Thirty, flirty and thriving. Right?

Well, it happened. I turned 30.

Who would have thought this kid could have made it past grade school? She can barely get her hands out of that jacket!



I would just like to point out that I am now older than my mom was in that photo. Terrifying.

I was never a girl who conjured up images of the future me; dressing future self up like a paper doll in different outfits.

Here is L the veterinarian
L the teacher
L the Olympic swimmer (OK, I did imagine that once)
L the college graduate
L in a pants suit
L the bride
L the mother.

I remember sitting cross legged in a pale pink room. It was still grade school - fifth or sixth grade, I think. This is still during the time when my then-best-friend and I would coordinate outfits and come in wearing the same exact thing (a favorite: white jeans, Keds, over-sized Joker t-shirt) so you can see the maturity level was already ripe.

In this pale pink room, three little friends and I were talking about marriage, like you do. And it was during this heated discussion that I felt the pressure to divulge an age. You know, that age at which you think all things happen. That age, for young girls, when your life merges with what you imagine is adult, something that resembles your mother and the life you grew up in. For me, this age was 28.

It seemed WORLDS away. My occasional 16-year-old babysitter was ANCIENT so 28 was practically extinct. Did people still live that long? I wasn't sure.

28, I said in my most feminist-sounding pre-pubescent voice, would give me enough time for "my career." Then a husband would show up at my door and small children would follow.

My friends said slightly younger ages, 24s and 25s and since I still wasn't entirely sure where those future kids would pop out from I packed on a few years to ensure I had some time to figure things out.

It was so far out in the future, dangling like a baby carrot from a fishing rod that anything was possible. Wouldn't we be living like the Jetsons by then? I would be busy flying a car and eating jelly-bean-sized three-course meals and, sure, I could squeeze in a husband, a career and a few kids to bop around the apartment-in-the-sky.

During my 20s I inevitably started to hit those "my-mom-was-this-age-when" marks, at which point I brushed off responsibility and adulthood like the fading idea that a monster still lived under my bed.

At 22 I had the vague understanding that my mom was this age when she got married.

That was legal?

At 24 I knew my mom was this age when I was born.

The authorities don't automatically take children born of children away?

At 27 my mom had by brother and when I turned that age I was driving across the country about to embark upon a career change and graduate school and could barely feed myself let alone two ankle-biting kids and a grown man roommate. I mean, really.

I passed 28 reliving my early 20s in my first roommate-less apartment in Chicago with friends closer to college than 30.

During the 2010 year when my fellow 1980 pals were ticking over into that new decade I had witnessed enough anti climatic responses to recognize that this wasn't going to be a volcanic-epiphany time. But still, when I opened my eyes Friday morning I thought, maybe I'd awaken with some understanding of life.

Instead I woke up with a faint headache leftover from a night of too much.

In short, things are exactly the same. I feel motivated to kick this career into a higher gear, settle into a new apartment and city and fall into a new decade that offers, I'm told, a bit of assurance and know-thyself attitude. Which is great, because I'm still in the dark about a few things, like, am I really allergic to mushrooms? What about nectarines? Because I think my lip feels tingly after I eat them. What's up with that. Those and other such questions to be answered over the next ten years.

For those of you still slogging through those fun and frantic 20s I did want to leave you with a few items. Just a little grab bag of things I lived and learned after ten years of living in a few apartments, a handful of cities and, luckily, only one really bad hairstyle.

1. Don't cut your own bangs. I know this may sound silly as a starting point for advice, but it's a good one to remember. You may get lucky and make a clean sweep the first time but the odds are against you and sooner or later you're going to mess those puppies up and you'll end up trying to pass of the angled bang like it's sweeping the nation.

2. Best not to live with the opposite sex. Boys are fun. Boys can be great friends. Boys tend to not make awesome roommates. For one, it's hard to yell at a boy when they are not your boyfriend because they do yell back. For two, if you start doing the dishes that have been piling up in the sink said boy(s) will likely assume that doing the dishes is something you ENJOY doing, ergo dishes will always be piled in the sink.

3. Privacy settings are your friend. If all of your friend's, friend's, friends can view your facebook page, then so can your potential employers.

4. Edit yourself. Speaking of facebook, how about you don't post those drunken-last-night shots, eh? Or if your awesome friend does it for you, untag yourself. I was lucky enough to live through a Facebook-free 20s, but some of the interns I've looked into hiring have not and, trust me, the stretched-happy-face is not a subtle, sober look.

5. Beware of contracts. This goes for gym memberships, cable companies, yes, even library cards. In the end, everybody is out there trying to set up their own racket. If you sign a contract you are obligated to stick it out and, look at you, you're 22/23/24/25 you can barely get up in the morning. How are you supposed to comit to anything longer than three months? Forget cable, everything is online and look into month-to-month options. Also, crying does not always help you get out of a contract especially when speaking to someone across the globe over a phone.

6. Make a photo copy of your drivers license and your passport because you will absolutely lose it/both at least once if not multiple times. It sucks. Don't get attached to cute wallets. I'm still mourning after that red number with the embroidered hearts on the front that I left on a cab seat. {sigh}

7. If you live alone make a few copies of your keys and give them to friends, trustworthy neighbors or, if you're really ballsy, hide a few around your apartment building. Sure this could encourage theft, but it really sucks to get locked out of your apartment and to have to call your landlord who tends to be condescending about things like locking yourself out of your apartment and says things like, "Aren't you too old to be losing your keys" when EVERYONE has a bad day and perhaps there was a lot on your plate! Geeze.

8. Help a friend move. I really believe in the moving karma. Moving BLOWS and it's so super helpful to have a few (preferably larger man friends, but, really, anyone will do) on hand. Reward helpful friends with pizza and beer afterward or at least the promise of helping them down the road. And you MUST help them because it only takes one burn to lose a mover. This karma thing also goes for wayward friends looking for a couch and lending clothes out. It all comes back.

9. Bring your lunch to work. This is SO old of me to say, but, cereal, it really does cut down on costs. My Dad told it to me when I was 22 and I scoffed at him for a few years and then, when I had $1.30 in my bank account and three days before payroll I had a very quick change-of-mind. Also with every lunch you bring to work you get one free-to-brag-about-it-option. It's proven.

10. Avoid the Save-the-Children or other such selling-you-something-on-a-busy-street-corner people. They may say it's only $0.15 per day but that adds up. And you're living in New York City, the most expensive city out there, are you insane to give up $0.15 of your paycheck? One minute you're just taking an afternoon break and the next minute you're mother to baby Ruth in the Dominican who writes you sad little letters with drawings of the items she was able to buy with your measly monthly fund: apple, banana, pants. When you overdraft the next time you try purchasing the on-sale magnum at your liquor store you damn yourself, think of Ruth, and then pity your single-parent status and how lucky you are to at least have pants. The guilt and the overdraft fees are not worth the tax break. Though helping the Baby Ruth is a good thing and should be encouraged, there are other, more financially settled people who can step up to the plate for now. And if you're really stuck on doing something good, volunteer at a soup kitchen. There's no need to be the hero when you can barely make your monthly rent.

xoxoL