One of the very convenient things about Joel’s birthday is that it’s exactly one month and four days before mine, which gives me a handy alarm as to when I should begin mentally preparing myself to turn a new age. I have never liked turning a new number, except for when I was 16 (driver’s license!) and when I was 20 (vodka!). It’s not that I have an Isabella Swan age complex, it’s just that after a whole year I’ve always come to really like the age I’m at. It becomes part of my identity and the new age just sounds… wrong. Oh, there's nothing wrong with the new age, and I'm sure it's a very nice age to be. It’s just not me.
Some years this identity crisis is worse than others. I remember listening to the radio when I was in college and hearing a news story about a nineteen year old woman. A woman! They should have said a nineteen year old girl! A nineteen year old student! Nineteen is not a woman. I was nineteen, by the way. I don’t think I ever got used to being twenty, but I was OK with twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three and twenty-four. The next three years were bad. Didn’t like anything about twenty-five, six or seven. Twenty-eight, I like. It has a nice ring to it.
Twenty-nine. I actually think I kind of like it! I’ve been feeling quite like an adult recently, if I do say so myself. I am married! We have pets, we own a house! We talk about having children, and not only in that someday in the unimaginable future sense! But I’m still not altogether sure that twenty-nine is me. I have a month and four days to get used to it, and you’d better believe I’ll be saying “Hello, my name is Jennifer and I am twenty-nine” in my head a lot during that time.
[Those of you who don't want to hear any more about that certain time of the day that occurs just before dusk and is also the name of a popular vampire fiction series should wander away right about... now.]
Speaking of things that are age-appropriate (um, yes we were), I have wandered back into Twilight Obsessedville and I cannot find the way out. No, that's not true. I don't ANT to find it. That’s how you know you have a real problem, right? You recognize your behavior is unacceptable and yet you are unwilling to change it? Well, better Twilight than (my own personal brand of) heroin, right? That’s what I’m telling myself. Relatedly, if you live within 100 miles of Baltimore and are interested in seeing New Moon with me, please let me know. I’ve now been three times and I’ve completely exhausted my pool of willing (and not-so-willing, but coercible) companions. This is a problem. I’d like to see it at least once more. That’s code for as many times as possible, for those of you who do not reside in Obsessedville with me.
I’ve once again found myself struggling to explain just what it is about Twilight that I love so ridiculously much. Some people just don’t get it at all (it's a book about... vampires?); others remain at a normal level of fandom (wait, you already saw this movie?). I just typed out three different attempts at an explanation and they all sound so terrible and trite that I’ll just say this: I guess I’m a romantic at heart? Stephenie Meyer cast a magic spell on the manuscripts? I don’t know.
What I know is that, hello, my name is Jennifer, I am very nearly twenty-nine and I love Twilight.