Ok, my blog is being found through some weird-ass searches. Thought you should know.

In the last two weeks, this blog has enjoyed a new slew of readers (thank you), but this triumph doesn’t come without its consequences.

Searches in which pervs people have discovered reinventing sandyb:

1. nude under 14 (er, three times. gross.)
2. nude jazzercise sex.com (yep, one big ‘ol search term)
3. stupid shit to say
4. up close touch dont stare
5. bad breath in school
6. dont’s on nudebeach (um, not my spelling)
7. perks of turning 30

…And with that, I bring you the following post-

Perks of turning 30 include (but are not limited to)

-Getting carded at the liquor store feels awesome. Grrrl, you still got it.

-When you come up with a good idea in a meeting, no one discounts it because you’re “that 20something bitch who always has something to say”.

-You get drunk twice as fast. (This is a bonus feature of turning 30, because it also saves money for shoes.)

-You can buy expensive shoes with the money you saved from drinking, and nobody judges you. You’re a woman now – you don’t just need Christian Louboutin pumps, you fucking deserve them.

-You will qualify as a ‘cougar’, which could make the next few years of your single life very interesting and totally worth living through, despite the fact that all of your stupid friends are getting married this summer. Bitches. Apparently, the cougar lifestyle has its perks. I’m married and won’t dabble, so please, email me about the 24-year old “guy” you’re seeing who fights fire for a living, has a bachelor pad and totally has those lower-abs-side-cut thingys like Brad Pitt in Fightclub. I want to live vicariously through you.

-When you ask the bartender to make your martini “dirty” he doesn’t slip you his number, but he does raise his eyebrow.. and you like that.

-On your thirtieth birthday, you get to throw a bad-ass party ALL FOR YOU. (I mean, finally, I get to throw a big, expensive thing without having to share it with “the groom”. God.)

So there you have it. Hopefully some lucky 29-year will Google this bad boy and not feel so frump about her 30th. As for me, buying expensive shoes is going on the List, because after having to read “nude under 14” three times this week, I fucking deserve it.

What weird searches do people find your blog under?

Image from http://specialized-cakes.co.uk

It’s not just me. And it’s not just you.

Another "birthday tradition" (along with strawberries and champagne, fancy restaurants, and comotose-like massages) I throw my wedding dress on for a few minutes and just... indulge. It's certainly the prettiest thing I own, not to mention one that I've received a lot of compliments in. If birthdays are about feeling good (and I vote they are) then believe me, there is something wonderful about putting on your favorite dress in the whole world and not caring what anyone thinks. Something I most definitely recommend.

30 is a big deal.

Since starting to blog about my year-to-30 I’ve questioned if it’s really something people think about. There, I said it. Just because it’s a significant year for me doesn’t mean other people give a shit. Understood. But if I had any doubts before, a conversation I eavesdropped on overheard on my birthday, no less, confirmed my suspicions about the importance of 10×3.

“So, I’ve been planning it for, like, two months… I gave it a theme, ’30 in the City!'” said the girl with the huge diamond ring getting her hair shampooed at the spa where I was spa’ing last Friday for my birthday. “I made a poster and put my face on Carrie Bradshaw’s face…” she started giggling. Why? Not sure.

Readers’ note: I’m trying to cut back on bitchiness this year, so I’ll hold off with the commentary on that one. But don’t worry, that self-imposed rule doesn’t usually stick for very long. My sharp tongue will make an appearance at some point. I promise.

What I found interesting wasn’t that this girl happened to be talking about her obsession with 30 on the very day I was turning 29. Nope, that wasn’t the interesting part. What had my ears perked was when she said this: “I just, you know, want my 30s to be amazing… so I figured this would be a good way to kick it off, you know?” She was talking to the girl shampooing her hair and obviously looking for some sort of confirmation on the whole idea, which she wasn’t getting. The shampoo girl wasn’t a day over 21. Phef.

I’m not exaggerating when I say that it took a lot of self control to not walk over there, introduce myself to this newly christened 30-year old and say, “Shit, I feel you on this. I’m so there with you. Wanna grab a Starbucks?” Luckily I was slightly buzzed from a birthday mimosa and nearly comatose from my massage. I didn’t want to freak the girl out with my sometimes-too-forward introductions, particularly when it comes to topics I’m hot for.

What I learned: Turning 30 isn’t a “bad thing” – I’m not from that camp. People pitching that tent can suck it. I think 30, for the milestone reputation that it has, presents a lot of opportunity for some much-needed self-reflection and, as in my case, reinvention.

