It doesn’t make them bad; they are just human (and occasionally terrible for your liver).

3. Not everything is worth fixing. I’ve accepted my life’s more abstract Picasso than serene Monet — and listen, even if it’s a little jarring to look at, the auction prices still hold.

4. Mini M&Ms are better than regular ones. Something about the crunch-to-chocolate ratio makes life feel...balanced.

5. It’s intoxicating to keep my world small, hoarding my secrets like treasure. But I’ve learned that letting people in, even when it feels like gambling with my sanity, always makes life richer.

6. There’s nothing better than a good listener — the one who nods at all the right moments and doesn’t try to “fix” things.

7. It’s possible to love a dog completely and unconditionally — especially when she’s named Delilah, and her little nub tail wags like she’s your biggest fan.

8. Cake for breakfast isn’t rebellious. It’s genius. Why wait for happiness when you can eat it before noon?

9. You don’t have to wait for others to show up or celebrate you. Take yourself — out to dinner, out for a walk, out of your comfort zone. I’ve got me, and that’s more than enough.

10. A crisp ginger ale has healing properties. I’m a Schweppes gal, and this isn’t up for debate — especially on days when nothing else seems to settle my stomach or my mind.

11. With each passing day, I get less sure about life and its mysteries. But that uncertainty feels like freedom. Turns out, unlearning rules I never needed feels like tearing up a bad map and finding my own way.

12. Two legendary friends beat a dozen “meh” ones. I’d rather go through life with a dream team than an entourage.

13. Joy isn’t always fireworks — sometimes it’s that first sip of coffee when the world is still. Life’s best riches often whisper when we expect a roar.

14. Grief consumes more than I ever expected, but so does love — they both carve out spaces in you, and sometimes, they live side by side.

15. “Just one more episode” is the most dangerous lie you can tell yourself. And yet, here I am, five episodes deep.

16. Sometimes, I’m my own unreliable narrator, especially when it comes to self-talk. I’ve learned to question the stories I tell myself — they’re not always the truth.

17. My body is always changing, and that’s okay. It’s carried me through everything so far — give it a little grace.

18. Nostalgia is a liar with a great Instagram filter — but I’ve made peace with the fact that sometimes, the fantasy’s better than the truth.

19. I wish I didn’t care what people think, but I do. Some days, I’m a bulletproof badass. Other days, it’s like I forgot my armor, and every side glance feels like a slap.

20. I relate more to Bette Davis lighting a cigarette with a sigh than to any motivational quote ever written.

21. Sometimes, being brave is just rolling out of bed when everything feels like it’s crushing you.

22. I thought adulthood meant knowing stuff. Turns out, it’s just Googling “Did Tennessee Williams ever write anything happy?” and pretending like that’s a skill.

23. I can love someone with my whole heart and still need them to take three giant steps back — personal space is a love language too.

24. If I go out after 9 p.m., I’m either really committed to our friendship or I’ve lost my mind.

25. I’m allowed to be a work in progress and a masterpiece simultaneously. Citizen Kane wasn’t fully appreciated for years, but it was always the same film.

26. Not every wound needs reopening, and not every past needs a postmortem. Sometimes, you’ve got to let sleeping dogs lie — it’s easier to walk away that way.

27. There’s a fine line between being an optimist and just being delusional. I cross it daily — with flair.

28. I’ve finally accepted that I’m never going to be “a morning person.” I rise like an aging Hollywood diva: slowly, dramatically, and not without complaints.

29. Nothing gives me more swagger than my gold hoop earrings. They’re my armor, my attitude, my “don’t mess with me” vibe all rolled into one.

30. I’ve let go of the person I thought I’d be by now — honestly, she seems overrated. I’ve got my quirks, my questions, and my gold hoops, and that’s more than enough to handle whatever’s next.

    

So here I am, ankles bandaged and stepping boldly (or maybe clumsily) into another chapter. I can only imagine the beautiful chaos still to come. It’ll be messy, utterly untamed, and absolutely all mine.

And I’ll be shouting my age every year with no shame, just pure, unapologetic joy at still being here — raising hell and eyebrows. Because if I’m not celebrating me, who the hell will?

At my core, I’m still just a gal who loves tomatoes.

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