I’ll be 27 on Sunday. I don’t really feel anything interesting about that. It’s just something that will happen on Sunday. I’ll wake up in the morning, and I’ll eat some food, and I’ll probably play with the cats, and I might drive my car, and I might read or watch TV or clean the house, and I’ll turn 27.

We used to tease Jamie a lot because, for years, she’d start making plans for her birthday in, say, March. Her birthday is in November. But all year long she’d talk about what we’d do for her birthday, and what she’d like to get for her birthday, and what kind of cake she’d prefer for her birthday, and we’d be like OMG JAMIE THAT MOVIE WILL BE ON HBO BY THE TIME YOUR BIRTHDAY GETS HERE. But, you know, I bet I used to be like that too. That was the most important day of the year, after all. It was MY DAY, when everyone had to be nice to me or I would be completely within my rights as Birthday Girl to throw a fit and kick their asses.

I remember getting ready for my 7th birthday party and running into a sometimes-friend, Amanda Blatcher, when my mom and I were leaving the house to go to the store. Amanda asked why I was all dressed up and I explained that it was MY BIRTHDAY and asked her if she wanted to come to the party later. She said she would, and I told her that she still had time to get me a present beforehand, but she’d probably better hurry.

Eesh. I was really such a dick.

I had a couple of really awesome birthdays. When I was younger, we always had great parties, and often went ice-skating or something along those lines. My 21st was loads of fun, and that celebration lasted for about three days and included such gems as a dirty schoolgirl costume, Burger King chicken tenders in a dorm hallway at 3 in the morning, and the South Park movie. My 25th birthday was pretty good too. My 20th and 18th birthdays sucked ass.

I think I got a can of pineapple for my birthday one year when I was a kid. Mom told me that I had specifically requested it. There’s also an awesome birthday picture of me opening my Yoda Play-Doh playset.

This year’s going to be quiet. I think I’m going to Roanoke to have dinner with my parents, and then on Monday I’ll have margaritas with some work friends.

When my mom was my age, she was married with two kids. Almost all of my friends are older than I am, and many of them have married and bought houses and had kids and such by 27. I look at them and think maybe I’m behind. Maybe there’s something I’m not doing. Even though I’m not interested in getting married right now, and I don’t know if I’ll ever have kids, and it doesn’t make much sense to buy a house when I’m still getting my finances in order and I’m not sure where I want to put down roots anyway. I have some cool things happening in my career. I have family nearby who loves me. I can afford to live comfortably by myself. I have a relatively new car that runs well. I have two great cats. I’ve made some great friends lately. If any of these things are what you’d use to measure success, then I think I’m doing just fine. Things are going well. I’m not ecstatic, but I’m pretty content and I feel relatively stable. These things are all good.

But sometimes I still wonder if I’m forgetting something. There’s a huge gaping restlessness sometimes, where I get a little stressed for no apparent reason and I find myself dissatisfied with everything around me. I feel like I should be going back to school or moving across the country or changing careers or buying new socks or something. Maybe it’s that I’m still getting used to this whole stable, responsible adult thing and I don’t know what to do with it.

Whatever. I’ll be 27, and something tells me it’s going to feel a lot like 26.

18 Replies to “twenty-seven”

  1. Happy early birthday!

    I’ll be 27 next Friday, one week from today. For some reason the number 27 is affecting more than my previous aging increments have. Almost all of my friends are married and having kids. They all have their own houses and yards and families nearby to take care of their kids. Although I am definitely not ready for the kids thing, I still am feeling pretty left behind. I’ve found myself thinking “what the hell am I doing?” alot lately.

    But I’m sure I’ll get over it once I have a face full of cake. Mmmmm.

  2. yep… I think 27 will be just like 26, except one year closer to 30! :) Love you.. wish i could be there for the b-day.

  3. Happy birthday, Lorie! I think success can be measured in how happy you are.

    And I think “what the hell am I doing” a lot lately, too, and I’m only going to be 24.