After a decade spent indulging every hormone, self-help method, an HBO show about a girl named Carrie, and asking, “What should I do with my life?”, I’m beginning to realize that 30 is the new 20 (slightly vomitable, but true). We’re just right back at Alice’s hallway of doors asking ourselves which knob to turn next. The only difference is we’ve been here before. At least I have.  It was called being 19.

I remember everyone in my life making a big deal about “not being a teenager anymore”. But I wasn’t fazed. I couldn’t wait. I thought for sure my 20s had more to offer than an exclusive membership to the club of pimples, bad break ups, awkward sex, and drama in the cafeteria. Thank-you-God. I was right.

My twenties have been good to me, which is why I think I’m a little sweaty in the pits at the thought of leaving an era that’s taken nearly a decade to mold. Just when you thought you had it figured out, a new era sits at your doorstep, much like before. The obvious differences are that we have more money (maybe), more rewarding jobs (hopefully), a better wardrobe (debatable), and the balls to go after the things we spent our 20s deciding we deserve (most definitely).

Reinventing, this project, my List, is just my way of stringing it altogether, because if I’m nothing else at the end of my 20s, I’d like to think I am a little more organized – a little more put together. This is what that new 30-year old in the chair was trying to get at, which obviously went right over the head of the 21-year shampoo girl. But she’ll get it eventually. We all do.

So here’s a Q for you: Have you and your friends had the “turning 30” conversation? What keeps coming up when you do (work, kids, marriage, buying a home, feeling lost in general)? Comment here (would love to here from you… don’t be shy now) or email me at: info@sandybraz.com

Reinvention kick-off: Day One

Today is THE day. Booyah!

Just home for a shower and quick wardrobe change before I’m whisked away to what I’m sure will be a phenom dinner.  Fant-as-tic day so far. Lots to dish. I will have details (and pictures that are NOT taken with my BlackBerry) this weekend, including some interesting chatter I overheard today about turning 30. Coincidence? Never.

Apparently, I’m ugly.

True story.

On my way to class today (I’ve just wrapped up a screenwriting course… part of #3 on my List) I was driving in heavy Spadina traffic (those who live in Toronto are so feeling me right now) and narrowly missed nailing a cyclist. By inches, I tell you, effing inches.

My heart beating so fast I could hear it, I gave him a honk- what else was I supposed to do? Then I heard a swift, “fuck you bitch!” To which I replied, “You’re going to get hit asshole!” To which he replied, “fuck you bitch” once more. Not very creative, if you ask me.

Anyways.

Livid, and sweating at the pits, I continued to drive. At that point my cyclist (I’m getting possessive here now) CUTS IN FRONT OF MY CAR and gives me the finger. I lie not. “Don’t think I won’t hit you asshole!” I say as I keep driving. (Note: my windows are rolled down the entire time and I’m driving at ice-cream truck speed, so no big deal. Kind of.)

At the next red light, my cyclist whisks by again and says, “Fuck you, you ugly c***!” To which I replied……
“Your MOTHER!” before pulling away.

I mean, who was he calling ugly?

On to better things…

Today I took a vital step towards completing #2 on my List and purchased the OFFICIAL MOTORCYCLE HANDBOOK.

I can’t set my sights on a shiny new Vespa without first reading my shiny new handbook.

Notice the BlackBerry-photo quality is back.

I was confused about what “type” of motorcycle license I need, so I called a professional: My local Vespa dealer (what, you thought vehicle licensing office? No chance. I only have a year to complete this mission, after all).

Again, the quality of this photo impresses you. I can feel it.

I learned that there are two types of moto-licenses: “LSM” (aka: Low Speed Motorcycle) license; and “M”, which is for the big bikes, Harleys, whatever. Not sure I can picture myself on a Hog any time soon, but I do feel a Vespa in my future, so the LSM it is.

Feeling good. One step closer to crossing #2 off my List. Not bad for the eve of my 29 birthday and the kick off to a year of reinvention.

I wonder though, do Vespas come with horns?

Too young for kids. Too old for cramps. That’s 29.

Rob and I in a photo booth in NYC. Came out a little gray, but we like it like that.

“Sum it up!” someone told/asked me the other day. “Sum up your 20s… what have they been about?”

Shit. I hate when people ask me things I don’t have the immediate answer to. Don’t you? (don’t answer that.)

If I had to sum it all up, the last decade that is, I would have to say that it’s been like…. chocolate. Too much of it and you end up with a fat ass. Too little and you’re left wanting more. In summary, it’s been about finding that perfect equilibrium between indulgence and discipline. Sadness and sweetness. Madness and insanity. Budget and luxury.  Lust and love. Flats and pumps. And Effexor and wine (to name a few.)

