Your thirties are a weird time. I mean, they're a great time for a lot of reasons, and I was such a dummy in so many ways in my twenties, that many times I'm thrilled to have exited that decade. However, there are so many things about your thirties (okay, MY thirties) that make me feel confused about my place in the universe, as exemplified by the facial I had yesterday.
I was up visiting my parents for the weekend, as a sort of pre-birthday celebratory time (tomorrow is the big day) and they gave me a facial as a birthday present because, well, I like getting my pores exposed for the dirty little villains they are. I've had my share of facials, and of course, the aesthitician is always trying to sell you other services or products, so you never really know whether to trust what they're telling you MUST be done to your skin. Usually they complain that my skin is dehydrated (YES - I use moisturizer!!!) and they spend a good deal of time with extractions - you know, professionally picking out your pimples and blackheads. But for the first time the facialist suggested that I think about a chemical peel "to deal with some of the fine lines developing around your eyes and cheeks and forhead." GULP. I mean, I'm young enough to get pimples that make me feel like I'm still in 7th grade, but now, I'm old enough to ALSO have fine lines and wrinkles???? And the thing is, they don't offer chemical peels at this place, so she wasn't trying to sell me anything, she was just making a suggestion based on my "skin's needs."
So now I'm at the age where everything travels in both forward and reverse - where I look back on my youth with those angry pimples, and look forward to my old age with the beginnings of wear and tear showing up on my face. It's sort of exactly the same place I feel like I am in my singing career - too old to be thought of as the young new thing, but not old/experienced/famous enough to just have work lined up for 5 years in advance and to finally feel a tiny bit of job security. Stuck right in the middle of pimples and wrinkles, waiting for the pimples to fade for good so I can accept the wrinkles and all the knowledge and confidence they come with. Or I can just opt for some cheap Botox injections while I'm in Colombia, tell everyone in europe who doesn't know me that I'm 24, and try to extend my pimple time by another 10 years. Botox in Bogota probably only costs about $7, so I maybe that's an option I should consider. Naaaaaah. Bring on some of that age to my face - I've earned it, and besides, no amount of poison injected into my face can guarantee me a contract at La Scala.