Forget the big list of grand achievements I was supposed to get through before my birthday; I wasn’t even able to get through my short list of chores. So my apartment’s a mess, my refrigerator’s devoid of anything but arugula and leftovers, my glasses are literally falling apart, I have two jobs and a review that are starved for attention, my hair is looking awfully scruffy… and I’m 30.

I had a Sixteen Candles moment this morning, staring at myself in the mirror and trying to figure out if I looked any different. Hopefully the rest of my day won’t turn out like Molly Ringwald’s; at the very least, I don’t plan on ending up with the deathly boring pretty boy if there’s a dorky/cute Anthony Michael Hall right under my nose.

At any rate, I don’t have any deep thoughts about turning 30, just a list of chores and resolutions to break: dressing like an adult, cutting back on cigarettes and unnecessary commas, cooking more, meeting people, dating them, and figuring out where my life is headed and whether I want to end up there. I was hoping the Turning-Thirty Fairy would drop me some hints on that last one, but I guess I’ll have to work it out for myself.