The Dirty Thirty (Part 1)

I never really wanted to turn thirty. I mean, who does?! Don’t be that person and tell me about how life is all figured out and wonderful after thirty, and changing diapers makes your heart skip a beat, ’cause you’re dellusional. Potty training triumphs will never be as cool as jello shots and hangovers on my Facebook status. Alright, hangovers are the worst, but you get the point. It’s the not knowing, not caring and not worrying that makes your twenties so awesome. My butt was tight, my skin was smooth, and I was not plucking gray hairs from my head with tweezers every morning. This year, when I turned thirty-one, my oldest sister left a very endearing message on my Facebook page. She wrote, “Happy birthday. I was pregnant with my second kid by now!” Duly noted, sister. And with that, I reiterate my distress about entering the dreaded “thirties.”

Since turning thirty is depressing enough, I thought for a quick second that my boyfriend would find the ambition in his heart to make it special. After all, I had moved across the country for the second time in two years for him and sat through countless hours of Mexican baseball games. At the very least, I expected a piece of paper folded in half with a thoughtful birthday message inside of it. Something along the lines of, “To the love and light of my life: You are an angelic Godsend for putting up with me and my bullshit. Some days I wonder how I ever got so lucky to find a woman who deals with me almost as well as my mom. If I ever sign a multi-million dollar contract, I promise you I will never give you a card made of your own Staples brand printer paper ever again. You deserve a unicorn and a Birkin bag. Love you.” But instead, I got, “The team is traveling to Ensenada for a three-game series during your birthday. You can come if you want.” And it wasn’t even in a card.

I cried for two days straight (Jesus, I cried a lot), and was determined not to spend my 30th birthday in a baseball stadium. Yet the morning of the road trip came and at the last minute I decided to pack up and go anyway. I thought Anthony might find me in the bottom of our pool with a wine glass in my hand if I stayed home and turned thirty all alone. I decided that although I was terribly miserable, death by Chardonnay was not how I wanted to go out.

The venue for my birthday rager was The San Nichols Hotel in Ensenada. Upon arrival, my first gift was having to pay for the room for our three day stay. I sat down on the bed in the room and just moped. I couldn’t believe this is where I would be waking up on my thirtieth birthday. To give you an idea of the place, one satisfied patron left the following review on

“Walls not insulated. Room small and uncomfortable. Fixtures old. Shower head fell off.”

Can’t say I disagree too much with “Ray” from the United States on that one. In an attempt to make things better, Anthony asked if I wanted to walk in town to grab some dinner. There was a restaurant that all the guys always went to for some decent Mexican food. I told him to just get me to an establishment that served margaritas and I’d be happy. The place was actually kind of neat, and they did in fact serve margaritas. The walls of the restaurant were covered from floor to ceiling in dollar bills. Visitors from all over would come and write their names on the dollars and tape them up somewhere in the restaurant. Anthony and I followed suit and left our mark in a little nook above the bar area while we waited for our food. By the time I finished three-quarters of my margarita I was half drunk. That didn’t take long. Apparently the night life in Yuma is not conducive to maintaining your alcohol tolerance levels because I remember being pretty good at drinking. Being a day away from thirty was already taking its toll on me.

It took no time at all for me to suggest plugging my iPod into the restaurant speaker system. We told them it was my birthday so they went along with handing over the auxiliary cord. Pretty sure I played Wiz Khalifa and Drake.   Nice. At least we created a memory. I couldn’t wait to see what was in store for my actual birthday!

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