This is 30.

My name is Rachel and tomorrow I will be 30.

I look like my mom and sometimes my Nonna. My signature has the same style "G" as my dad.

I have a dirty bathroom, and I don't really care.

I am surrounded by people who believe in me, far more than I have ever believed in myself.

My name is Rachel and tomorrow I will be 30.

I'm in a moment of near-change in my job. Change if I want it, consistency if I decide I don't - reward no matter which I pick.

I really, really need to get my passport renewed.

I am still shocked, pleased, and full of gratitude when people tell me they love the way I write.

My name is Rachel and tomorrow I will be 30.

I can't dress myself, except I know exactly which dresses will be flattering before I even try them on.

I still drink too much on weeknights, especially when the booze is free.

I sense that there is still at least one grand adventure left in my life.

My name is Rachel and tomorrow I will be 30.

I have a bestfriendboyfriend who continues to surprise me with my his capacity to love me and his sweet moves in the kitchen.

I am committing to a life of not checking my phone first thing in the morning. Starting tomorrow.

I really like going to bed before 10:00 p.m. when I can.

My name is Rachel and I have so much life left to live - I cannot wait to see what will happen in the next 30 years.

Grocery Struggle

If I had to make a list of what was Real right now. The Struggle would be at the top.

I refuse to give up nights of one-too-many, and thanks-for-the-freebie, and talk-too-loud-laugh-too-hard. I refuse to give up a Tuesday margarita or a Wednesday beer and burger - even if it means that the grocery store is maybe the biggest challenge of my entire adult life.

Being drunk and productive at the grocery store is basically like riding a unicorn. Impossible.

Sometimes though, when you're dang near 30 you gotta buckle down and buy groceries. You can't serve your guests boca burgers at brunch and with a week full of celebrating, Tuesday nights call for bigger and mightier functionality.

This does occasionally mean extra bacon, inexplicable almond joy frosting (3 containers), and an existential conversation about flavored orange juice.

Always sweet

When you want dessert. Eat dessert.

I spend most of my time locked in eternal mental battles. No decision is ever really made with full confidence. My favorite decision is when someone else makes the decision for me.  

All travel, career choices, meals, written words, everything is considered for as long as I possibly can before finally just blurting out something and then spending the rest of my life silently panicking that I made the wrong choice.

Except dessert. When I want dessert, I do not think about it - I find and enjoy dessert (like a Good Humor Birthday Cake Ice Cream Pop) and I never once have regretted it. 

If I'm full to the brim of other delicious things, I know enough not to pick out a dessert, but when there is room, I'll fill it up. The exception to this rule is when I give up all carbs because I am a competitive asshole with a weird religious bent.

When we went to Alinea (so long ago!) and the most.amazing.dessert.of.all.time was performed in front of us, I ate until my stomach nearly exploded. I wanted to just be given, like, 20 minutes to nap and come back for the rest. I wanted it just shove it all in my clutch and take it home to eat in bed. I miss that dessert more than some people I've known.

Food has always been a source of struggle for me. A battle of being happy versus being happier. The one battle I refuse to fight is the one against chocolate, against pie crust, against buttercream frosting. 

My birthday will have cake, it will have Berger cookies, it will have more cake, and it might have some delicious and spirited Notre Dame chocolates, and I will eat them all. 

Round and Round

Despite my internet silence, I have spent most of the past month or so musing my impending doom and slow march towards 30.

I have been thinking a whole bunch of meaningless, cliched thoughts when I wake up in the middle of the night and it all came down to this.

Its been a cardinal rule of my life that a Kitchen-Aid mixer is a reward for getting married and laying down the groundwork for making grandbabies.

I do not really need any reasons to get married, and I do not really need any reasons not to get married, because in this one part of my life - I feel pretty empowered and in a "good place."

But there was something about this carrot being dangled that felt unjust. Why should I have to wait for this good thing? No matter when (if?) I get married, there is whipped cream to be made right now.

So I carped the newegg deal and bought myself this lovely Blackhawks-Red mixer for an incredibly reasonable price (and two day shipping).

Its only been one day (and one oversized batch of delicious mashed potatoes) but it feels like Miso & Hazel's baby sister has been here the whole time.

I only have a week and a day left of my 20's and I going to try very hard to find other ways to remind myself that the only rules I need to consider following are the ones I make for myself.