SF2012 and Killer Cartwheels

My greatest accomplishment of my 20s was puking into a gutter on Haight-Ashbury Street on the day before my 30th birthday.

I did. I vomited in front of a bum and a restaurant full of people eating burritos. And let me tell you, you haven’t lived until you puke into a gutter. You have not.

Puke.

Hostile Observers.

It was riotous trip, San Francisco was. (For a true recap of the trip, go here). I went with The Cousin and The Sister and between skirting shankings in Oakland, eating Nicolas Cage’s face, and taxi rides from hell, I turned 30 in one of my favorite cities in the whole entire world. And now that I’m older and more beaten down I’ve come to realize a few choice things:

1. Cartwheels Hurt

Every now and then during a sporadic lapse of madness (HAHA, right, when have I ever been sporadic?), I’ll bounce into a cartwheel just to show the world I still got it.

Not like this.

I’ll just kick up my heels, pretending to be five-years-old again with a juice box and spin across the floor.

Like this.

It’s all fine and dandy when you’re in motion but once those feet are planted, you instantly regret the decision. One time my wrist ached for a week.

This Thanksgiving weekend, I did a celebratory cartwheel for simply putting on pants on my day offe and was met with spots before my eyes.

SPOTS I TELL YOU.

2. Food is Dumb

I have to baby my stomach. Somewhere during the last year it must have shrunk to the size of nun’s hymen.

That’s a thing right?

While in San Francisco, dining like a simple serf at RN74 with my sister, I inquired after the good waiter whether or not it was human bone marrow I was noshing on and was promptly rewarded with his phone number.

Clearly, he appreciated a good boner joke.

And then later that night I was promptly rewarded with a case of the roguish flu. No sir, no more eating bone marrow and sea urchin.

Any food with some semblance of fun instantly turns my stomach into the bowels of hell.  It’s depressing. I like masticating. I used to be able to polish off plates of food without running for the nearest shitter. I could mix my solids and liquids. These days my food’s as bland as Ann Veal.

Her?

Now during  dinner I take a few bites, say meh, and stab someone with my fork. I mean hell, a girl’s gotta take her anxiety out on something.

3. GIVE ME MEDS YOU STUPID FUCKS

Pills make everything better. A bright glow on everything that—wait, am I headed towards the light?

This became evident in San Francisco. All three of us have stomach issues. “You want a Xanax or a Tums?” became the motto of the trip. We doled them out and bartered like we were Irish street urchins trying to buy passage to America.

I-I have no idea where my metaphors are going anymore but I’d like to think they’re somewhere between the 3rd and 4th level.

At my house the medicine cabinet is stocked.

I drink one beer and I take an aspirin.

They’re good for the heart I hear. Either. Beer or aspirin.

Stop looking at me like that.

4. I Sneer Far Too Often

Granted, I feel cooler now that I’m 30. I don’t mind aging. It’s a gift. I’m smarter and by god, I fill out a pair of jeans pretty damn nice.

But now I find myself saying things I normally wouldn’t. Most of the time it’s fine but sometimes a choice retort will fly from my lips in a public place and I’m wondering when someone will punch me in the face.

Yeah, fuck you too, sign.

I mean, Monday morning business meetings get pretty awkward at the office when you call the boss a “cockmaster”.

I’m getting cynical and crabby but since I’ve always been an asshole in my private life, I’m looking forward to unleashing it on complete strangers.

5. Your Writing Gets Better (So do you)

It gets better because of the booze and the pills.

Kidding.

Slightly.

It gets better because you finally have the authority to call yourself an idiot. And you embrace that. And you listen.  Anything I write, I try to write it as honest as possible. Except for the dick scenes.

Listening to yourself is the best thing about being 30. I’m glad it’s filtered into my writing. It’s not like I’m going to learn how to become a real estate agent but I can change a little bit.

But I do have a quota on adulthood. There’s only so much I can take. This photo pretty much exemplifying why I will never grow up.

Tee hee. This is a butt.

No Comments
  • Reply

    Berit

    November 25, 2012 at 11:41 pm

    So sorry to hear about the bone marrow and sea urchin! But it made a great story. 😉

    Did you get food poisoning from that? Good to hear it didn’t ruin the trip.

    And love that photo of you pointing at the neon butt and doing the headstand.

    • Reply

      julesjustwrite

      November 27, 2012 at 4:02 am

      it could’ve been food poisoning. guess we’ll never know. haha.

  • Reply

    Michael Gillan Maxwell

    November 25, 2012 at 11:54 pm

    This is a little like an episode of Anthony Bourdain’s “No Reservations” after too much Jaegermeister! Needless to say, the Lunch Laddy is going to school at your expense for some good material for the Lunch Lady Cookbook. I used to be able to do cartwheels too, but that was in another galaxy 50 billion light beers ago. Any attempt at a cartwheel now would resemble one of those Alaskan logging machines ~ a Rube Goldberg juggernaut with chainsaws sticking out from both sides flattening a 12 foot swath of anything that has the misfortune to be in my path. So sad. I once had such promise. Happy Birthday Jules. Life begins at 40 and 60 is the new 40 so you still have plenty of time for shenanigans. 😉

    • Reply

      julesjustwrite

      November 27, 2012 at 4:03 am

      haha, oh MGM. i’m sure one day I’ll slow down on the cartwheel routine. until then I definitely plan to have many shenanigans. that’s a fun word.

  • Reply

    Harley May

    November 27, 2012 at 1:35 am

    Yay. I so admire your boldness. Cartwheels AND bowel movements while traveling? Whew. There aren’t many of us who can do that, Jules.

    • Reply

      julesjustwrite

      November 27, 2012 at 4:04 am

      i hope you’re up there with me, HM. I could see that. Yes.

  • Reply

    morgan

    November 27, 2012 at 3:42 am

    At 52, I still do a cartwheel every now and then as well. Right over left and then, left over right… I’m amphibious you see. Frisco… Hmmm, you need to experience Oklahoma City girl.

    • Reply

      julesjustwrite

      November 27, 2012 at 4:18 am

      good for you. cartwheels keep the mind young. or so it goes. or something. i’m game for Oklahoma City. Let’s go.

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