Warrior Beetle: Renovations draw to a close, I make a lot of cookies, and I am nearly 30

For the record, this is how I used to feel about chocolate cake:

This was, of course, before I developed the digestion of a 90 year-old woman (with feet to match) and the dietary predilections of Seabiscuit. But I wanted to include the above photo so when I say that for my 30th birthday, even though I won't be able to eat it, I'm making Dark Chocolate Cake with Peppermint Buttercream Icing, you will understand why. It's a nostalgic move.

Yes, that's right, dear reader. You read that correctly. BEETLE IS TURNING 30. This is not as dramatic an event as the caps lock would lead you to believe, however. I have in fact been answering "30" to the age question for the last six months, because "29", in my opinion, just sounds kind of lame, immature, and awkward. 30 sounds classy. 30 sounds like you've reached your middle age with grace and style, and you have officially put all the boring crap of your 20's behind you. My 20's were pretty awesome but also had some particularly stinker moments. I'm very much looking forward to a new, fresh, decade. So I've actually been 30 since March, it's just official now. Or rather, it will be tomorrow. Yay!

Beetle Aging Freakouts Thus Far: The clump of white hair I thought I found two weeks ago was actually paint. The liver spots I thought I found on my hands earlier this summer were actually freckles. We're doing ok.

But going back to the YAY front, LOOK AT MY BEDROOM!

On Wednesday night I slept in my own bedroom for the first time since 2005. Did it feel weird? Yes. Did I wake up to pee and try to walk through a wall? Yes. Was it still totally awesome? YES. Obviously it's nowhere NEAR finished. I have no intention of taking "Scandinavian Country House" to a degree of "Scandinavian Ice Hut That is Home to a Banished Nun." BUT IT'S ON ITS WAY.

NOW BACK TO BEETLE BIRTHDAY, WHICH IS OBVIOUSLY MORE IMPORTANT

So. 30. When I turned 29 I was still living in Manhattan, and so it was fairly easy to rally the troops, book a table in Union Square, and do a big, happy, screaming, obnoxious dinner. This is significantly more difficult bordering on impossible when you are living in East Bumblefart, Massachusetts, and the biggest thing happening on your birthday is a Tractor Pull on the town common.

It starts at 1pm, incidentally, if anyone is violently interested.

So, Barring a blowout, how to commemorate the passing of my 20's and the beginning (finally) of my 30's?

I'll tell you how.

BEST FRIEND FOREVER DAY OF AWESOMENESS THAT'S HOW.

Because who better to help ring in a new decade than the woman you've spent almost the last two with? That's what makes BFFs (and my BFF in particular) so awesome. We lived through the apex of nerd-dom (and believe me, it was an apex for the record books) and came out the other side. You guys, we lived through leggings and oversize glasses and teeth we hadn't grown into yet. Those bonds last a lifetime. And if I'm going to look back on my childhood and life thus far, the really good parts and the really bad parts, I want to do it with someone who's been there too.

HOW BFFDOA (BEST FRIEND FOREVER DAY OF AWESOMENESS) IS GOING TO GO DOWN:

1. A PUMPKIN FESTIVAL ON THE TOWN COMMON (tractor pull optional). Where we will buy things like alpaca wool scarves and pumpkin scented soaps and A LOT of honey and jam and generally thoroughly enjoy ourselves. And possibly get face painted. Just saying. Might happen.

2. FACIALS AT AVEDA. (especially if the face painting happens) Because nothing says "take care of your now middle aged skin!" like getting a facial. The last time I got a facial at Aveda I was so relaxed I fell asleep. Facials are awesome.

3. WATCHING A MOVIE IN OUR PAJAMAS. Because this is how the BFF and I spent the majority of our nights between the years of 12 and 18 and it seems appropriate to do it all over again. On the couch, under a blanket, dressed in embarrassing flannel pjs from L. L. Bean, watching either Pride & Prejudice or Star Trek the Next Generation. (Perhaps slightly contrasting genres but we loved them both, and if you look closely you will see that essentially it was just a love of authoritative British men that lead us there.)

HOW I WAS NOT PLANNING ON TURNING 30 AND YET FIND MYSELF DOING SO: As an early birthday present, because they love me, the cats gave me poison ivy on my lip. Two days ago I cut my forehead open on a dresser I was painting and now have a gash in the centre of my forehead. It was not my intention to turn 30 looking like a vaguely syphilitic member of Fight Club, but I suppose you can't have everything in life.

But Beetle, I hear you ask, what about the food? WHAT ABOUT THE FOOD?

Well. I'm glad you asked.

The menu as it stands at the moment is as follows. Pictures obviously forthcoming next week.

DINNER

Panfried Local Haddock

Herb-Roasted Butternut Squash with Fennel and Wax Beans

Wild Black Rice

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Cornmeal Country Bread (made up the name, go with it)

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Birthday Cake (Dark Chocolate Cake with Peppermint Buttercream Icing)

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BREAKFAST

Swedish Pancakes

Rye Buttermilk Biscuits

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a million and one Finnish Housewife Cookies

*subject to change as Hillbilly Beetle does her thing, but that's the general gist

Why pancakes you ask? Well. Here's the thing. Pancakes were what I always used to make with Dad for my birthday breakfasts. I've said this before, but the smell of Swedish pancakes is deeply rooted in the memory centre of my brain that holds all the happy, warm, safe bits of my childhood.

The smell of pancakes is the smell of how awesome things used to be, and I want to remember all that awesome on my birthday.

This is what pancakes smell like.

MAUDLIN RAMBLE DOWN MEMORY LANE OVER, THANKS FOR COMING.

MOVING ON NOW.

COOKIE?

Remember CONNECT FOUR?

I JUST WON.

I was in severe cookie-debt to three of my girlfriends, and this week decided to pay up. One has moved to San Francisco, one has moved to Boulder, and one got married last weekend, where I was lucky enough to be. Obviously cookies are called for in these situations, and what better way to say "Happy New Home" and "Congratulations On Your Wedding" than Finnish Housewife Cookies?

Oh that's right, THERE IS NO BETTER WAY.

Beetle OCD packaging note: Germaphobia plus mortal fear of stale cookies plus neurotic attention to detail means . . . it's gonna take you a while to get in there. Sorry, guys.