Birthdays, Parachutes, and Photobooths

Sunday was my birthday. Don’t ask me how old I turned because I’ll most likely falcon punch you and then crawl to the corner to hyperventilate (not over having just assaulted you but over my age). You can read more about my meltdown here, I’m not gonna go into it again because I’m feeling sliiiiightly better about my new age and I just gotta keep lookin’ forward. Jesus, I sound so dramatic.

Because of my quarter-life-plus-five-years-crisis I wanted to do something completely ridiculous to celebrate the second anniversary of my 29^th year of living. Something to get my mind off of freaking out over turning *gasp* 30, yeah, I said it and I’ll say it again - 30. Ahhhhh!

So naturally, I picked skydiving. Can I get a ‘what, what’?!

We woke up early yesterday morning and trekked up to Skydive Panama City. I wanted to throw up the entire ride there, for some reason I got super nervous despite the fact that I was the one that wanted to partake in said life risking event, but my nerves suddenly got the best of me. Luckily the owner and instructors were all great people so that calmed me back down once we arrived. After signing our lives away we suited up…

Then hopped in the plane...

And up we went, 10000 feet into the air.

I can’t even begin to describe the experience but it was completely amazing. Freefalling was the best part – it makes you feel so free and so alive as corny as that sounds. I screamed my face off and my cheeks hurt from smiling so much. But that split second when we stepped off the plane was not for smiling.

Check out how calm he is and check out the "OH SHIT," look on my face. Priceless. But after that  it was smooth sailing.

We fell straight through a cloud which was pretty cool.

Freefalling was definitely an adrenaline rush. Then when the parachute opened you were able to calm down, take it all in, and have a serene little moment all to yourself, well, you and the dude you’re strapped to.

I’ve always wanted to skydive because it seemed like it’d be so much fun, but I assumed I’d do it once, check it off my bucket list (which I wrote about here) and move on with life. WRONG! It’s something I totally plan to do again, I guess it’s like a tattoo - you can’t stop at one.

And of course no 30^th birthday is complete without wanting to feel like a kid again, so on our way out of the movie theatre (we went to see Safe House, it was tres bon) we popped in a photo booth and vogued.

See the pic of us closing our eyes while smiling (third one down)? It’s a Rumbarger trademark – Seth constantly ruins pictures by closing his eyes while smiling so now it’s kinda become a thing. Would you like some photographic evidence? I present to you exhibit A:

Yeah, he’s such a smartass, but it’s one of the things I love about him. And look, even my mother does it:

Hehe. I’m gonna get in trouble for that. She totally didn’t close her eyes on purpose in that photo but how can I not include it given the topic at hand – right?! Love you mom!

So there you have it folks, my skydiving adventures. Oh! And they gave me a video of my freefall, but I'm sure no one cares about it but me so I'll spare you. Besides, I'm sure the 247 photos I included in this post are sufficient for ya.

PS Remember how I said no presents, no dinner, no cake, etc.? Well, yesterday Seth walked in the living room with a cake. When I gave him ‘the look’ he said, “What?! Did you want me to put candles on it? That many candles would probably burn the place down!” Smartass, I tell ya.

Sunday was a good day...

Lorri

Dirty Thirty

I am about to turn 30 – holy hell. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m glad to be celebrating a birthday because it means I’m-alive-blah-blah-blah-thank-you-mom-and-dad-for-creating-me-yada-yada-and-all-that-other-bullshit, but let's get real, there’s just something about 30 that makes a girl have a minor meltdown. When I was in my early 20s I never understood when I heard women freaking out about turning 30. I’d roll my eyes and think to myself, Shut the fuuuuuuuug up, boo hoo, you’re thirty. But now I get it. And now I’m that girl. That girl that’s freaking out. That girls that’s in denial. I think I’m going to just celebrate the second anniversary of my 29^th birthday this year. Yeah, that sounds good.

Last night Seth and I were talking about skydiving details, it’s the one and only thing I want  for my birthday; well, that and a baby in-utero. But skydiving is all I’ve requested that’s within our control. I don’t want a party. Or a trip to Vegas. We were gonna go on another cruise but I nixed that halfway-thought-out plan. I don't want a celebratory dinner. No presents. I don’t even want a cake. I just want to willingly jump from a perfectly fine plane and scream my face off. Feel alive. Then move on with the day like it’s any other. And last night when we were talking about said freefalling adventure I said, “Oh and make sure you book it on Sunday, which is the 18^th, which works out because that’s my actual birthday, oh my God that’s only a week from today, oh my God I’m in my last week of being in my 20s, OH MY GOD!” Then Seth said something sarcastic as usual like, “Yeah, oh my God you’re almost dead, that’s what, close to 80?” Then I rolled over and continued to look at my Pottery Barn Magizine while trying to hold back tears. Not from what he said, but from what I had just realized only moments before – in exactly a week I’d no longer be a 20-something.

With a few minutes I had full on tears while Seth consoled me and was probably thinking the same thing I thought just five or so years ago about women freaking over turning the big 3-0. But he was a sweet husband and said, along with other things, “...you’re the most beautiful 30 year old ever,” I didn’t even hear the compliment in that, I squealed at him with “I’m not 30 YET! I still have a week!” To which he calmly replied, “Umm, that’s pretty much the same thing.” Then I laughed and cried all at the same time. 

I knew it was ridicuous. I couldn’t even coherently put in words why I was crying. It makes no sense unless your a female and you're 29 years, 11 months, three weeks, and one day old. So among the jokes and teasing and laughter there were still tears falling down my smiling face - I was a mess I tell ya.

I’m about to turn 30 and the only word that pops in my head when I think about 18 March is FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK. And that eff bomb wasn't in regards to the anticipation of hurling myself out of a plane, it's in regards to the number of candles that better not be on my non-existent birthday cake at my imaginary dinner with absolutely no presents. However, alcohol is welcome. 

Peace,

Lor

PS If you're in your 20s...screw you.