  4. My advice sucks, so I won’t offer it. I have no advice to offer. I’ve no panic. No revelations, at least regarding birthdays. Life is organic. I’m 33. I adore that.

    But while the number is, I think, unimportant, the life is dear and to be lived. The laughter and the stories are to be shared. Happy birthday, L.

  5. Ok, here goes… twenty seven years ago today (February 17th 1980) I was living in Puerto Rico and woke up on Sunday morning around 10am and immediately had the biggest pain EVER slam me in the stomach, my water broke and you were on your way. Your father was on duty in the Navy and wasn’t home and I’m thinking “My water broke and the baby is going to arrive any minute!” I called the hospital that I worked at and they assured me that your birth was not imminent since I was having no other contractions and you were my first, but one way or another you would be born in the next 24 hours. So after calling your father’s work and speaking with a clerk who told me he was busy bringing a ship into the dock, I calmly left the message “Well, tell him if he cares I’m about to have his baby!” Since the hospital assured me it would be awhile, I decided I couldn’t give birth without washing my hair first. So, that’s how your father found me when he rushed down the hallway expecting me to be laying in the bed delivering a baby on my own, but instead found me drying my hair. We made it to the hospital and at 430pm after reading while walking up and down the halls for hours (to help the contractions along so they told me) I was sure you were due any minute and they finally checked me and hooked me up to monitors to check your progress. Another seven plus hours later (you took your own sweet time) you decided to make your grand entrance, on Monday, February 18th shortly after midnight. Within an hour you were under the sun lamp, sucking on your toes and secure in the knowledge that you were the proudest and brightest moment in your parents life that day and you are still making us proud. Happy Birthday Lorie!

  6. I was going to write here that 26 was my best year and why, but your mom trumped me with the wonderful tale of your birth. I feel lame going into all that under the lovely birth tome, so I’ll just stick with 26 was great, I hope your 27 and beyond are as terrific as my eleven years of eternal 26 have been.

  7. happy birthday tomorrow, lorie! yeah, i’m going to be 33 march 5th, and i don’t have the house, the kids, the marriage, a car, or even a career to speak of.

    i want a house (someday), i don’t want kids, i don’t want to be married until it’s right, and i’d love a car, but right now it’s not practical.

    what does freak me out is thinking about when my parents had me (and they were ‘old’ for the times — 27 and 24, i think), and i think …. sheeeit. that’s so young! crazy.

    but i also think that adolescence now lasts into our early 20s, too.

    anyway, you rock and one day i hope i can meet you. have a wonderful day. it’s your own personal holiday!

  8. I agree jocelyn… i was told the other day that you don’t have to be grown-up until you’re out of college… so even though I’m 24 I can still pretend to be an adolescent!

  9. Happy (belated) Birthday Lorie! =)

    A couple of my bestest friends turned 27 at the beginning of the month and I found that they felt the same way I did leading up to the big day — “blech.” I’m not sure but I think it’s partially the “we’re now in the LATE twenties” thing. OH, and being a responsible adult totally sucks.

  10. Happy belated birthday!

    I think as long as you’re happy with your life, there’s nothing your missing out on. When I went to my 10-year reunion last summer, there were all of these people with kids and their own houses and all that stuff and not too many of them seemed all that happy.

    Your life is what you choose, and if you’re in a place where you can make those choices, then it doesn’t really matter how old you are.

    Now that I’m 29 and looking across the year at 30, I remember 27 quite fondly. :)

  11. I got married for the second time at 27. It was over at 29.

    In any event, there’s something about the late twenties that’s hard, and that’s the sense that one is no longer “promising” — now, we start to believe, it’s time to demonstrate your ability to turn promise into performance. That’s a huge burden for most folks, and it certainly was for me.

    It gets better, but it can still suck.

  12. I can sense the posts I put a request in for a while back are percolating in your mind and are close to being served.

    Don’t feel rushed into finding a life mate, though don’t ignore measures you can take if you feel that is your destiny. If it is your destiny, your mom seems a great role model.

    Happy 27th, remembering that time is an abstract created by humankind…

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