Twenty-nine is like the gray area of understanding yourself: You know more about being you than you did at 19, but could use a few more clues before you feel you finally have it right. Most days, all I’m really certain of is that I’m still too young for babies but way too old for cramps.

The great thing about being 29 is that you know it’s time to cut out the bullshit and just be honest with yourself. For me part of that honesty comes from knowing I don’t want kids. Not yet. To those (distant relatives and nosy friends) who ask “why?” I say pshaw. I couldn’t possibly imagine myself sympathizing with a teething toddler (is that when it happens?) when I’m keeled over the toilet cursing the very existence of my uterus, clutching a bottle of Advil. I couldn’t possibly. And that’s the truth. And I am very ok with that.

Twenty-nine, it seems, sits on the cusp of not just my 30s but on the cusp of so many possibilities, which is why I think so many people ask so many questions. They’re just wondering what I’m up to next, which actually means we have a lot in common, because a lot of the time I’m wondering the very same thing.

And that, my friends, is 29.

One week to go. Holding my breath.

Forget enough hours in the day. I could use a couple of extra years between now and 30.

The thing about turning 30 is that you realize what passes for “cute” in your 20s is nothing short of gauche in your 30s.

For example:

1.  Getting tipsy after a drink (or two)

What people really think: you’ve been drinking for well over a decade now. Seriously, get a grip. And stop saying things like, “I hardly ever drink.” Nobody believes you.

2.  You’re still trying to find your “niche”

What people really think: you graduated high school 12 years ago. You likely suffered through at least two “Career Days” in your teens and minimum one “Job Fair” your first year at university. Not to mention the post-grad backpacking trip your credit card paid for. Fifteen jobs and fourteen resignation letters later and you’re still searching for the elusive “niche” huh?

3.  Starting a family is nowhere on your radar

What people really think: you lie like a rug. Married, single or swinging, every gal has thought about whether her ovaries will shrivel up before 40. Didn’t you learn anything from six seasons of “Sex and the City”? You don’t want a family because you’re still trying to find your “niche”. Admit it.

4.  It’s worth waiting for “Mr. Right”

What people really think: have you been drinking tipsy? Even married women are waiting for Mr. Right – there is no such thing. Plus, your ovaries are shriveling up.

5. You’re quitting your job… again?

What people really think: I don’t care what the New York Times say – changing your “career” every two years is one thing, but every six months girl, for real? Get a grip. What are you doing with your life?

Note: Number five is especially a stinger for most and, to be truthful, a lot of the motivation behind my own reinvention before 30. The ambition people admired in you at 20something gets misconstrued as “flakey” when you’re 30ish. Do I personally agree? Hell no. Is it a fact and do people really think it? You tell me.

In two weeks….

"If you knew how much you were loved, you would never cry again..."

Two Fridays from today I will be 29.

It will be August 21 and I will have just ONE YEAR to tackle my “Before I Turn 30 List”. But am I ready? Are these the things that I really want to accomplish by this time next year? I’m gonna go with “yes” and see how I feel in two weeks when 28 is but a distant memory and the power of the List comes into full effect. Stay tuned.

On another note….

I had the day off from work today (always a frickin bonus in my books) and took myself to breakfast at one of my favorite coffee joints, just a few steps away (ok, like half a block) from my front door. LOVE their plain croissant. Rob recently fell in love with the brioche there, but me, I like my crusty pastries straight up.

So, while croissanting and sipping coffee, I thumbed through the latest version of Now mag (about 30 hours old, hot off the presses) and did something I rarely do, like, ever: I read my Horoscope. (Note: I first typed “hororscope“… Freudian slip perhaps? Perhaps.)

I know, I know… lame. I should know by now that horoscopes are but the penwork of clever writers f*cking with common folk who are desperate for a little ego-centric entertainment before noon. But I digress.

Maybe it’s because (truth be told) this turning 30 thing really does have me in a tiz, but what I read in my ‘scope this morning tickled bits of my brain and prodded at pieces of my heart that I think, lately, needed a kickstart. It was actually quite revealing. And so, without further ado, here is what I read – an ode to Leo’s everywhere (you know who you are):

LEO (Jul 23 – Aug 22)

If you really knew how much you were loved, you would never cry again. A sublime relaxation would flood your nervous system, freeing you to see the beautiful secrets that your chronic fear has hidden from you. If you knew how much the world longs for your genius to bloom, the peace that filled you would ensure you could not fail. You’d face every trial with eager equanimity. You would always know exactly what to do, because your intuition would tell you in myriad of subtle ways. And get this, Leo: A glimpse of this glory will soon be available to you.

-Rob Brezsny, Now magazine