The Dirty Thirty

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My whole train ride home tonight was preoccupied with thoughts of drums. The moment I got home, I didn’t even get changed, I just jumped on the kit and started bashing and screaming “When I get mad and I get pissed, I grab my pen and write out a list, of all you ass holes that won’t be missed, you’ve made my shit list, SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT LIST!”

I’ve set my drums up so that I get awesome views of the trees and national park during the day, but at night time, all I get is a reflection of myself. It was a bizarre reflection that I caught tonight: A thirty year old in her corporate attire – suit jacket, sensible shoes, bashing away on a drum kit that seems like it was from a different life, screaming out nineties grunge lyrics.

Wow, that certainly wasn’t the reflection I ever expected 12 years ago when I first bought that drum kit.

I still remembered the day I set that kit up for the first time. I remember admiring my high hat stand for about three hours. I had always wanted to play in a metal band but most metal drummers had good gear. I had a lousy kit that cost me $250. It looked more like something ABBA used to play on. It was not a metal kit. I couldn’t compete.

This new high hat stand though, it was thick and strong and just like the one all the boys in the metal bands used. I’d been playing long enough that I knew how to play metal – damn it I had taped a piece of rubber to my wall so I could play double kicks all night after everyone had gone to sleep without making any noise. Now I had the gear.  I could take those guys on. I could show them that a girl who looked a bit like a barbie doll could play blast beats and rock the double kick.

And I fucking did.

And I fucking loved it.

How the hell, did that girl end up in a fucking suit?

Probably cause she wanted to take on the boys. And not just the boys, the world. She wanted to show those snobby rich kids that a kid from a “disadvantaged school,” 5108 represent, could get into uni and do whatever the hell she wanted, or whatever it was you told her she couldn’t do.

Same reason she’s about to run 100km in the Blue Mountains this weekend. Remember that useless psychiatrist who said, “you’ve got bipolar, take these drugs. Yes they’ll make you fat. Yes you will feel like dying when you run cause your liver and kidneys are packing up and you’re 10kg over weight but hey, you can’t have everything in life. You either run or you be happy, but you can’t be both?” What a dick! Well she showed him.

So yes, I’m dirty 30. Not that dirty grunge girl who thought she was going to be a rock star anymore, who dreamed of touring in a Finnish metal band and thought she’d never actually have to finish her degrees and get a job.

But I’m still that stubborn, resilient girl who won’t take no for an answer. Who asks why and why not instead of accepting the opinions of the so called experts.

Dirty 30 ain’t so bad after all.

Carpe Diem!

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Back stage in 2009 just before getting on stage in my first metal band

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About tashytuffnut

ultramarathon runner, desert runner, trail runner, musician, vegetarian, tattoos, lawyer.

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